#I GET HIM NOW. MAN WHAT THE HELL I'M KIND OF OBSESSED ACTUALLY. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes · 1 month ago

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coney island | bucky barnes

summary: on the day of the election, you find bucky at his safe place and he shows you, his assistant friend around.

warnings: kissing, tooth rotting fluff, angst (if you squint) <3 + sexual tension; bucky is a sweetheart; both are down bad for each other; insecure bucky (?) kinda; i made shit up about coney island, i have never been there, sorry; a LOT of obsession over eyes; use of pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweets); no use of y/n; misuse of political jargon? author is clueless about political jargon lol; author thinks the ending is bad; I AM SHIT AT WRITING SUMMARIES SORRY!

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader

author's note: this is kind of inspired by @dreamwritesimagines lovely series Declassified and its 6th chapter, but its still completely different. but do give Declassfied a read, because it is my favourite congressman bucky fic! i'm sorry if the ending is weird :/ I worked literally two weeks for this fic, pls show some love!

words: 7.2k (my creativity has been sucked out of me)

masterlist | for my other works <3

divider by @toastray

Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love.

It’s what he believed; It's what he let everyone believe; It’s what you witnessed everyday.

You knew how tight his schedules were; You knew how much work had to be done; You knew how much stress burdened him. He had absurdly timed meetings, endless galas, campaigns that he had to take care of. The whole Valentina thing didn’t help him either. He had too many things on his mind and you noticed how it affected him. His pretty blue eyes would go dimmer, his left shoulder would start to ache more and you don’t even know how many hours he slept during the night.

Actually. You knew.

It was your job to know. To understand how many hours he slept because those eyebags didn’t do well during interviews; to understand how cranky he was going to get during the day so that you could schedule meetings with the more considerate figures amongst USA’s political landscape; to understand whether he would listen to you at least once during the day.

You knew, not only because it was your job as his assistant, manager and manhandler, but also because you have been in the hell that is politics for a long time. He might have been alive for longer than you, but you had more experience in this than him and you understood that the work he was doing, slaving his and your ass off for was worth it. So, yeah, you knew that Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love.

But maybe, after sleep deprived and joy filling nights under the crappy office lights, your chest bloomed, just a little bit, as you hoped that there might be a cracked window, a chance, for some space in his heavy heart.

—

It was the day of the election.

You were running around with papers in your hand, phones blowing off with god knows what notifications and trying to find where the fuck James Buchanan Barnes is. The office was a whirlpool of chaos; people were sprinting, shouting over phones and all the pots of coffee were empty—and in the middle of this whirlpool, was you.

And all you could think about was why Congressman Barnes not picking up his goddamn phone.

You huffed and smoothened out your dress. He could’ve at least texted you, but now you had to resort to asking his driver, even though the poor man was not a reliable source. Bucky couldn’t stand another person driving him, like a chauffeur, like a child, like a handler. You had tried to convince him it was for his safety and that he was the driver’s boss, not the other way around, but he was so fucking stubborn, it made you want to pull out your hair.

I haven’t got the foggiest clue, ma’am.

Your lips curled a little at the old man’s lingo, but the worry in your heart and the stress in your brain only intensified. You thanked the man and kept your phone aside. You dismissed your manager, who asked you to draft up a speech, one that James Barnes would have to deliver, in case he lost—which was the popular opinion amongst many people. Many people that you threw out of your life, because ever since you started working for him, beside him and by him, and even if he made your life aggravating, you absolutely devoted your time, body, mind and soul to his ideas.

His dedication.

Him.

So, you stood outside his office, his space inside your chaotic office, with a false sliver of hope that he might be hiding himself in there, or maybe a note—tucked under his desk, in the secret crevice that only you knew.

You opened the door, cautiously walked around his desk and put your hand underneath the table to inspect. A sigh of relief left your body and your shoulder relaxed a bit as your fingers felt the small paper, a note in secrecy, left just for you. You hated to admit it but knowing this part of Bucky, knowing that he would inform you, if no one, even with a piece of paper that was meant for you, made you feel special: a warmth, akin to giddiness, settling in your stomach.

You opened the note and opened it up, only to have your hopes crash and burn. Your stomach twisted in knots at the blatant vagueness of the message written.

I can’t be there, but I'm safe. Don’t call for a search party, doll, I want to be alone.

