#...should I be putting these behind a cut?

[nanenna]

Detective Work on the Other Side

We getting into my own HCs now, enjoy the lore!

Sleep King Master post (it should actually work this time)

---

It felt weird sitting in the Specter Speeder as Phantom with his parents. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d finally told his parents himself, but just like Jazz had said they’d loved and accepted him as is. Danny was still getting used to it.

Danny pointed out the windshield, “That island there should be good.” It was little more than an oversized boulder with some grass on it, but it was big enough for the speeder and was pretty close to Johnny and Kitty’s lair, so it would do. Once they landed, the three Fentons disembarked so Danny could let the lovers out of Soup Time.

“Ugh, finally!” Johnny griped once they were set free.

Danny crossed his arms, “How do you keep getting into Amity? We put extra protections on the portal, no one should be able to get through.”

“Your dinky portal isn’t the only one in the whole world,” Kitty said with an eye roll.

“You just gotta know where to look,” Johnny added with a wink.

“Well stop it! I don’t want to have to repeat a grade!”

“Then stop chasing us. Jeez, no one’s forcing you.”

“Danny, sweetie,” Mom interrupted, “ask them about the summoning.”

“Summoning?” Kitty asked, perking up.

“It’s really concerning,” Dad said while scratching his head.

“Yeah, I was asleep so I don’t really remember it but I got summoned last night.”

“How’d you sleep through a summoning?” Kitty asked incredulously with a sneer.

Johnny just nodded, “Damn, wish I could sleep through a summoning.”

“I don’t know!” Danny threw his hands up in the air. “The really weird part is they were trying to summon Pariah!”

That got Johnny and Kitty to stop laughing. “Oh shit, really?”

“Johnny! Don’t cuss around the baby!” Kitty smacked his arm lightly.

“You owe the swear jar,” Dad boomed eagerly.

Johnny just rolled his eyes.

“That’s what we were told,” Mom cut in. “There was a cult that was trying to summon the Ghost King and somehow got Danny.”

“Wait, were they trying to summon Pariah by name or the Ghost King title?” Kitty asked eagerly.

“Ghost King,” Mom said decisively.

“Oh no,” Danny said. His grades may be in the toilet, but even he could put two and two together. “No, there’s no way I’m the Ghost King!”

“Maybe,” Kitty said while looking Danny up and down.

“Not like it means anything,” Johnny said airily.

Danny thought the matter over, “How does it not mean anything?”

“Well Pariah just declared himself the Ghost King one day, others only listened because he forced them to. And it’s not like we need a king, we’ve had the council ever since.”

“Ugh, stupid eye balls,” Danny griped. “But yeah, if he just decided to make himself king I guess it doesn’t really mean anything.”

Mom sighed deeply, “You mean like Alexander the Great? Or Ghengis Khan? Or William the Conquerer? Or anyone else from history who declared himself in charge and then killed anyone who didn’t listen?”

Danny drooped, “Okay, so maybe it does matter. But how would that even work? Why am I the Ghost King now?”

“Dunno,” Johnny said with a shrug. “It’s not like you even have the crown or ring.”

“No, Pariah still has the ring and last I saw the crown Vlad had it.”

“Good old Vladdie,” Dad boomed eagerly, “holding onto a powerful artifact like that to keep it safe!”

“So shouldn’t Vlad be the new Ghost King?” Danny asked with a shudder.

“Well the summoning circle thinks you earned the title somehow, so I guess it’s you now.” Johnny snickered as he got on his bike, Kitty quickly hopping on behind him. “Anyway, see ya ‘round, your majesty.” Johnny sneered the last part, then the pair both laughed like Johnny had just told the best joke ever as he zoomed off.

“Well I’m proud of you!” Dad slapped Danny’s back so hard he face planted. “Fighting that nasty Ghost King was really brave of you, and look at you now! Our boy, the Ghost King!” Dad wiped away a tear of deep paternal pride.

Danny had already floated himself up off the ground and dusted himself off, completely unharmed. “Thanks Dad, that means a lot.” And it really did! He was used to his parents being proud of him, not for his grades obviously, but just… in general. Or something. To have his dad say he’s proud of things Danny did as Phantom just… hit different.

“Is there anyone we can ask about this? The council that ruffian mentioned?” Mom looked thoughtful.

“Ugh no, the council hates my guts for some reason.”

“Well… if they’ve been in charge since Pariah was put in the sarcophagus and you’re the king now, maybe they feel threatened?” Dad asked, rubbing his chin.

“That’s probably it, sweetiepie. They’re just threatened by you.” Mom gently pat his arm.

“That’s so weird! I don’t even want to be king, I’d probably be a terrible one anyway.”

Dad gasped, “Danno! That’s just not true! Sure, you’re a bit young to be king now, but in a few years I bet you’d be a great king!”

“Pass.” Danny did not want to add a crown to his disaster of a life. Especially if it meant he’d have to be a bully to make others listen to him anyway, it’s not like anyone listened to Pariah.

“So honey, anyone else we can ask about the Ghost King? Or summoning circles? I’m really worried about you randomly getting summoned by creepy cults.” And boy, did Mom have a point about that! Yikes!

“Uh… maybe Frostbite?” The yeti did keep calling him “Great One” and that had to mean something, right? And if not he could hopefully point them in the right direction.

“Wonderful!” Mom chirped as she started herding Danny back into the Speeder. “And along the way you can answer a few small questions about your fight with Pariah.”

“I’m sorry about taking the Ecto-skeleton without asking,” Danny blurted out, face turning green as it grew colder.

“It’s alright, baby boy,” Mom pinched his cheek, “we understand why you did it and why you felt you had to at the time. But never do it again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Danny said miserably as they got back into the speeder. Once Danny had pointed them in the direction of the Far Frozen, he sat criss cross applesauce in the air. “So uh… questions?”

“Oh yeah! What questions did you have, fudgecakes?”

“Well…” Mom started but hesitated before continuing slowly. “This sounds like it might be a right of conquest situation.”

Danny had no idea what that meant. Well he knew what the words individually meant, and he had a pretty good idea what the phrase meant generally, but he had no idea what the rules or details were.

“Was this an official challenge?” Mom asked when Danny only stared blankly at her.

“Uh… maybe?” Danny tried thinking back to the fight, “What would make it an official challenge?”

“Did the Ghost King say he accepted your challenge? Or challenge you?”

“He uh…” Danny tried to remember the times he’d bantered with Pariah. “He said he accepted my terms,” Danny said with a squeak near the end.

Mom just nodded, “Right, so it sounds like a challenge. And did you take his crown at any point in the fight?”

Danny tried to remember the end of the fight, and well… “Yeah, I knocked it off him right before shoving him back into the sarcophagus. But Vlad had the key that actually locked it, and then he had the crown the last time I saw it.”

“Danny, sweetie, Vlad didn’t challenge the Ghost King to single combat, and he didn’t take the crown as part of that challenge.”

“Oh,” was all Danny could say as the realization of what he’d unwittingly done sank in. “Well… shit.”

[pedroscurls]

you put a spell on me (one-shot)

summary: hugh attends a masquerade-themed party and you capture his attention the moment you step into the building. pairing: hugh jackman x fem! reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), fingering, oral - m receiving, multiple orgasms (from reader), missionary (legs over hugh’s shoulders obvi), doggy style, cowgirl, light spanking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), creampie , no use of y/n. word count: 5.2k a/n: so after all the shit that’s happened in the last twenty four hours, I just needed to write something and Hugh’s most recent post is the inspiration of this story. song lyrics are in italics btw. hope you all enjoy! this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. song: you put a spell on me by austin giorgio

A masquerade ball. 

Hugh was speaking with Ryan and Blake when someone caught the corner of his eye. Turning to look in your direction, he feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight of you descending the stairs to the main dance floor. 

Everyone else in this ballroom was either dressed in tones of black, white, and gold, but you… the color of your deep wine red dress adds just the right amount of color to this room. He can’t help but let his eyes take in your frame - the gown trails behind you so elegantly and serene as you walk, an a-line cut with a slit that reveals your leg, an empire waist that clings to every curve, and the slightly puffy sleeves of your dress makes you look so angelic. When you turn slightly, he takes note of the open back as well, biting his lower lip. 

There’s a familiarity to you, that maybe he’s seen you before, maybe even talked to you before too. Hugh watches your eyes sweep the area and when your eyes meet his, he lets the corner of his lips turn upwards and then he sees you bite your lower lip, returning his smile with one of your own. 

But you’re wearing a masquerade mask, just like he is, just like everyone else in this room is. He can’t tell if he knows you, can’t decide if he should just go up to you and strike up a conversation because if he could hear your voice, it’ll at least give him some idea of who you might be. 

Hugh has to peel his eyes away from you for a moment, turning his attention back to Ryan who’s staring at him with a big grin. 

“What?” Hugh asks, bringing a hand up to adjust the mask on his face. 

“You gonna talk to her?” 

“I don’t know her,” Hugh admits. “Or at least I don’t think I do.” 

“Well, go and find out.” Blake says with a smile, gently nudging him with her arm. 

“Yeah?” Hugh asks. “You think it won’t be awkward?” 

“Well, what was awkward was watching you stare at her like you wanted something, if you get what I mean,” Ryan teases. 

Hugh rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair and then straightens out his bow tie as he nods at Ryan and Blake before he leaves the table in search of you. 

Hugh scans the entire room, trying to catch a glimpse of your red dress in the sea of black, white and gold, but he can’t seem to find you. He places his hands in his pockets as he continues to walk casually throughout the room, stopping every now and then to talk with someone he knows. Even in the midst of the conversations, Hugh’s eyes still search for you. 

Just one glimpse, he tells himself. Hugh just needs to see the color of your dress and then he’ll be able to get to you. 

He excuses himself from another conversation and then decides to walk towards the bar. Hugh sighs to himself, not having found you since you first stepped into the building. He takes the champagne glass from the bartender and then turns his gaze back to the entire room. Very briefly, does he see a glimpse of your smile. His eyes move lower and notices the color of your dress. 

It’s you, finally. 

Taking a deep breath, Hugh takes another glass of champagne and walks in your direction. It takes less than ten seconds to get to you, the person you had been talking to leaving you alone conveniently as he moves to stand next to you. 

“Refill?” Hugh asks quietly, handing you the glass of champagne. 

You smile up at him and Hugh feels his heart race even faster. You don’t say anything, instead you just give him a thankful nod and take the glass of champagne from him, your fingers brushing against his. 

“I’m Hugh,” he says with a small smile. 

“I know,” you finally tell him. 

Your voice is quiet and he can’t tell if he’s heard it before, so he leans in closer. Hugh can hear your breath hitch and it gives him just the right amount of confidence to ask you a question. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

You lift the glass of champagne to your lips and take a small sip. “Well, what’s the fun in that if I just tell you,” you tease, whispering quietly. 

Hugh smiles and pulls back to look down at you. All of a sudden, no one else in this room matters but you. Everyone fades into the background and all he can see is you. 

“Okay,” he chuckles. “Well, do we know each other? Have we met before?” 

“We’ve met before, yes.” 

Hugh bites the inside of his cheek but he can’t focus. He just wants to reach out and slowly lift the mask from your eyes so he can get a clear view of who you are. 

“Have we worked together?” Hugh asks. 

“I think I should be offended that you can’t tell who I am,” you laugh quietly. 

Your laugh. The way your smile lights up your entire face. There’s that sense of familiarity all over again and it’s a fleeting moment where he suddenly realizes where he knows you from. The after party for Deadpool & Wolverine. He remembered leaving that night with a huge smile on his face after spending the entire night talking with you. 

That was months ago and while you two have had brief conversations between then and now through social media, neither of you ever tried to pursue each other. Though, there was an obvious attraction, an obvious pull that you felt towards one another. 

Hugh doesn’t ask anymore questions about you, but instead he watches you finish your glass of champagne. He smiles to himself and finishes his own glass before he takes yours and sets both glasses down on a nearby table. 

“Would you like to dance?” Hugh asks, large hand extending out for you. 

Gently, you place your hand in his and nod, stepping closer to him. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Hugh smiles to himself and leads you to the dance floor, his free hand moving to rest on your lower back. He feels your other hand come to rest on his shoulder as he’s careful not to step on the ends of your dress. Even under the shadows of the dance floor, Hugh can see you so clearly. 

you put a spell on me

I’m losing my mind 

As the song begins, Hugh sways with you, hand splaying on your lower back as he feels your skin underneath his fingertips. He bites his lower lip, staring into your eyes through his own mask. He feels a bit at ease with the mask, like everyone else in the room won’t be focusing on the two of you and how you’re both becoming increasingly closer. 

you better stop things 

it’s a matter of time 

You can feel his fingertips run lightly along your back as his eyes remain locked on yours. Since meeting him, Hugh had occupied your thoughts and the brief conversations you had with him always left you yearning for more. It was easy to talk to him; it felt so natural and he always made you laugh. 

Hugh pulls you flush against him, your body pressing firmly against his as the song continues. 

before I hunt you down 

grab your chin

and kiss your lips 

Your eyes move to his lips, biting down on your lower lip in anticipation. The tension between the both of you thickens and your hand on his shoulder moves to rest on his chest, the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt tensing and flexing at your touch. 

you bring me back

I lay you down 

and grab your hips 

Hugh then drops your hand and moves both of his own to rest on your hips, gripping them tightly as he lowers his head to press his forehead lightly against yours. Quietly, almost above a whisper, Hugh finally says your name with a cheeky grin on his lips. 

“Y–You figured it out,” you say. 

“Knew it the minute you smiled at me,” Hugh replies. 

As you continue to sway on the dance floor with him, your own hands move to wrap around his neck, linking your fingers together to rest at the nape of his neck. 

I put a spell on you 

and now you’re mine 

I’ve got a hold on you 

at least for the night 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You ask him hesitantly, looking into his eyes hopefully. 

Hugh nods instantly. “Yes,” he answers. 

—

When you finally get to his penthouse, you walk inside and look around, still wearing your mask. You gasp quietly when you feel his strong hands on your hips, turning you around to face him. He slowly lifts his mask off and away from his face, his hazel eyes now glimmering with excitement. 

He’s so handsome, so beautiful and breathtaking. Hugh then reaches up to slowly lift the mask away from your face, eyes gazing directly into your own once he removes it completely. He feels his heart race faster again at the sight of you. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Hugh?” You ask, hand coming up to gently run along the lapel of his white suit jacket. 

“Yes, love?” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

Hugh nods and then leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. His hand moved to cup your cheek, fingers splaying against the side of your neck. Your own hands move to the lapels of his white suit jacket, gripping it lightly as you begin to move your lips with his own. You’ve imagined this so many times, but you never thought that it would feel this perfect. 

His free hand moves to rest on your hip, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your dress. Hugh darts his tongue out to tease your lips and when you let out a gasp, his tongue slides in your mouth to meet your own. The grip around his jacket tightens further and you feel a familiar throbbing between your legs, your wetness now staining the panties you have on. 

Hugh pulls away from the kiss momentarily to look down at you. You’ve occupied his mind since meeting you and the brief conversations you did share has always left him wondering if this could be more. He didn’t want to push this, push you, into something that wouldn’t become anything but the moment he knew it was you, Hugh realized he wanted you. Bad. 

He’s staring into your eyes, searching for any doubt in your features. Hugh drops his hand to rest on the side of your neck, thumb now brushing against your collarbone. “Tell me…” he sighs. “Tell me I’m not the only one that feels something here.” 

“You’re not,” you admit. “I’ve been– Since the night of the party, I kind of expected you to ask me out or…” you feel the heat in your cheeks rise and you bite your lower lip. “I thought maybe I had just imagined it.”

The hand on your hip moves to your back, fingertips grazing your skin as he dips it lower and lower beneath the fabric of your dress. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” he confesses. 

“I don’t think you ever could.” You move your hands up his chest and slowly undo his bow tie, biting your lower lip in anticipation. 

“And if we do this?” Hugh asks, hopefully. 

“Well, if we do this,” you say quietly, your fingers slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. “It’s not going to be just a one time thing… but if you want it to be a one time thing, then we should probably establish–”

Hugh shakes his head and interjects, “it’s not going to be a one time thing.” 

You smile up at him, your fingertips grazing the exposed skin on his chest as you continue to unbutton his shirt. “Good. Take me to your room?”

“Yes,” Hugh breathes out. He steps back and away from you, taking your hand in his and leading you to his main bedroom upstairs. You don’t even have time to look around, to get acquainted with his personal space that he allowed you to get a glimpse of because the moment you step inside, Hugh gently sets you on the edge of his large mattress. 

You watch him get rid of his bow tie and white jacket, discarding it on the floor. You’re about to reach down to remove your heels, but Hugh drops to his knees in front of you, taking one foot to slide the heel off. You clear your throat, hands resting on the edges of the mattress as Hugh proceeds to your other foot to remove your heel. Slowly, he lifts the ends of your dress to reveal more of your legs, his fingertips hovering lightly over you.

Once your dress bunches up at the waist and he gets a clear view of your matching red lace thong, he has to reach down to squeeze his throbbing erection. Hugh leans in and presses soft kisses on your inner thigh, the stubble of his beard and his sideburns grazing your skin and causing a shiver to run through your body. 

Hugh stares up at you, eyes silently asking for permission. When he sees you nod, Hugh moves further between your legs, his nose brushing against your clothed sex. It causes a gasp to escape your lips, eyes falling shut as nudges you with the bridge of his nose. 

“Hugh,” you whimper. “Please, baby…”

Hugh smirks and pulls away to look up at you. He stands up – albeit with protest from you – and takes your hand. Once you’re standing in front of him, he reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress and lowers it until the dress becomes loose around your frame. He feels your hands come back up to finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt and once it’s fully unbuttoned, you push it off his shoulders and the shirt drops to the floor. He’s now completely shirtless and your eyes deviate to his strong and chiseled chest. You lean in and gently nip along his collarbone, hands coming up to graze his abdomen and up his chest. 

Hugh lets out a quiet moan at your touch. Slowly, he takes your hands and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles before he reaches out to pull down your dress. Once it pools around your ankles, he feels his breath catch in his throat yet again. You’re standing in front of him in a deep red lace bra and matching thong set. 

“You’re breathtaking,” he compliments. “Fuck,” he adds. 

Hugh has always looked at you like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, has always given you his undivided attention, and right now is no different. You’d usually be very conscious about your body, about how you look, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel very confident and secure in your skin. 

“I think it’s only fair we take these off, huh?” You say, hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You can see his obvious bulge from beneath his slacks, can see the outline of him and you feel only slightly nervous because he looks big. At least, bigger than you’ve ever had before. 

Hugh nods and then undoes his pants, quickly stepping out of them as he kicks his shoes off. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and you slowly reach out to rest your palm over him, his girth and size not a match for your hand. You’re tugging on his boxers, tugging on the fabric to pull it away from him, but Hugh shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist instead. 

“Gotta see you first, baby,” he whispers, lips grazing your jawline. Then, Hugh sets you on the middle of his bed, biting his lower lip at the sight of you all splayed out for him. He quickly moves to settle himself between your legs, making sure to press himself against you. When he feels you roll your hips, Hugh lets out a groan. 

Hugh reaches around you and unclasps your bra, pulling it slowly away from your body. He tosses it over his shoulder, eyes moving to your now exposed breasts and he pushes further into you. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your thong, pulling it down your legs. “Gonna keep these,” he growls, bringing the fabric up to his nose and inhales your scent. 

You bite your lower lip and nod up at him, watching him set your panties on his nightstand. When you look back up at him, Hugh’s eyes scan every inch of your naked frame, almost like he’s committing it to memory. When he presses his clothed length against you, he feels your wetness stain the fabric of his briefs. 

Hugh slowly lowers himself further to press light kisses on your collarbone, lips moving further and further until he wraps his lips around your nipple. He groans to himself and uses his free hand to begin kneading your unattended breast. Hugh feels your hips continue to roll upwards into him and he’s throbbing so painfully beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs. He pulls back, flicking his tongue against your nipple before he moves to give the same attention to your other breast. 

“Oh god,” you whimper. Hugh smiles to himself and moves a hand between your legs, a finger slowly grazing your exposed sex. You’re already so wet, juices building and trickling down to his sheets. He slides the tip of his finger into your heat, growling against you as he feels your walls tighten around him, sucking him in. 

He slides his finger further into your heat, pulling away from your breast to look up at you. Hugh rests his forehead against your temple, whispering lowly in your ear. “You’re so wet, baby…” he smirks, nibbling at your earlobe as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your depths. 

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your walls begin to tremble. When Hugh pushes another digit into you, your back arches and your fingernails dig into his skin. “Hugh!” You moan loudly, your head tossing back slightly against the mattress as you feel your walls begin to clench around his digits, your orgasm approaching faster than what you’re used to. 

Hugh grins to himself and quickens his pace. He can feel your juices around his fingers, can hear the squelching sounds of his fingers pumping into your wet heat. After a few more pumps, Hugh presses his fingers fully into, palm firmly against your bundle of nerves. 

“Come for me,” he growls into your ear. 

And on command, your walls clench further around him and a loud moan escapes your lips. You roll your hips against his hand, his palm providing the right amount of friction against your clit. When you slowly come down from your high, Hugh then pulls his hand away from you. He sees your arousal coat his fingers and he grins, bringing it to his lips and sucking them off his fingers. His eyes flutter at your taste and he leans back against his knees. 

“God, you taste good.” Hugh’s about to lower himself to get a taste of you directly through the source, but his eyes slightly widen when you sit up and gently push him onto his back. “Baby,” he says softly, seeing the dark gaze in your eyes. Hugh feels your hands tug down his briefs, his erected manhood now resting against his lower abdomen. 

“You made me come,” you tell him, licking your lower lip. “Already,” you continue. 

“Oh, you’re gonna come a few more times tonight before I’m done with you,” Hugh grins proudly. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you lie on your abdomen and grasp the base of length, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around his tip. Hugh lets out a loud groan in surprise, hand coming down to tangle itself in your hair. You whimper at the taste of him, at his girth stretching your mouth. He lifts his head slightly off the bed to look down at you, groaning at the sight of you. You smile at him – fucking smile with his cock in your mouth and it makes him go wild. Hugh rests his head back against the mattress, eyes fully shut tight when he feels you lower your mouth further onto him. 

Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take and he knows that he can’t fucking come right now, knows that he doesn’t want to come in your mouth when he hasn’t even felt how you would feel wrapped around him. 

“Baby, baby, fuck,” he groans, gently pulling you away from his length. Hugh looks down at himself, seeing your saliva coating half of his size and when he looks up at you, you’re fucking smiling again. He rolls you onto your back and settles himself between your legs, grasping his base and running his tip along your throbbing sex. “As much as I loved the sight of you with my cock in your mouth,” he growls, eyes staring deeply into yours. “I still need to feel you.” 

Then, Hugh pushes his tip into you. He groans to himself, pushing his hips into you as he slides into your tight walls inch by inch. You’re so wet, so warm, so fucking tight. He rests his forearms at either side of your head, gently stroking your hair back and away from your face. He stares into your eyes, rolling his hips into you until he fills you to the hilt. 

“You feel good, baby,” Hugh whispers, lips brushing against yours. He feels your legs wrap around his waist, whimpering quietly as your eyes flutter when he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you slowly. “It’s taking a lot of restraint in me to not just…” he slams into you roughly, causing a loud moan to leave your lips. “Fuck.” 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moving your lips to his jawline and neck. “Fuck me, Hugh… I can take it. I promise.” 