You rolled your eyes at his teasing remark, but the nauseous feeling in your stomach was clawing away at you. You needed to find him. This was his moment. His and yours. You wanted to be with him, enjoy the night, reap the fruits of your hard work. Yes, maybe you were being too sure of him winning, but you had done everything in your capacity and his to make sure he gets this win. Because he deserved it. Because he was the only one that genuinely cared. Which was why you were attracted to him.

In a professional, ideological way, of course.

And if he knew anything about you, it was that you were as stubborn as he was.

So, you almost ran past everyone in your office, ignoring their quizzical, inconsequential looks, your manager’s booming voice and grabbed your coat: because you will not let that man be on his own tonight. You were selfish, perhaps, but he owed you this. After all, you were a team, were you not?

You called his driver and got in the car.

“Coney Island, please?”

—

He recognized your perfume, immediately.

It had notes of lavender, mixed with Jasmine and mandarin: your favourite perfume. At least he hoped it was, considering he was the one that gifted you the YSL perfume on your birthday and since then it was the only one you wore. At least around him. It was sweet and stubborn, just like you. The way you constantly nagged him and bossed him around, never left him alone yet still cared for him in an unconditional, unstaggering kind of way. It reminded him of you: when you calmed him down after one of his panic attacks for the first time, when you fumed at him for not memorizing the speech you had carefully curated for him and when he turned up at your house just for you to yell at him while serving him your sweet, drenched in maple syrup, pancakes.

You didn't approach him, not yet, still a few steps behind. The abundant breeze was doing a splendid job of flying your hair around and you tugged your coat around you, as if it was second skin.

“I told you not to put up a search party for me, doll.”

“I am not a search party, Bucky.”

“You are my assistant.”

There was a pause. A moment of hesitation after his teasing remark, where your heart sank as you spoke up again.

“Do you not want me here? With you?”

Your words were not accusatory, but rather fragile, a soft question that held your heart. Your gentle tone made him shudder, his heart skipping a dangerous beat. He had your back towards you, which tensed and slumped a little. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, breathing in the salty, sea air. “I don’t want numbers. I don’t want the…office.”

“I am not the office.” You recoiled and Bucky pursed his lips.

“You are my assistant.”

Your heart sank. Yes, you were aware he wanted to be alone, but his words still felt like shards in your chest. Your nose started to sting and you looked away from his back, to the ocean and breathed in. Did he only think of you as his assistant? Was that all that entailed between you?

It was a hit you were not prepared for. But Bucky understood your silence, almost reading your thoughts, your questions, your heartbreaking doubts. Because no, you were not only his assistant. After months of working together, spending every waking moment with each other, which ultimately included you holding yourself back from slapping him after his constant non-cooperation and him teasing you to your absolute flustered state: you were not only his assistant—you were his safe space now.

He opened his mouth again, to speak out, tell you that you meant much more to him, to ease the ache in your heart and the hurt in your silence. But before he even got his words out, you plopped down next to him. He turned to look at you, only to have his breath taken away.

You had taken your hair down from your restricting bun that made him wince after he saw it in the morning: it flowed freely now, your beautiful locks flying around haphazardly, just how he liked it. You had taken off your blazer, leaving you in your pretty blouse with a sweetheart neckline and your pantsuit. Your forehead didn’t hold fatigue lines, which he constantly tried to dissipate. But your face held a soft glow; One that he had seen rarely, only when you and him were alone: moments when he made terrible jokes, gossiped about other senators and congressmen, and made you laugh. Moments where he saw you, raw, vulnerable, unbearably you, under the warm light of the lamp in his living room, when you used to come to his aid and cared for him. The soft glow he believed was only reserved for him.

His heart softened in his chest.

You didn’t look like his assistant anymore.

“I am your friend, Bucky.” You gently stated, as if it wasn’t somewhat of a gross understatement. Because you held a place in his heart that was right beside Sam, his other safe space. You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his, your soft gaze that wrapped him in a hug as it met his clear, stormy blues. You gave him a small smile, easing his heart and looked back at the ocean again.

“I bet you used to drag Steve here for ill-advised mischief.”

He scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes at your teasing remark. But his shoulders were relaxed as he gazed at you. Sweet and stubborn. He shook his head and gave out a chuckle which warmed your heart.

“He was the one who got into ill–advised mischief.” He mocked your words. “I was the one who saved his ass.”

“Whatever you say, Sarge.”