Like a switch turned on, Hugh pulls back and sits back on his knees. He brings your legs to drape over his strong shoulders as he slides back into you. He turns his head and kisses the inside of your calf gently, softly, as he delivers a sharp thrust into you. 

Hugh’s thrusts don’t falter, his skin slaps against yours as he picks up the pace. When he leans forward, your legs still over his shoulders, you feel him slide further into your depths. He rests his hands on the mattress, using it to ground him as he feels your walls slide along his throbbing length, gripping him so tight. 

You can feel the tightness begin to build, your walls beginning to clench once more as your orgasm looms closer and closer. You reach out to rest your hands on his chest, feeling like you can’t handle anymore. Your body is overly sensitive and with each drag of his hips, with each push he thrusts into you, is enough for your walls to tighten even further around his length. 

“Oh god,” you moan aloud. “Hugh!” 

Hugh groans at the sight of you, at the feel of your walls clenching and trembling around him. He slows his thrusts for a moment, placing your legs back to your side as he stares down at you. “That’s two,” he grins proudly. Hugh pulls out completely, looking down at his length to see it slick with your arousal. 

“It’s not a game,” you pant, moving to sit up with your legs still spread wide for him. 

Hugh smirks, reaching down and stroking himself slowly as his eyes take in your entire frame. He’s surprised that he’s held out this long, driven by his desire to get you to come at least one more time before he does. 

“Really? Because I’m kind of enjoying myself, baby.” 

You narrow your eyes and then slowly roll yourself into your abdomen. You bury your face against the softness of his pillow as you bring the sheet to cover your lower half. “Good, well I’m gonna get some sleep. You can fix that little problem yourself.” You bite your lower lip, knowing that Hugh’s not going to like that. When you look over your shoulder at him, you can see his lower lip between his teeth and he tugs the sheet down and away from your body. 

“Oh, we wanna be a tease, huh?” Hugh straddles your hips, caging you in as he brings his hand lightly down your ass. The sound of his palm connecting with your backside echoes throughout his room. You gasp loudly, fully surprised that you actually like it. “We like that, do we?” Hugh smirks and then spanks you once more, feeling you wiggle back into him. “Oh, baby, you’re naughty.” 

Then, he slides into you fully, this new position making you feel even tighter around him. You reach back, trying to push him away – your walls so sensitive with two orgasms already. Hugh clicks his tongue and grabs your hands and places them above your head, gripping your wrists firmly. He rolls his hips into you, eyes fluttering at the feel of you around him. 

“Hugh, baby, please–”

Hugh interrupts you with a harsh thrust, resting his chest firmly against your back as he whispers into your ear. “Tell me how it feels, love,” he pants, a groan leaving his lips. 

“Feels good,” you whimper, pushing back against him. “You’re so–” your breath catches in your throat when he pushes all the way into you, filling you so fully and deeply. He’s crowding your space, holding your wrists down, the weight of his body weight firmly pressing against yours, and his tip kissing your most inner parts… it’s enough for you to reach yet another orgasm. 

“Fuck, Hugh!”

Hugh releases your wrists to grab your hips and pull out of you abruptly. He turns you over and leans down to lap at your juices, eyes fluttering at your taste as his tongue helps you ride out your climax. Your hand immediately moves to his hair – what was once neatly done for tonight’s event now is a complete mess as you tug and pull. 

Hugh brings a hand to press his thumb firmly against your clit, feeling your entire body tremble and shake against him. 

“Hugh!” you moan loudly, back arching. You’re truly spent and he’s still so fucking hard for you. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and gently slaps your already-sensitive pussy, which causes a gasp to escape your lips. You’re breathing so heavily, chest raising as you stare at him with a dazed look on your face. 

“Three?” He smirks. 

“How are you still…” you bite your lip and see him move to lie down next to you, his hand dropping down to slowly begin to stroke himself. “Don’t you want to come?” 

Hugh growls lowly, eyes looking at you from top to bottom. “I do,” he answers. “But seeing you come is just as good.” 

You take a few deep breaths and then slowly move to straddle his waist. You take hold of his base, holding it firm in your hand. You keep your eyes locked on his and slowly lower yourself onto him, feeling his girth stretch you out once more. You know you won’t be able to last long, your entire body already on overdrive. When you slowly begin to lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, it surprises you at how deep he feels in this position. Your walls slide down each inch of his length and when you lower yourself completely, until you’re sitting firmly on his lap, your hands move to rest on his chest.

“So deep,” you whisper, slowly rolling your hips forward and backwards, the hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction against your clit. “Now, it’s your turn to come– Hugh!” 

He delivers a sharp thrust upwards, hands moving to grip your hips tightly and his fingertips dig into your flesh. Hugh licks his lower lip, staring up at you as you try your best to hold out another orgasm just so he can come. It’s cute, very considerate, but he needs one more out of you. Hugh isn’t usually like this, but there’s something about you that brings out this feral animal in him. 

One hand moves to grasp your breast, massaging and kneading it into his palm as his other keeps a tight hold on your hip. Hugh lets out a loud moan when he feels you begin to bounce along his length – all the way to his tip and back down completely. He’s close, he’s surprised he’s even held out this long with coming, but he knows he’s close and he can’t hold it anymore. 

“Baby–” Hugh groans, thumb brushing against your nipple as he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist. You continue to move along his length, your own hands moving to rest on his shoulders. In the time that he’s known you, you’ve always been so determined, especially when you put your mind on something and right now is no different. 

He feels you lean in to press your lips against his own. It’s a messy kiss, but fueled with so much passion, so much intensity. Hugh feels the tightness build and build in the pit of his stomach as his hands hold you firmly still, his hips stuttering upwards into you at an erratic pace. 

“Oh god,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face against the side of your neck. Slowly, he feels your hips roll forwards and backwards, causing a shiver to run through his body. Hugh pulls back enough to look up at you and he sees that same fucking grin on your face. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he rolls you onto your back and slowly pulls out of you, seeing his release trickle out of you. 

He’s about to say something, but you interrupt him by reaching down to scoop some of his release onto your finger and lift it to your lips. Without hesitation, you suck the remnants of his release off your fingertip and maintain eye contact. 

“Minx,” he groans. 

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next few days,” you giggle. “I can’t believe you made me come three times.”

“Let’s aim for four next time,” Hugh grins.

“I don’t know if I can do four…” you laugh. 

“Oh, baby, I believe in you,” he winks and moves to hover above you again. Hugh’s hand comes up to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin lightly. “But before we do that, can I take you out on a real date?”

You nod and turn your head slightly to kiss the inside of his wrist. “Yes, Hugh.”

Hugh grins and then leans down to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[strawberryblondebutch]

If you are a visibly disenfranchised person in America (by race, gender, sexuality, physical ability, or any other definition) and are worried about violence carried out in the name of sycophants, I would strongly recommend arming yourselves.

Brass knuckles are not illegal at the federal level, although many states have their own laws. They work in two directions: the brass rings increase the injury you do onto someone else, while the palm grip redistributes the kickback so that you're less likely to break your own fingers. Kevlar gauntlets, like the ones I wear for motorcycling, help with the latter more than the former.

Switchblades are becoming increasingly legal on the state level thanks in large part to an EMT lobby -- carrying a collapsible blade is helpful when your job involves cutting people out of their seatbelts in vehicle collisions. They come in two types: side-loading and out-the-front. OTF is triggered faster in an emergency.

In both cases, remember that most things are only illegal if you get caught. The issue comes in states where the sale of brass knuckles or switchblades are illegal, which makes them harder to acquire. If you can find a way to send a care package via a reputable courier, you should have no problem transporting across state lines. (My OTF blade came to PA nestled between a pair of sneakers.)

Handguns are easy to purchase in just about any state. Check your state laws to see whether you need a permit and/or to register your firearm to conduct a sale, but unless you're a convicted felon, the process is fairly straightforward. Always hold a handgun with both hands and practice at the range until you're confident in your aim and your stance.

Long guns are not going to be particularly useful on the street. You're unlikely to get the distance from your target to maintain your accuracy. They're more useful for standing your ground on your own property.

Bows are my favorite weapon to handle, but I would not recommend them for protection. It takes years of practice to fire them accurately, and you need space both to draw back the string to your ear and to fire at a distance. Arrows need a certain amount of momentum behind them, snap shots don't really work. Entry-level bows are cheaper than entry-level guns and that's the only edge I will give them.

General advice:

Put spikes anywhere you don't want people grabbing. Wrists and shoulders are the most obvious places. Punks don't just wear them for decoration!

Slip-resistant boots help you hold your ground in a tussle, and most come with an additional benefit like a steel toe or impact-resistant material.

When aiming with brass knuckles or bare fists, aim for the nose and the cheekbone. Both break easily and cause a shockwave of immediate pain that will make your attacker retreat.

Aim for center mass when possible with any type of puncturing weapon. It's the biggest target with the most important organs.

If you are put in a headlock, the thigh has both sensitive nerves and the femoral artery, and it's probably the most available target to you.

Strangling someone might seem like the nicer option, but it's the most dangerous for you. You need at least 10 seconds to strangle to the point of unconsciousness, during which your hands are both occupied and you can't defend yourself as well. Always go for an immediate, painful injury that will disrupt your attacker's attention.

Any protection - body armor or weaponry - is better than no protection. My motorcycle armor was designed to keep me from breaking every bone in my body in a crash, but the way it redistributes bludgeoning force also helps against baseball bats and batons.

Most people are not as prepared to receive physical violence as they are to dole it out.

[androgynousbitsandpieces]

Translated Transcript for those who need it below! Fellow bilingual Germans, feel free to correct or improve my wording. Especially where I have a put a (?) I am not sure if this is the correct wording.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I have just requested the federal president to dismiss the federal minister of finance. [...] At noon, I once again presented the coalition partner from the FDP a comprehensive offer, with which we could close the gap in the federal budget without letting our country descend into chaos. An offer, to strengthen Germany in difficult times. An offer, that also picks up suggestions by the FDP. [...] However, once again I have to realize: The Federal Minister of Finance is not showing any willingness to implement this proposal in the federal government for the well-being of our country. I no longer want to expect our country to tolerate (?) this sort of behavior.

Dear fellow citizens, I would have preferred to spare you from this difficult decision. Especially in times like these, in which uncertainty is rising. [...] Someone who, in such circumstances, rejects a solution, a proposal of a compromise, they are acting irresponsibly. [...] Too often were the necessary compromises drowned out with publicly orchestrated arguments and loud ideological demands. Too often has federal minister Lindner blocked bills unrelatedly. Too often has he maneuvered narrow-minded and party-political. Too often has he broken my trust.

Even the agreement on the budget(?) he canceled one-sidedly, after we had already reached an agreement in long negotiations. There is no base of trust to continue working together. Thusly serious government work is not possible.

Someone who joins a government should act seriously and responsibly. They are not allowed to disappear into the bushes, when it gets difficult. They should be prepared to compromise in the interest of all citizens. Yet at the moment this is not Christian Lindners goal. He is focused on his own clientele. He is focused on the short-term surviving of his own political party. Especially today, one day after an important event like the election in America is such egoism completely incomprehensible. [...] Never ever should we let inner, outer and social security play against each other. That endangers our cohesion. In the long run that endangers our democracy.

Why am I saying this? Federal minister Lindner has ultimately and publicly requested a fundamentally different politics. Billions worth of tax cuts for a few top earners and at the same time pension cuts for all pensioners. That is not decent, that is not fair. Tax favors with the watering can(?) and as counter-financing a reach into the pockets of our cities and communes. Opting out of investments in the climate-friendly modernization of our country: That is also what Christian Lindner wants. This fuels uncertainty into our economy. And it squanders our chance to be near the front of future technologies. The USA, China and others aren't sleeping.

In a roundabout way Christian Lindner speaks of the lifting of efficiency reserves in our social insurance system.

However, behind this hides severe cuts in health and care, and less security when someone gets into distress.

That is disrespectful towards everyone who have worked hard for this security, towards everyone who pay tax and social contributions. [...]

How do we now proceed? Federal minister Lindner will be dismissed by the federal president. [...]

@legoyuri cause I saw you requested a translation

inject it into my bloodstream

[semperama]

I wrote this last night when I was trying to distract myself from...everything. Set in 3x15, post-well collapse.

----

Buck is bleeding.

It’s Eddie who notices. He pulls the oxygen mask Hen just put on him to the side and nods down at Buck’s lap where his hands dangle over his knees. “What happened there?”

“Eddie, don’t—” Hen starts to say as the ambulance jolts into motion, Chim up front at the wheel. But then she looks at Buck’s hands, and Buck looks down at them too, and he sees what they see—rusty crust of dried blood, some of it bright red and oozing sluggish, dripping between his feet. A few of the nails are cracked or half ripped away. Now that he’s looking, his fingers throb. The pain is dull and distant, but it’s there.

“Buck,” Hen says, half dismay, half resignation. She reaches, hesitates.

“I’m fine,” Eddie says. He’s talking to Hen, but he meets Buck’s gaze and holds it. “Go check him out.”

“No.” Buck fights the urge to put his hands behind his back, like that’ll make a difference. “It’s nothing. Just a few scrapes.”

But Hen already has the antiseptic in her hands, and she takes Buck by the wrist, pulls him closer and leans over him.

It stings. He hisses, flinches. An ache haunts the back of his throat, and he can’t tell if it’s from residual panic or from screaming Eddie’s name, sobbing in Bobby’s lap.

“What did you do?” Eddie says. He’s still so pale, and Buck wants to take his hand away from Hen so he can pull Eddie against him, rub color and life back into his limbs.

“This idiot thought he could dig his way to you with his bare hands,” Hen says.

It sound crazy when she says it like that, but it wasn’t crazy, it wasn’t. It was essential. If Bobby hadn’t pulled him away, he would have gotten to Eddie eventually. His heart would have stopped beating otherwise, so—it would have worked. He could have done it.

Eddie won’t stop staring at him. And it’s fine, because Buck doesn’t want to look away either, or to let Eddie out of his sight ever again. He isn’t—he wasn’t supposed to be on this ambulance, but he’d turned to Bobby and said, Shouldn’t someone stay with him? And Bobby had looked at him for a long time before nodding, Okay, go on, and Buck was climbing in behind Eddie before the words had even fully left his mouth.

“Buck,” Eddie says, admonishing, and that’s—Buck laughs, short and sharp.

“You cut your line.”

Eddie grins. It’s dim with exhaustion, but it’s still—it’s— “Please,” he says. “You’d have done the same.”

Would Eddie have done the same, if their places were reversed? Would he have clawed at the earth, if it was Buck down there? When he was swimming through all that water, that impossible distance, was he thinking—like Buck was thinking—about how it wasn’t supposed to end this way? There was still so much inside Buck, and he needed someplace to put it, and he knew, too late and with dozens of feet of mud between them, that Eddie was that place.

Does Eddie know? Should Buck tell him now?

He opens his mouth, but he thinks better of it when Hen reaches for his other hand. No, not now. “Maybe I would have,” he says instead, “but you’d have given me hell for it.”

Eddie nods minutely. His gaze feels like a weight, pinning Buck to the uncomfortable bench. “Yeah. I would have.”

Hen finishes wrapping Buck’s fingers in gauze just as they arrive at the hospital. Now that he’s thinking about it, the pain is more pronounced, his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips. He jumps out of the back, and holds a hand out to help Eddie down too, but Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy and levers himself carefully to the ground without Buck’s help. It’s—considerate of him, avoiding Buck’s injured hands, but Buck wants to touch him so bad he thinks he might start screaming again. He settles for putting a steadying hand on Eddie’s shoulder when his feet hit the ground.

It hurts when he squeezes. He squeezes harder, until Eddie pats the small of his back and says, “I’m good.”

A nurse leads Eddie back to check him out. Hen and Chim head back to the station; they need to get the ambulance back, do their paperwork, help Bobby wrap up their shift, but they both hug Buck on the way out and tell him to call if anything comes up.

This is just a precaution, really—check Eddie’s lungs, check for hypothermia, get him painkillers for how sore he’ll be in the morning. Still, Buck stares at the doors that lead back to the exam rooms and doesn’t look away, hardly blinks. He wonders what the distance is between them now. If it’s more or less than the distance from the surface of the earth to the place where Eddie was buried alive.

At some point, Bobby comes, presses the keys to Buck’s Jeep into his hand and tells him they dropped it off in the parking lot, then leaves again. Buck must have spoken to him, but he doesn’t know what he said.

It’s fine. Eddie is fine, and Buck should be embarrassed that he still can’t draw a full breath. In, out, he tells himself. In, out, until the doors swing open and Eddie is there again, some color in his cheeks, smiling.

Buck gets to his feet, but he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They hurt more now, waves of pain pulsing up his arms. He wants to reach out.

Eddie’s close. One foot away. Less. No earth between them.

Buck could touch him. Buck wants to touch him. But Eddie beats him to it. His hand lands on the back of Buck’s neck, and Buck is so relieved, his knees nearly give out.

“Home?” Eddie asks. And—he’s asking for Buck to take him there, but there’s something in the way he says it, something in his eyes and the way they’re locked on Buck’s. He could mean something else. Yeah, you are, Buck wants to say.

“Home,” he says instead.

Eddie’s palm lingers on his neck. Buck’s own hands throb. He flexes them, takes comfort in the ache. He doesn’t have to dig anymore, right? He doesn’t have to dig.

[yasmindifference]

8 (my birthday is the 8!)

The night is unseasonably warm, barely even cool enough for long sleeves. As such, the suit jacket Jason drapes around Tim's shoulders five minutes into their walk nearly makes him roll his eyes.

He channels his reaction into a girlish giggle instead, then has to swallow a more sincere laugh when he sees how the high-pitched sound nearly cracks Jason's mask.

"You're soooo chivalrous," Tim says, unable to resist pushing that little bit further. His Valley girl impersonation puts a twitch in Jason's eye every time. "Like, swoon."

Jason wraps an arm around Tim's waist--probably solely to disguise the sharp pinch he delivers to Tim's side--and smiles down at him.

"You deserve it, baby," he says, in the same smarmy tone he's been using all night.

It makes Tim want to punch him, a reaction he's sure Jason's eliciting on purpose--after all, he's been doing the same thing with his own Valley girl impersonation.

...It's possible he and Jason aren't taking this mission as seriously as they should be.

Oh well.

In retaliation for the pinch, Tim fakes a stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and drives his elbow into Jason's gut, earning a faint oof he wants to smile over.

Instead, he puts his hands to his face in exaggerated dismay.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy," he says mournfully. "It's so embarrassing..."

Jason brushes his hair (or rather, his wig) out of his face and twists his ear painfully in the process; Tim applies his stiletto heel to the toe of Jason's left shoe.

"You're not clumsy, baby, it's just those shoes," Jason says, voice a little tight--with pain or annoyance? Tim can't tell. "You want me to go get the car?"

"No, no," Tim says, "it's such a nice night--just look at those stars!"

He tips his head back and gazes dreamily at the sky which, being in Gotham, shows not a single star.

"They're so beautiful," he says happily.

"Not as beautiful as you," Jason says, with such smarmy passion that Tim barely remembers to hide the laugh he can't help behind a cough.

"Oh, pookie bear," he says--

--and finally, Jason breaks.

He lets go of Tim's waist to brace his hands against his knees as he cackles, choking out "fucking hell" and "pookie" as he struggles to catch his breath.

Tim just smiles and enjoys the victory.

"Okay," Jason says once he catches his breath, "holy shit, you win. How the fuck did you say that with a straight face?"

"Practice," Tim says dryly. "You play the tough guy too often. You should branch out more, broaden your range. Then you won't be so easy to shake."

Jason gives him a flat look and, straightening to his full height, spreads his arms in a silent invitation to look at him. Admittedly, Jason's height and bulk do make him less than ideal for the kinds of covers Tim prefers.

Tim was bullshitting anyway--Jason might default to tough guy, but he's entirely capable of more versatile covers. And he really wasn't that easy to shake; Tim was kind of expecting to break him when he showed up in a dress, stilettos, and wig without warning. Instead, he lasted all through dinner and a ways into their walk.

"Okay, you lasted a lot longer than I expected," he admits.

Jason smirks. "Admit it, I almost got you at dinner."

It's true that Tim came extremely close to breaking when Jason spoke over and ordered for him at the restaurant. Tim actually didn't get to say a single word to their waitress--not even thank you.

"You almost got a plate dumped in your lap," he corrects. Now that they've given up the covers, he shrugs out of Jason's jacket and hands it back. "I could see Ashley thinking about it every time you cut me off."

"Yeah, that was a close one," Jason agrees. "I doubled my usual tip in thanks for her restraint."

Tim nods in approval. "But yeah, admittedly I was not expecting you to go the--"

"Hello?" Dick's voice breaks in, thick with annoyance and a little too loud over the comms. "Did you guys forget that you have a job to do? This does not sound like an undercover conversation!"

Tim and Jason trade eyerolls.

"Good catch, Dickiebird," Jason says. "We are not in fact undercover."

"Excuse me?"

"Dick," Tim says with extreme patience, "Damian is a trained vigilante. He absolutely does not need us as backup on his first date."

Dick gasps in offense. "We agreed--"

"No, we agreed," Jason corrects.

"Yeah, we agreed your mother-henning was out of control," Tim says. "We tipped off Damian last night so he could change his reservation."

"And got Babs to find something to distract you with so you couldn't come follow him yourself," Jason adds.

Dick splutters.

"Take a deep breath," Tim suggests.

"Chill the fuck out," is Jason's less gentle contribution. "Anyway, we're done for the night. You should call it, too--maybe work on remembering the kid is sixteen and not six."

"Harsh but fair," Tim agrees thoughtfully. "Night, Dick!"

Dick is still spluttering when Tim pulls out his comm.

"How much do I owe you for dinner?" he asks Jason.

Jason shrugs and slings his jacket over one shoulder. "Buy me ice cream, we'll call it even."

"Deal," Tim says.

Because he, unlike Damian, is no longer a teenager, he doesn't ask if going for ice cream constitutes a real date.

He can't stop himself from wondering, though.

Happy early birthday, anon!!! In celebration, this got very long lmao. Prompt #8 was two characters on a nighttime stroll! I hope you enjoyed! ♡♡

[stwrrybwrry]

I wonder what Megumi would be like if he had a crush...💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Megumi! Who watches you from afar, his eyes lingering on the way you smile at others, the kindness you effortlessly give, and the way you brighten any room. His heart races in a way he doesn't understand, but instead of admitting it, he’s harsh with his words, pushing you away. He tells himself it’s because you’re annoying, that you don’t deserve his attention, but deep down, he’s terrified of what it means to care so much about you.

Megumi! Who mocks the way you laugh, not because he dislikes it, but because he doesn’t know how else to react. Every time you speak to him, there’s a flutter in his chest, and it’s something he can’t explain. The more you try to be friendly, the more he shuts you out, hiding behind a cold exterior. Megumi doesn’t realize that every rude comment, every careless remark, only draws you further away, leaving him with a pit of regret he can’t face.

Megumi! Who feels conflicted when he sees you with others, laughing and talking with ease. He wonders why it feels so different when you look at him, and that small, bitter jealousy eats at him. Instead of confronting it, he makes sure to act indifferent, like it doesn’t bother him. But inside, it cuts deep. He wants to be the one you smile at, the one you trust, but he’s too proud to admit it, so he stays silent.