Bucky glared at you, playfully with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You giggled and imagined a young Bucky alongside Steve, wreaking havoc wherever they went. There was a comfortable silence between you after, only the crashing of waves and the excited yells of children filling you up with happiness.

Bucky cleared his throat. “How did you find me?”

You turned at him and gave him a deadpan look. He raised his hands in defence at your pointed look with raised brows. “Just asking a question.”

“When your boss tells you all the tales about him and his partner in crime at the Coney Island and how it reminded him of simpler times, you catch on.” You quipped.

“Back to being your boss, again?” He asked. You pursed your lips and glanced at your lap, your fingers fidgeting.

“You know you deserve it, right?”

He huffed, exasperated. “I thought I told you—”

“I am not talking about numbers, James.” His eyes flicked up at you. You only ever used his first name, but the way you said it made his insides melt. “All I am saying is that,” You breathed and bore your eyes in his.

“You have worked so hard. You care more about these people than anyone I have ever seen, talked to or even worked for. The way you speak for them—the veterans, the soldiers, the people of the city ranging from all the minorities that deserve proper rights, such as universal healthcare—Bucky, I could go on and on.” You completely turned your body toward him, your eyes holding more compassion than he had ever witnessed. You held brain–wracking eye contact with him, your body crackling with sudden butterflies and fuzziness.

“All I know is that you actually care, Bucky. You are not one of those wolfish, perverted, power-lusted people that just crave control. You are the exact opposite—genuine, caring…” You gulped under his intense gaze, his blue eyes carving into your soul as you poured your heart out. “...loving. A completely bonafide candidate…and even if this whole thing was just to get information on Valentina, you were still doing good.”

Your hand reached out to his, reassuring. “You deserve it, more than anyone.”

A loud silence took over you both, but you didn’t, or more than that you both couldn’t escape each other’s gazes. Tension crackled between you both, like a silent bonfire, providing intense warmth in the windy atmosphere. Your cheeks and nose were flushed, from the wind or Bucky’s unrelenting eyes, you didn’t know, because all you could think about is how his eyes perfectly resembled the ocean, under a stormy sky. Yet they provided comfort and you couldn’t look away. As if they were a drug.

Bucky cleared his throat and your whole face flushed as you looked away from his face.

“You should be a motivational speaker.” He said quietly.

“There is a reason why I write all of your speeches, Barnes.” You scoffed. He gave you a small smile, but one that reached his eyes, crinkled around his cheeks. Why was he making you feel giddy? “Come on, you gotta show me around this place. You know I have never been here?”

Bucky stared at you incredulously. “What the hell do you mean you’ve never been to Coney Island?”

“You do realize I work 100 hours a week, right?” You quipped, making Bucky shake his head.

“I told you, you can take a leave whenever you want.”

“And leave you alone? How would you even survive without me?” You raised your brows at him, challenging him. He just shook his head, giving you an annoyed look, but safe to say, he was elated. To be here, with you.

“So are you going to show me around or what?”

—

“I am NOT getting on that, Bucky.”

“Live a little, doll. Besides probably isn’t even that hard—”

“Says the super soldier! Did you not see the way that man got yeeted across—”

“He did not get yeeted across—what the fuck is ‘yeeted’?”

You rolled your eyes and stared at the bull ride that they had recently installed at the park—and there was no fucking way you were going to get on that.

“I’ll pay you 100$! Come on, doll—” He spoke up again.

“I may complain about it, but I get paid enough to deal with you.”

Bucky looked at the bull, the girl on it with a cowboy hat letting out drunken yelps while other people cheered her on.

He moved his eyes back and forth, from the ride to you, and then his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but you could catch on easily. You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head, hardening your glare at his forming smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” He shrugged, nonchalantly. “Just thought you never backed down from a challenge.” He said, in a dangerously low tone, challenging you. Your jaw dropped, just a little, at this man’s audacity! Slowly, a ghost of a smirk formed on your face as well.

“Okay, fine, I'll go on the goddamn bull, but only if you come with me.” You raised your brows and Bucky rolled his eyes, tilting his head. “Seriously?”

“Oh, okay. I see you are one of the people that easily backs down from a challenge.” You mocked his words, jabbing back at him. His eyes narrowed at you but then a sly smirk greeted his face. The smirk that made you fucking crazy. It was when you knew he was not going to back down. That smirk aggravated you to no end, because that smirk came into display whenever he was not going to listen to a single word you said about the press training and he’s going fuck up everything. That fucking smirk, infuriated you, because you saw it often, especially after he flustered you, made you stutter or even saw a small sign of a blush dusted on your cheeks. That smirk made you go weak in your knees. And it frustrated you.