Megumi! Who every time you come to him with a question or a need, he gives you an answer, but it's never kind. It’s as if being rude is the only way he knows how to protect himself. He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that are slowly overwhelming him—feelings that come when you’re close, when you speak softly to him, or when you offer him a rare, genuine smile. He wants to open up, but his pride keeps him locked in silence.

Megumi! Who watches you from the corner of his eye as you interact with others, wishing he could be the one to make you laugh, to be the one you seek out. But when he catches your gaze, he turns away, hiding the uncertainty in his eyes. He convinces himself he’s just trying to keep things normal, that being cold is the best way to handle it, but every time you walk away from him, a part of him regrets it. He doesn’t know how to fix it, and that makes him even colder.

Megumi! Who notices you begin to pull away from him, sensing the distance he’s been putting between you. But when you laugh with someone else, Megumi feels a sharp pang in his chest, the jealousy taking root deep within him. He wants to speak up, to tell you how he feels, but the words never come. Instead, he watches you, helpless, as you move further away. The realization that he could lose you crushes him, but he’s too late.

Megumi! Who sees you laughing with someone else. It’s clear that they mean more to you, and for the first time, he feels the weight of his silence. He had never realized how much he depended on your presence, how much he wanted your attention and love until it was slipping through his fingers. Megumi finally understood—he has feelings for you, deep, unspoken feelings. But as you walk away, happy with someone else, he knows it’s his fault. He should have said something, but now it’s too late. As you faded further away from him, Megumi felt the crushing weight of regret—he had let you slip through his fingers, and now, he'd never get the chance to make you see how much you truly meant to him.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

[shizuturnspages]

UR NEWEST POST ABOUT BREAKING UP WITH DILUC??AHBAJWJSJSNSB YESS. Its pure perfection. I have nothing else to say. What happens after his darling wakes up tho?

I'm so happy you liked it <3

After his darling wakes up, this is what might happen:

The world comes back in hazy fragments: a dull ache throbbing in the back of your head, the sensation of rough, unyielding fabric against your wrists, the muffled sound of crackling embers nearby. You blink, slowly coming to, the dim light casting a warm glow that feels strangely… comforting. But then, as the fog clears, a new feeling settles in—a sharp jolt of realization, of panic. Your wrists are bound.

Eyes flying open, you see the familiar walls of what must be a room within Dawn Winery, the deep red decor and soft flicker of candlelight unmistakably Diluc’s style. It’s not your room, though; this is somewhere tucked away, a space meant to stay hidden, secluded from prying eyes. You strain against the ropes, the roughness biting into your skin as you test your limits, only to find them hopelessly secure.

A soft rustling pulls your attention. Across the room, a shadow stirs, and out of the darkness, Diluc steps forward, a subtle, intense smile lingering on his lips. There’s a warmth in his eyes, but it’s a smouldering warmth—possessive, unyielding, and somehow all the more terrifying for it.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. He crosses the room, his steady gaze never leaving yours. In his hand, he holds a small cloth—a fresh one this time, free from the faint scent that lingered the last time he put you under. “I was starting to think you’d sleep forever.”

You shift, straining against your restraints, but his eyes flick to your wrists, a frown creasing his brow. “Careful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Those ropes weren’t meant to hurt you, but if you struggle like that, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

The words should sound like a warning, but in his low, velvety tone, they’re almost soothing. He reaches out, fingertips brushing over your wrist as if to reassure you, his touch lingering just a bit too long.

“Diluc,” you whisper, voice hoarse from disuse and tension. “What… what are you doing? This isn’t—”

He cuts you off with a gentle finger pressed against your lips, his gaze darkening slightly as he tilts his head. “Shh… I’m only doing what’s necessary. You kept talking about leaving, and I… I can’t allow that. I won’t lose you.” His voice dips, the determination behind it like a steel blade wrapped in silk. “You belong here, with me. Don’t you understand that?”

He moves closer, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been restless,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the side of your face. “But I can give you everything you need, right here. There’s no need for you to go anywhere else.”

A rush of fear runs through you, but there’s an undeniable tension in the air as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth radiating off him, the rough timbre of his voice—it sends a confusing, almost dizzying sensation down your spine. And somehow, despite everything, there’s a part of you that finds it difficult to look away.

“What are you… going to do with me?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though it comes out barely a whisper. His gaze flickers over your face, studying you, as if weighing every word, every breath.

Diluc’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s nothing comforting in it. “I’m going to take care of you,” he replies, his voice so sure, so unwavering. “You won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll keep you safe, away from anyone else who might try to take you from me.”

He leans in, the warmth of his breath brushing over your cheek as he speaks. “I’d go to any length for you. Don’t you see that?” His voice is barely a whisper, yet it sends a shiver down your spine, his words laced with an intensity that’s as thrilling as it is frightening.

As he pulls back slightly, his hand slides to your shoulder, lingering there as his thumb brushes gentle circles over your skin. The gesture is almost tender, yet his grip is unyielding, a silent reminder that he’s in control.

“You’ve always been so stubborn,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I think, deep down, you know this is where you belong. Here, with me.” His gaze drops to your lips, lingering there for a beat too long before he looks back into your eyes, his expression unreadable.

In that moment, you realize there’s no reasoning with him, no convincing him otherwise. He’s made up his mind, his devotion twisted into something unrecognizable, something possessive and consuming. And as much as you want to deny it, there’s a part of you that’s captivated by his intensity, by the way he looks at you as if you’re the only thing in his world.

With a soft sigh, he reaches out, tracing his fingers along your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. “You’ve driven me to this, you know,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, as if he’s confessing a dark, shameful secret. “You kept pushing me away, kept trying to leave. And I… I can’t let that happen.”

His hand drifts to your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering determination. “I’ve given you everything,” he says softly, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. “And yet… it was never enough, was it?”

“Diluc, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t—”

But he shakes his head, cutting you off with a sad, almost wistful smile. “I know you’re afraid,” he says, his fingers brushing over your skin in a tender, almost reverent touch. “But in time, you’ll see that this is for the best. You’ll come to understand… even if I have to keep you here forever.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering there as his eyes darken, a hunger flickering in their depths that sends a shiver through you. He leans in, his face so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips barely a whisper away from yours. “One day,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “You’ll thank me for this. You’ll see that no one else could ever care for you the way I do.”

With that, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It’s a gesture that would have once been comforting, reassuring—but now, it only serves as a chilling reminder of the depth of his obsession, of the lengths he’s willing to go to keep you by his side.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a soft, possessive murmur. “And no one else will ever have you.”

And as he pulls back, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, you realize with a sinking feeling that he means every word. In his twisted, unwavering devotion, he’s claimed you as his own, bound you to him in a way that goes beyond reason or sanity. And as you look into his eyes, you know that there’s no escape from the hold he has over you—a hold that’s as fierce and unbreakable as the man himself.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obsolete

cw: nsfw themes/implications, abuse, manipulation, fear, brief emeto mention, choking. (this chapter can be skipped without losing out on plot, it's a bit heavy)

previous // T$$ Masterlist

~ ~ ~

Sahota slouches on the bed, both feet planted firmly on the tile floor as if that’s enough to keep him tethered, keep his thoughts from drifting too far. He holds the gag in both hands, turning it over and over and over, watching the metal sections that make up most of its structure catch the light. 

He doesn't know long Harbor had been there when he arrived, already shaking from the stress on his body, tension to his shoulders and core brought on by the heavy leather cuffs that secured him to the foot of the bed.

He'd tried to pull away when Sahota knelt to remove the gag.

“F-fuck off.”

“This isn't what you want, Harbor.”

“It's what Vic wants.”

He'd cursed and insulted and tried to elicit a reaction that wasn't get out from him, but in the end he'd left.

“You're jealous,” he'd spat as Sahota closed the door behind him. There was something desperate in his tone, like he hoped if he said it with enough fervor he'd believe it, like he wished a rivalry was the only thing to worry about.

Like he was willing to thrust his hand into a fire just to feel the warmth. 

“You're just fucking jealous.”

He isn't. Is he? Jealous is too simple a way of putting it. He wants Vic's gaze to linger on him the way it does Harbor, he wants the idle touches as they pass in the hall, the I'm proud of you's and I know you can do it's.

He needs his attention as much as he loathes it.

Shouldn't he be grateful his master's lust is being directed elsewhere? 

Doesn't it mean he isn't enough anymore? What then? If Vic is finally tired of him, what does that mean? Will he be thrown out, abandoned? Or will he become another loose end that needs to be tied up?

It felt like that during their mock interrogation. It's been months since he's seen Vic that angry, much less at him, he's been far too careful for that. He never should've tried, never should've given the others the hope that they could take an alternate path. He's the reason they're trying to salvage control, he's the reason Vic’s tightening his fist around them.

If he hadn't gone behind his back with the challenge, would they have been allowed to to go after Manak?

Would Manak even be lost in the first place?

Sahota can't fight a grimace. He's learned this lesson a thousand times over already; he should know better. 

You can't say no to Vic.

He knows that, knows the consequences, and yet here he is. He can only hope it won't be Harbor that suffers for it.

The handle turns. Sahota half expects it to be the belligerent trainee, back with more choice words and arguments. When the door reveals Vic, a part of him wants to curl up and hide, reduced once again to a terrified kid who should fucking know better.

He wants to shrink under Vic’s gaze as they meet eyes, silence drawing out between them, but he doesn’t, instead stiffening his spine against the fear that curdles in his stomach, instead daring to open his mouth.

“How long would you have left him here?” A safe enough place to start. Not an accusation, He lets his hands fall into his lap, the gag still held between them. 

Vic leans against the doorframe, arms crossing his chest. “Would've been going on six hours now, if you hadn't cut him loose.”

“Six hours,” Sahota repeats flatly.

“I've kept you for thrice that.”

“He isn't me.”

“And you hate that, don't you?” He pushes himself up from the wall, moving into the room, closing in. “Why? I know you don't care for him.”

Because Vic always knows everything, because Sahota can never hide things from him. He doesn’t care for Harbor. He doesn’t let himself care for anyone these days. Still, under the envy and the fear there’s a stark horror at the thought that someone else will take his place, will suffer as Vic's plaything, will render him pointless.

“Am I not enough for you?” he says.

Vic clicks his tongue, cupping Sahota’s cheek with a warm hand. “Is that what you're afraid of, little spy? Being replaced?”

Yes. No. “Why do you want him?”

“He's a flashy thing. Caught my eye.” Vic chuckles. “So desperate for any human interaction he'd disembowel himself for a pat on the head.”

Is that what it comes down to? Another person for Vic to hurt, another body in his control. He shakes his head. “Vic—”

He's silenced with a kiss. There's something foreign in it. A new excitement, amusement that he cares about this, that he's scared.

“He won't replace you. He'd make a good dog though, don't you think?” He nuzzles into Sahota's neck. “Once you warm up to the idea, maybe I'll even let you play with him.”

Sahota jerks away, a breath lodging in his throat. He couldn't, he couldn’t. The idea of Vic dragging Harbor into this stings enough. The thought of playing along—of holding the younger man down, hurting him, controlling him—is too much to hold. He wants to throw up.

“Is that a no?”

“Whatever you want to do to him, you know I can take,” Sahota says, his voice low and insistent. He’s nearly pleading. He doesn’t know why he’s pleading for this.

It should feel good, shouldn't it? To know he may never again take the brunt of Vic's affections, to be elevated to a place of control.

It doesn't. It burns like bile.

“I know.” Vic’s hand strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip. “When's the last time you cried for me?” It seems more a musing than a question he wants answered, but even if it were, Sahota doesn’t think he can speak to it.

He can’t remember the last time himself.

No, that's not true. Just days ago, he was crying, but not for Vic. It feels like such a potent secret he’s nearly purged it from his mind, and now he's afraid his master will see it on his face, the weakness he dared to show to these outsiders.

Ander, my name is Ander.

His own words echo back to him in a way that makes him shudder. By some stroke of luck, Vic doesn't notice, his eyes on the gag in Sahota's lap.

His hand falls away from his face, and he fixes him with a searching gaze. “Are you afraid he makes you obsolete?”

Sahota drops his eyes. “I… Yes.” It seems too simple an answer, but it’s the easiest explanation. One that might satisfy Vic.

“And you’d prefer it if I left him alone?” He tips his chin up with a finger. “If it stays just you and me?”

“Yes.” His answer is quieter this time. Vic hmms, and the silence seems to stretch for a long moment, every wordless breath drawing more fear into Sahota, pulling tension into his body. Then, Vic suddenly pushes him back onto the mattress, one hand curling in his hair, the other cupping his chin as he kisses him, hot and fierce. Sahota returns the kiss until he’s breathless.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeys without much thought. It’s been a while since Vic’s tied him up for this. Months, at least. Silky rope winds around his wrists, and then he’s rolled onto his back, heart hammering with anticipation. There’s fear there too, but he tries to shove it down. Isn’t this what he wants? Isn’t this what he just begged for?

He opens his mouth to say something, but Vic’s hands shoot out, locking around his throat, squeezing, cutting off air. Panic floods through him, but he has Vic's touch memorized. His body knows not to respond, to take it, no matter how much his mind wants to rebel.

“What if I did want to replace you, Ander?”

Sahota’s eyes widen at the words, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. His body spasms from the lack of air, heels digging into the mattress, but Vic doesn't let up.

“What if I am tired of you, hm? What can you do about it?”

His wrists burn, the rope digging into them as his arms shake involuntarily, reaching to remove the pressure. No… No, he can’t mean it, Vic can’t mean it, he’s his. He’s been his for twelve years, he can’t just be replaced, he can’t just let the fucking cycle start all over again. Tears sting his eyes but refuse to shed, his mouth opening wide, making soundless pleas.

It can’t end this way, it can’t end this way, Vic, sir, Shepard, please—

“You are everything I made you. Without me, you'd be nothing. If I want someone new, you'd better just be fucking grateful you still have a seat at the table.”

His lungs burn, body shuddering, vision blackening at the corners, closing in—

—And then Vic’s hands relax, slipping away from his throat. The spy gasps for breath, rolling onto his side and curling his knees in, unsure whether he’s shaking from the lack of air or the sheer fear, the knowledge that Vic could’ve done it, would've done it. He would’ve done it and not even batted an eye.

He's not allowed to hold the thought for long before Vic seizes him by the hair, jerking him into a half-sitting position, his face stony and empty when the spy looks up at him through blurring vision.

Something almost like satisfaction crosses his master’s face.

“There's the tears.”

~

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden ,

@snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes ,

@clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000 , @neverthelass

[sokoneedsagun]

Let’s talk about “replacement”

If you’ve been in the dc fandom for longer than maybe a week, you’ve probably seen it before. It’s present in fanfics, tumblr posts, role plays, and fanart. On the off chance that you somehow don’t know about it, “replacement” is a sort of nickname often used for Tim Drake by Jason Todd

This post is going to be cut, I’m going to leave the explanation out but there should be two other sections under it as well

Where did it come from?

There are two possible places that the use of it came from

The first is from a Batman comic series from 2002 called “hush” and I’ll spare you most spoilers about the comic but the part of it that’s important to this conversation has to do with Bruce, Jason, Tim, Selina, and Clayface

While catwoman is fighting huntress (Helena Bertanelli) who is currently drugged by poison ivy, Bruce is worried that Helena is going to force Selina to kill her so he tells Tim (who is Robin at the time) to stay where is and look for someone

Before Bruce can tell him who he’s looking for a figure appears behind Tim and says he’s the one they’re looking for, before hitting Tim and calling him “pretender”

When Bruce finds Tim he’s being held at knifepoint by “Jason” who begins lashing out and then fighting Bruce. Eventually he melts in the rain and is shown to be only made out of clay, and the real Jason Todd is still dead.

The important thing about this, is that Jason never called Tim “pretender,” he never held Tim at knifepoint point (if you ever see anything about Jason “slitting Tim’s throat” that’s where it’s from, Tim was fine all he needed was a bandage), all of it was done by Clayface who was mimicking Dick Graysons movements and using what he knew about Jason to manipulate Bruce.

As to where “replacement” specifically came from, the only time I’ve ever heard about its origin was in a TikTok where the person who made the video said it came from a fanfic (which is very likely true), in the comics Jason has never called Tim by that name

Why does the nickname not make sense?

The nickname doesn’t make sense because if anyone would be a pretender or replacement, it’s Jason. Jason Todd is one of the original robins but he isn’t the original Robin. That title will always belong to DIck Grayson.

And in brining up something like this you have to acknowledge the origins of the moniker in the first place. The name “Robin” came from a nickname that Mary Grayson had for her son, I’m fairly sure the original reasoning was because he was born in the early spring. The reason DIck chose to go by Robin is because the name was important to him, it let him feel closer to his late mother, similarly to how the original Robin costume is based on his flying Grayson’s outfit.

But when Dick was 17 or 18 he was shot in the shoulder by the joker, and Bruce tells him that he can’t keep risking his life as Robin, so he fires him. Dick moves out to Blüdhaven, starts working almost solely with the teen titans, and gets a new moniker (nightwing) given to him by Superman.

And then Bruce adopts Jason, and he gives him Dick’s name and uniform, putting a new child in the way of harm. And yes, Jason did make Robin his own but it was not his, he would have no right to put a claim over the name.

Why does any of this matter?

In short, it doesn’t. There is nothing inherently wrong with writing Jason using the term but in my opinion for their relationship, it just dosen’t make sense.

In the comics Jason has a complicated relationship with everyone in the batfamily, he’s grappling with coming back to life and trying to find a place for himself while also working through his own grief and anger

When you read comics though, when they’re together they often work well together and even hang out a few times, there’s one panel where Jason is trying to take tim out to get a drink (underage drinking is bad don’t do it/lh), and they have a fairly normal sibling dynamic with each other

Which is why I don’t understand where the concept of all the hate and resentment came from in the fandom, I’m genuinely curious as to know why it’s so prominent everywhere

[thezombieprostitute]

Sending you good vibes. ✨

And this man.

You know, I've never written for this giant of a man.

A/N: I do not speak German. I'm pulling a few things from this post and The Little Book of Foreign Swear Words by Sid Finch.

A/N2: Tall reader. Also, for context, König is almost 7' tall.

Warnings: Bad German. Please let me know if I missed any.

Working customer service was a sure way to get you to dream of running away to the middle of nowhere and never interacting with people again. And it's not just the customers, either. If you have to hear your manager bitch about "kids these days" one more time you're gonna start throwing things.

You swear your manager, Lance, gets a kick out of making you, the tallest employee, restock the lowest shelves. For a guy who seemed so confident in himself he sure felt the need to put others down for his own ego. He even chuckles to himself as he walks by and you're bent down for those bottom shelves.

With your knees not able to take much more, you let yourself stand up for a breather. You're startled by a "Scheisse!" On the other side of the cart you were unloading is a veritable giant of a man with grey blue eyes. He looked just as surprised to see you as you were him.

"Tut mir leid," he says. "I...I didn't see you."

"I um...I was pretty well hidden," you stutter. You're so caught off guard by the handsome man you have to look up to that it takes you a few seconds to regain your professionalism. "Um, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, nein," he shakes his head. "Just trying to find some beer. Good stuff that doesn't uh...schmeckt nicht nach Pisse."

"Well, let me go ahead and get this cart out of your way then so you can see all of the options."

"Danke." He almost sounds relieved that you took the initiative and he didn't have to ask. Considering he immediately goes for the beer that your cart was blocking you get the feeling he was looking at it for some time. You wouldn't be surprised if he tended to feel awkward, socially at least. You know what it's like to be too tall for your own good.

Of course that's the moment Lance decides to check up on your progress. He's already upset at seeing you standing at full height, but with the giant standing next to you, he apparently feels the need to metaphorically swing his dick around.

"What the hell, Giganto? You get too tired of being on your knees? That cart needs to be emptied. You're way behind!"

"Mr. Tucker, there's a customer," you warn.

"What is he your cousin or something? Probably can't find anyone big enough to put you in your place unless you're related to them, damn inbred---"

He's cut off by the giant customer grabbing his neck.

"Dein Schwanz ist so klein, dass es 'ne Maus nicht merkt, wenn du sie fickst."

As much as you don't want to stop him, the customer is assaulting someone. "Sir, I really appreciate your help, but I don't want to have to call the police."

He lets go of Lance, "you are right, Häsechen. He is not worth the police visit." He reaches into his pocket and writes something on a piece of paper before handing it to you. "Should you seek...different employment, give a call. KorTac is hiring and someone as...patient, smart as you could do well."

You smile as you take the paper from him. Given the glares Lance is giving you, you'll likely need to call by the end of the day. You hope you'll get to see him again. Looking at the paper he gave you it has the number followed by "KorTac. König"

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[austinramsaygames]

Put an opera in your campaign!

Put an opera in your TTRPG and make a reason why the player characters MUST attend. There are many reasons to do this!

It's fancy so the PCs have to come up with formal wear that their characters would bring to the opera (this is one reason it should be an opera). Let them wear whatever weird shit they want so long as their character LEGITIMATELY believes the outfit is appropriate. Let them get Met Gala with it. Other guests may stare and make snide remarks, but the staff should only offer token resistance if the outfit interferes with the performance or audience, or is dangerous to the people around them.

It forces the PCs into a social situation they may not have the mechanical skills for. Fish out of water stories are lots of fun, especially during the intermission when they have a chance to mingle with the NPCs. Make part of their task at the opera to get to know the wealthy folks in the audience, either generally or specific ones. Even better if they have to get *something* from them (political support, a specific item, information, etc). If things seem to be stalling, here are two tricks to help keep things flowing: a) have someone powerful pointedly insult the most hot headed PC in a very upper class manner. Comments about their outfit and upbringing are classics. This heats things back up as the hot head tries to get violent while the other PCs try to keep the peace, and can lead to a duel the next morning when the dilettante turns out to be a renowned duelist. b) once things have completely stalled or if you need to cut things short (in or out of character), have the intermission end and the audience called back into the auditorium. This can be used as a cliffhanger for whatever was about to happen!

The opera house can be a very interesting location! There's the lobby, auditorium, and possibly concessions, but if the PCs start going where they shouldn't, there's a lot of behind (and under) the scenes spaces for them to explore. Do they go to the changing room and harass (or even replace!) the actors? Maybe they go to the props department and replace a stage knife with a real one! There could be a weirdo living in the basement who is obsessed with the lead actress and plans to kidnap (or rescue?) her. There are all kinds of interesting spaces for plots to happen!

The opera itself is an opportunity to tell the players about the past, present, or even future! What is the plot of the opera? This is key information! The opera will be telling a story that is important to the majority of the audience. It could be about the past of the nation (mythical or historical). Maybe it's about events the PCs witnessed themselves but told from a different point of view than theirs and this might be unflattering towards them or those they care about. You can even foreshadow future plot points by having the play be a fiction that thematically or narratively parallels later parts (or even the next) of the story arc. If there's a great evil that's going to return, you can combine the past AND the future by describing the terrors of the "defeated" evil, then later show those signs happening as hints that the evil returns!

There are some great examples of how an opera (or play if you must) can be inserted into a story to great effect. The Ember Island Players episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender recaps the entire show from the perspective of the antagonist Fire Nation.

Final Fantasy 6 has a famous opera scene where one of the heroes has to replace an actress who has been threatened with being kidnapped by the mysterious man whose help they need! The hero must then remember her lines while the rest of the party protects the show from getting derailed by monsters.

These are just a few ways that you can use an opera in your TTRPG campaign and I highly recommend giving it a whirl!

[lkfarrout]

HR (Stan x fem!Reader)

Summary: you decide to give your boss a little scare

Warnings: playful flirting, nothing overtly sexual

"Did you see what Stan was wearing yesterday? That open collar..."

"Ew! He's like my grandpa. Why would you even say that?" Wendy made a fake gagging sound. You enjoyed having her as a coworker, despite sometimes forgetting she was nearly ten years younger than you.

You'd started working at the Mystery Shack in the spring, while Wendy was still in school, and when summer began, you were grateful to finally have someone to talk to when things were slow in the giftshop. Her and Dipper even invited you onto the roof occasionally. It was nice to have someone to confide in about your crush, too, even if she pretended it was super gross.

"Why don't you ask him out already? He'll say yes, I mean he stares at you constantly." She was right - the world's darkest pair of sunglasses couldn't hide Stan's obvious gaze over your figure as you stocked the shelves every day. Not to mention calling you "doll" any chance he got. But until now, you'd pretended to be blissfully unaware, biding your time patietly.

"Oh, I will," you assurred Wendy, "but I'm gonna give him hell first. I got a plan, just wait."

---

"Yeah, and when you're done with that, there's a leak in the roof you can look at." Stan's gruff voice rang out through the gift shop as he and Soos entered.

"On it, boss," Soos saluted Stan before approaching the checkout desk, "What's up dudes?"

"Hey Soos," you pretended not to notice Stan behind him, "do you know who's in charge of HR here? Is it you?" You felt a little bad roping the ever-innocent Soos into your mischief, but the suddenly panicked look on Stan's face was worth it.

Soos began to repond, "Gee, I guess I've been here the longest, so--"

Stan cut him off, nudging Soos to the side and placing his palms on the counter. He leaned close and said, "You're lookin' at HR." He squinted his eyes suspiciously, "Why d'ya ask?"

"Oh its nothing, just" you put on your best poker face and shrugged, "maybe I need to report some inappropriate behavior."

Wendy hid her face in her comic book to stop herself from laughing, but poor Soos looked very concerned. You prayed Wendy had the heart to explain the ruse to him once you and Stan were out of the room. At your words, Stan just sighed and gestered toward his office.

Once inside, he removed his fez, sat on the edge of the desk, and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "Look, doll, I'll be straight with you. You do good work, but Wendy 'n Soos have been here a whole lot longer and I have a hard time believing either of them would--"

"My issue isn't with them." You crossed your arms and he raised an eyebrow at you as you continued, "I should slap you, the way you gawk at me all day. And all those pet names? You must think I'm stupid."

Stan didn't look as shocked as you'd hoped. Instead he chuckled with the corner of his mouth and got to his feet.

"Wouldn't be the first time." He said. His arms hung at his sides. He closed his eyes and turned his head. His shoulders and neck tensed and he braced for the impact.

Suddenly your palms were sweaty, you hadn't expected this. Was he actually going to let you slap him?

After a moment, he partially opened one eye, "Well, get it over with already."

"Mr. Pines... I'm not gonna slap you."

His body relaxed and he shrugged, "I 'preciate that, but I'm pretty sure I deserve it this time."

You smirked at him, "I won't slap you, but only because I'm afraid you'd like it."

Stan chuckled a bit, but you could tell you'd flustered him. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

"Look doll--" he coughed, catching himself, "look, I'm sorry if I made ya uncomfortable, I promise I'll stop. But, if you could just keep this between us..."

"An apology isn't good enough. I'd hate to see your good reputation ruined, Mr. Pines."

Stan sighed and headed for the chair behind his desk. As he sat down he muttered, "Figured. You always were a fiesty one." He started rummaging through a drawer in the desk.

"Alright, what do ya want, a raise?" He pulled out the paperwork he was looking for and slid it towards you. You just shook your head at him.

Defeated, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Okay, this aint the first time I've been blackmailed. What'll buy your silence?"

At this point you couldn't hide your smile. You approached the desk and leaned over, your low-cut top perfectly showing off your cleavage in front of him. His eyes darted to the corner of the ceiling and he swallowed.

"Stan," it was the first time you'd ever used his first name in front of him, "we both know what I really want isn't silence."

He stole a few quick glances at you before studying the ceiling again. "What's your point?"

"I want you to take me out to dinner."

He did a touble-take and sat straight up in his chair, "Come again?"

"I like the attention, Stan," you laughed at him, "but I wasn't gonna give you what you wanted without a good scare first." You shot him a wink across the desk.

Stan's cheeks flooded pink, he was speechless.

You prodded him, "Well, did I? Scare you?"

Stan dramatically clutched his chest, "Ya nearly put me in an early grave, doll."

He stood and moved back to your side of the desk with a chuckle. "Was Wendy in on this?"

"Oh, of course."

With one arm, Stan grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him, looking deeply into your eyes, "You make a pretty good con, y'know." His free hand found its way to your jaw and he pulled you into an energetic kiss that lasted several wonderful seconds.

As he pulled away, you flashed him a devilish smile, "I learned from the best."

I'm not the most proud of this fic, quality-wise, but it's been sitting finished in my drafts so I might as well post it. I will say this is not very ethical but it's just meant to be a fun story, don't take it too seriously

[aces-solace]

Favorite patient

Chapter two: party fun

Warnings: porn with plot, smut, fingering, semi publicity (public bathroom), throuple. I think that's all. Let me know if there is more.

"I know, I know. How about we meet up at a nearby bar and I'll pay?" I say, though I don't plan on paying as they always end up paying. "Fine, you really owe us one Amari!" Rebecca huffs before hanging up.

Fucking assholes. Whatever, I should go home and change, I wanna get laid tonight. I'm probably lying to myself right now, I always chicken out. They always seem to bother me about it.

Being a virgin at 23? Unheard of.

.

.

.

Fuck, what should I wear? Hm... I rummage through my closet and pull out a pair of knee-length black shorts, "hm... Not bad" I hum, tossing the shorts on my bed. Now a shirt.

I search my closet and pull out a black long sleeved fishnet crop top with black mesh making my chest less visible. Yeah, this'll work. I think I'll wear my fishnet thigh highs with my shorts.

Yeah, perfect.

.

.

.

I feel like a whore. " 'Mari darling~ can you go get some more drinks?" Rachel slurs, putting extra emphasis on the 'darling'. I quickly nod and walk away from the group.

Rachel has always had a thing for me, something I pretend to be oblivious to. I walk up to the counter, "Hi, can I get three cosmopolitan shots over there?" He nods "Thank you" I say, sitting at one of the stools.

My eyes scan the crowd, perhaps looking for my one nightstand, maybe just eye candy. A tall man with white hair catches my eye, next to him is a woman wearing a tight black dress.

Holy fuck,- that can't be... "Didn't know if doctors could drink, Dr. Gojo" "Very funny nurse Geto" he hums back at her. Fuck, it is. I quickly avert my eyes and someone else catches my eye.

A tan man with ripped baggy jeans and a short sleeves black shirt. I wouldn't mind losing my V-card to him.. We lock eyes and he motions for me to come over. Before I can fully stand up someone is pushing me down

"Didn't expect to see you here hun" Geto says, making herself comfortable in my lap "I- uh, I'm here with friends" I say, looking anywhere but at her. "Ah, ah, ah. Eyes on me angel" she coos at me, gently redirecting my gaze to her.

"I-" I see Rachel walking over to us, drink in hand, looking pissed. Fuck. I grab Geto's thighs and flip our position, her sitting in the chair as I hover over her and, as I expected Rachel's drink splashed on me.

"Amari- I am so-" "Here, let me help you dry off in the bathroom" Geto cuts off Rachel. Before I can say anything I'm being dragged to the bathroom by Geto. I walk in and I'm pushed against the door.

Her mouth quickly attached to mine, her tongue exploring my mouth. My hands fall on her hips, griping them tightly. I break the kiss after a few minutes, panting for air. "D-darling please..."

"Darling huh? Hm.. how do you feel about a throuple?" "T-thats fine..." She smiles and pulls me out of the bathroom and out of the bar. I catch a glimpse of a crying and angry Rachel but before I can process it anymore I'm outside.

"Who's the third person?" I ask as we walk towards a sleek black car "Someone you already met" She assured me, opening the car door and pushing me in, not wasting any time getting in and closing the door behind her.

Climbing on top of me and reattaching her lips to mine, "Well hello to you" he says, starting the car. I break the kiss "Hi" I huff out before kissing down her neck, "H-hah.. how many people have you done this too?" Geto asks breathlessly.

"I'm a virgin" I mumble against her skin. "Seriously?" Gojo asks "mhm.."

.

.

.

After what feels like forever we finally get to his house. I carry Geto upstairs to a random room, laying her on the bed. I immediately start attacking her neck again, unzipping her dress and pulling it off of her.

"Ngh! Hah... P-please~" she moans out, though I don't know what she's begging for. I take off her bra, tossing it to the side with her dress. I'm not sure when Gojo walked in but I feel him push me closer to Geto.

Geto is now under me as Gojo is behind me, I think I know what he's gonna do. I quickly put my hand to use, sneaking between her legs and circling her clit with my thumb.

"Hah!... M-more... Please.." she begs, her nails clawing at my back. Who am I to deny such a pretty plea? I push two fingers into her, slowly stretching her out. She cries out so prettily.

I flinch when I feel one of Gojo's fingers pushing into me. "F-fucking hell.." I mumble before attaching my mouth to Geto's nipple. "Mmm! S-so good..." She moaned, I can definitely say the same.

.

.

.

I groan as I slowly sit up. I glance over staring at the parts of Geto and Gojo's body that weren't covered. Bite marks, hickeys, and scratch marks littered all over them. Fucking beautiful.

Then it sets in, the realization. I slept with my doctor and my nurse.

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 16

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

Leaning on the counter, pamphlets and catalogs spread out on the counter, between the two of us. Side eyeing the bruises forming on Bucky’s knuckles.

“What did you punch?” I ask innocently.

He chuckles, “nothing,” flipping through a catalog slowly.

My lips pucker, watching him now.

"You didn’t have them this morning.” I point out.

“I know.” Flipping a page.

“Who did you punch?” I huff at him.

He looks up winking at me. “Someone looking at you.”

Nodding slowly, I tip my head to the side. “So, I can do that too.”

“No, you lick me. You made your choice.” He chuckles.

“Because you told me to stop punching people outside of The Ditch.” I remind him with a smirk.

His lips press together slowly. “Baby girl, no.” He points a finger at me. My head tips.

“I thought it was fair, if you do it. I can too.” I grin.

“I don’t go around punching people for fun.” He huffs, shoulders dropping.

Lifting my brow at him, waiting.

“Our breakup was a different story, Y/N and you know that!” He levels me with a look.

I shrug. “Marriage is a different story too.” Whispering softly as I pick up a venue pamphlet flipping it open.

“You’re going to beat someone up, aren’t you?” He sighs.

Shrugging, I tip my head from side to side. Looking through the pamphlet in hand.

“Oh, good you’re both here.” My mother breezes into the room, a little short of breath. Rocking jeans, sneakers, and a black T-shirt. Nothing close to her normal attire she wears. Her hair looks messed, a small cut on her cheek. Her own knuckles look to be bruising.

“Mom?” Bucky speaks up first.

Winni is right behind my mother. Jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. With what look like dark splatter marks on the front of it. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, looking quickly redone. She has handprints on one arm. Her knuckles bruised and a nail broken.

“What the fuck?” I stare at them.

“Oh, good you’re looking over Venues.” Winni smiles.

Ignoring our comments.

“See I think that we should go with this one.” My mother leans over me, grabbing a different one holding it up to me. “And keep this one as a back up if the first doesn’t have available dates.”

“Your father found some charming homes.” Winni joins Bucky pulling home catalogs towards them.

“You’re just ignoring the fact you have blood on your shirt?” He looks to his mother.

Both look down at Winni’s shirt,

“And you have a cut on your face, and both have bruised knuckles. Like James.” I comment.

Each of them look down at the other’s hands.

“Starting to feel real left out here.” Huffing as I flip over the pamphlet.

“You beat up someone and didn’t let her join?” My mother shakes her head at James. “You know that’s going to cost you.”

“I know.” He sighs.

“You’ll learn, or she’ll start beating you up Buck.” Winni snickers.

“Hello!” I throw my hands up, looking at the three of them watching me. “Who did you two beat up and since when did you do dirty work?” Looking between the two.

“Who says we never did dirty work?” My mother lifts a brow at me.

“What?!” I blanch at her.

“Maybe you just didn’t pay attention.” Winni shrugs, flipping pages, tapping on one page showing James something.

I squint at my mother. “That’s a cheap shot on your cheek. You underestimated them.” I pout softly looking at the wedding venue she picked out.

“Maybe I need to join you and Frankie in the ring more.” She comments, grabbing a diet soda from the fridge for her and Winni.

“I got my right hook from dad.” I smirk at her.

“Yes, but I baked the evil into you myself.” She winks at me.

My head tips softly to the side, shrugging. She wasn’t wrong.

“Our children are going to be evil, aren’t they?” Bucky sighs.

“If you have a girl, will she take the table next?” Winni looks from her son to me.

We exchange a look, he shrugs, I smirk at them. “You better hope the boys have boys, she’ll need someone to run the table with.” Going back to the wedding info in front of me.

“A generation of girls, heading the table. Could you imagine?” Winni grins at my mother.

My mom grins, watching me. “Told you, Winni, she was going to change everything she put her mind too.” I smile pretty, filled with cockiness.

“Or her fist.” Bucky snickers.

I stick my tongue out at him. Our mothers laugh.

“Okay wedding details.” My mother turns her attention to the counter.

“Your father has a few opening to let you do walk through, if you want, I can come with.” Winni changes the topic.

“If we do this,” I wave my finger at the counter “will you answer questions, or at least like three after?”

My mother sighs, “if you agree on some details to this wedding, I’ll answer three questions to be exact.” She settles me with a look.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes.

“And you’ll behave at Howie’s wedding.” She adds suddenly.

I gasp. “I was good at Wanda’s!”

“Y/N,” she blinks at me.

“UGH!” I huff loudly. “Fine!” Throwing my hands up. “But if he is 30 seconds late to that wedding, I’m cracking one of his ribs.” Shaking my head, shrugging a shoulder.

“That’s fair.” Bucky nods, agreeing.

Our mothers’ smirks at one another.

“Fine.” They agree.

Around two hours later, we finally agreed on a venue, a color scheme, top three houses and bridal parties. Dropping back in my seat, I look from Winni to my mother.

“Who did you beat up?” I ask.

My mother sighs, pausing for a moment. “Louise Kasady.”

“CK’s mom?” Bucky’s brow jumps up.

I sit up straight.

“What?” I blink at them.

Winni sips from her soda can. “She is leaking information to Eddie. Can’t be allowed.” She spoke casually, looking down at the houses decided on.

Bucky and I exchange a look.

“She fought back?” Lifting a brow.

My mother waves her hand. “She wants revenge for her son. Her husband isn’t the same, I guess.”

“Since my dad broke his hand with his foot?” Bucky smirks.

“And you killed her son. The woman just can’t take a loss and move on.” Winni sighs.

“Her son wasn’t even a high up. I don’t see the need for revenge.” My mother shakes her head.

“She say anything?” Tipping my head.

My mother presses her lips together. Winni inspects her can.

“Mom?” Bucky watches her.

“Nothing we should take serious, honey.” Winni smiles, only it shakes slightly on the edges.

“Shouldn’t we get to decide on that?” His brow dropping down.

“Mom,” I stare at my own. She chews the inside of her cheek for a moment.

“She said you won’t last at the head of the table. That you’ll be the fall of our families.” She watches me, fear in her eyes.

Nodding slowly. I look to Bucky who is watching me.

“They better get through me. And if she falls, I’ll take everyone of them with me.” His blue eyes darken with anger.

“She said you won’t make it to marriage.” Winni whispers.

I grin. “They come for him, and hell better bring it’s biggest army, cause I’ll destroy everything in my path.” Shrugging.

Bucky smirks, nodding softly.

“I am Satan, and hell has nothing on me. Or what I will do to this town, if so, be it.” Looking to my mother.

------------ Everything Peaches 9/21/2024 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @babizza @coley0823 @destiel-artemis @royal-sunflower @camelliasblossom @shinycupcakebaker @purpleeclipseeggsland @daughterofthenight117 @hisredheadedgoddess28

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @jbbarnesgirl @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love @otterlycanadian

[cloudpools]

Blythe was completely enrapt, bright emeralds boring into Gurin as he explained the layout of his home. A clam. They were inside a giant clam! How did that even work? Was it still alive? If they were inside the mollusk then where was the mollusk nestled? Her jaw drops to ask her ever-growing pool of questions, but she hesitates as he continues after a brief pause.

It had been obvious to Blythe that mentions of their first meeting brought him a lot of discomfort. Even just her presence (regardless of their current predicament) seemed to make him uneasy. The memory hadn't been pleasant for her either, but she didn't carry any scars from that night other than a deep anxiety to never have Zeyrfial yell at her like that again.

Veril also remembered that night well. He'd found Gurin crumpled, pierced, blood pooling around his hanging form. Gurin cursing as Veril cleaned the wound, used what little healing magic he knew, and bandaged him up. The grumble of thanks as he limped him back to his quarters. Veril hadn't asked any questions that night, but the pieces were slowly falling into place now that he'd met the cause of the incident.

The red-skinned demon's smile grew more as he watched his friend flounder. It was so odd. Normally Gurin was so suave with women, whisking them away with a wink and silver tongue. Gurin didn't need to tell Blythe anything about this place, but it seemed that he was doing so to put her at ease. Not because he wanted to seduce her, but because he wanted to assuage any worries she may have. To give her reassurance that he had a plan, and everything was going to be fine.

And then the elevator doors opened.

Blythe doesn't move right away, in awe of the main hub, but when she notices the crowd coming for them to take their own elevators to their own destinations, she gasps, scrambling behind Gurin and latching on once again. Veril is quick to reactivate the necklace with the snap of his fingers, hissing as other demons pushed past. "Yea, Brenn! Watch it!" Trying to position himself in a way that would keep Blythe safely nestled between the pair (which was rather difficult now that she was invisible), their merry(?) band made way for the thick of the crowd. How unfortunate that they'd have to pass through in order to make it to the main lifts.

Blythe stays completely silent, using all of her concentration not to trip or bump into anyone, while simultaneously eavesdropping on all the passersby. Veril quirks a brow, throwing a look at Gurin. "Is it a holiday or somethin'? Why's everyone scrambling around? What's the hubbub all about?" If Veril would take five seconds to listen in, like Blythe, he would hear the whispers of his coworkers.

"...Ukolai came personally...." "... breach in security..." "....his whole guard..." "An inspection?" "No no! A celebration?"

"Shit." Veril's curse startles Blythe, and she looks up to find his gaze trained on a formally dressed, bespeckled demon. "Dravok's here.... which means...." Dravok was a large demon, and an even larger asshole. You had to be when you were the head of an archdemon's honor guard... He was doing his job, scanning the perimeter when his eyes fell on an unusual sight. The glasses he was wearing were special. Expensive gems cut thin that allowed those who peered through to dispel any magical tricks or disguises. You never could trust anyone.

Especially those who were invisible...

"VERIL." Reflexively, the portly demon stiffens, and all eyes shift to what most would see as just a duo. "What in the hells are you hiding this time?! How many times have I had to have a talk with you about using counterfeit gems?! You better have a damn good explanation this time or else." The crowd parts, allowing the blue-skinned guard a path directly to them, the rest of the guard filling the gap around Ukolai. And it's only now that Blythe realizes... Dravok is staring right at her.

Panic sets in. Should she run? Should she hide? Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe it would all be fine? She begins to quiver as the guard stands before her, towering, muscular. Blythe is swallowed by his shadow, and there's no mistaking it. He's looking down on her. "And who might you be? A new pet?"

Blythe contemplates answering, but instead ops to tug on Gurin, shaking only getting worse. She was caught! What would happen to her now?!

These depths and tunnels didn’t allow conventional sources of magic to function as they should. This mine was, after all, not unlike an oyster- long dead, tunneled through for its precious pearls of stone deposits. Lost geodes of congealed … hells know what. Gurin had the vestiges of understanding the rules and laws of the creation of these stones but the inner workings went above him. That made it all the more bizarre how Blythe had made it in. But at least, for now at least, the localized spell that Veril had utilized would do what it needed to.

…right???

In the safety of the elevator, it’s revealed its not quite as steadfast as one would hope. As if Gurin hadn’t already felt pangs of anxiety with how it flickered when one were to touch the little lady. Something that was bad enough already. Shit. It’d almost be easier to dress her up as a demon than whatever this was. Coulda woulda shoulda. Who the fuck is Gurin kidding? He didn’t have anything on him to put on airs or disguises like that.

“Seriously. Keep the regular job, Veril. That’s all I'ma say on that. You’re lucky the damn spell hasn’t dropped her through the floor. Or worse.” He heaves a sigh, feeling more and more like a chaperone or something. Between the helplessness of Blythe (not really her fault) and the foolishness of Veril’s (quite the opposite) he felt like the only sane person present.

Or the one who didn’t have other ideas in mind… he… didn’t have any himself? Did he? Another glance at Blythe, has him uncertain. A forced half-smile as he lifts his chin.

“Oy. You’re holding up alright for now, aren’t you?” Another breath. “Don’t worry… this place is confusing to get around, but when you know what you’re doing it’s quick work. We take this elevator back to the main body of the mollusk. We were down like a… a vein. That last place we met, where the ball was being held. Its not far from where we’re going.” An involuntary memory sends a small shiver through Gurin. An impulsive touch to where the lances of ice had pierced him. It’d taken no small effort to get those healed up. “Uheh. We’ll be taking another lift from there to get out to the transport circles- seeing as none of us know any magic that can take you out from that point.” Once again begging the mystery. “In the meantime, or rather once we get out of there you best– !!!”

The doors decided this was the perfect time to reintroduce to Blythe the crown of the mine. The sanctuary yielding unto the three the full bustle of the premises in which Gurin and Veril worked under Ukolai.

It was, for better or worse, much more open than previous areas. Though it was still dotted around the edges with crystals- these were left as decoration having little use as magical foci or structural need. Pretty, barely, and that was about it. Various carved stone walkways spread out place to place like boardwalks across a shallow marsh. Stairways. Balconies. Larger yawning holes of carved stone that lead down deeper pathways. Some leading to offices. Others to barracks.

Blythe is afforded a single generous moment to take in any new sights, before the presence of moment demanded they move. That’s a lot of people looking to get past them onto the lift they just came to. What the hell?!

“Hey. Watch it, you trying to push me over? Good grief, Brenn.” At the very least, Gurin was quick to adopt a more postured image, as he usually did. Locking gaze with the offending demon (one his equal in height) and shifting past. Hopefully giving time for Blythe to slip around and hells please have the magic put back to work. “Hell of a day for things to be this busy… and what’s going on down there now?”

Gurin can’t help but observe a crowd of various demons down near the main lifts, and others watching from afar… but from where they were standing it couldn’t be made out just yet just who or what had attracted attention. And even worse, they’d be learning one way or another if they wanted to get out.