Goosebumps arose on your skin as you felt Bucky’s warmth creep up your body, even if he was just walking towards you, agonizingly slowly, as if he was teasing you, hunting you, craving you. He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets, that goddamn smirk paired with those devilish eyes, and did you just notice how hot he looked with just a pair of trousers, shirt and his loosened tie? Fuck.

You gulped as he towered over you. You could smell his cologne. Your knees almost buckled. What the fuck was happening? Why was he so close? And why did it feel like you just wanted to grab that tie and—

Suddenly, the cheers slowed down, faded away, you didn’t know why—because all you could think about was why he was making you feel hot? Parched? Starved? All because of what, his cologne? The tie? His hands? That fucking smirk?

Somewhere in the background, the girl got off the bull, more drunk now than she was before, clinging onto her girlfriends, giggling about god knows what.

The host took the mic again and called out for volunteers—all while your cheeks had turned burning red. Bucky started to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face, his pretty pink lips almost brushing your cheek as he pressed them against your ear. You shuddered, restraining the need to hold onto Bucky’s shoulders so that your trembling knees would have some support.

“After you, sweetheart.”

—

You don’t know how you survived that. But your head was spinning, your body was fuzzy and warm, and your balance—completely uncontrolled. Bucky still had his hands around your waist, steadying you, as he did on the bull ride. You gulped down, the warmth of his hands leaving you trembling, and somehow you found yourself falling again.

Your knees buckled and he held you up, his hands tightening, almost lifting you off the ground, as if you weighed absolutely nothing. It scared you. How comfortable you felt, almost leaning into him, craving more of his touch—not only because of how addicting it was—but also because he grounded you. Comforted you. Kept you steady when you felt like the world was going to disappear underneath you.

“That was one hell of a ride.” He whispered, near your ear, his breath spanning your face, making you go hot. You hummed, voice strained, afraid of what will come out of your mouth. Because all you do, all you could feel right now were his hands. His body. His warmth. The way his metal hand drew soothing circles on your waist, as if he knew it was the perfect cure to your nausea. The way his chest was almost pressed against your back, radiating the kind of intensity you did not dare to confront. The way his sweet words kissed your neck, smooth like honey, voice like velvet.

“Are you okay, sweets?”

Sweets. That was new. You tried not to bask in the tooth rotting attention he gave you, the absolute saccharine–like concern laced in his voice, for you.

You turned around, abruptly, to look at him. His eyes looked at you like as if you were the only person he cared about. Like right now, in this moment, only you mattered. Not the thousand children running around, the women giggling and complaining and the men shouting and groaning. It made you feel…cherished. Something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

You cleared your throat and looked away, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…”

But he was relentless, determined to hold your eyes, understand how you’re feeling. He bent down, his face looking for your eyes, seeking you out. Your eyes flicked back to him and you almost gasped because those fucking blue eyes, god, they left no room for you to wallow in distress. “I’m perfectly fine, Bucky.” You whispered, your eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips.

Bucky froze. He followed your gaze and reciprocated it. His perfect blue eyes dropped down to your perfect lips. He licked his lips, as if he craved something. Someone. You.

Suddenly, a loud bell rang, a loud announcement, a swift yet harsh slice in the middle of…whatever just happened. You both broke apart, his hands ghosting your waist, and you resisted tugging him close to you again, missing the solace his hands provided.

“The last ride for the Wonder Wheel is starting in 20 minutes!”

It happened fast. His hands found yours again, gripping them like vice, like he wouldn’t let go of you ever again. His eyes widened as he processed the words said over the microphone.

And you started running.

“What—Bucky!”

“Come on, we can’t miss the ferris wheel!” An impish smile adorned his face, and your heart raced faster than ever before. “I’m wearing heels, Bucky!”

“I can carry you—”

“Absolutely not—”

Bucky let out a giggle and it was as if time had stopped because right now, it felt like both of you were back in the 1940’s.

And he was happy.

—

where the fuck are you

and where is the man of the hour

You gulped down the wash of anxiety as you looked at the text. You resisted looking at your watch, but you knew it was time. They were going to start counting the votes. And you both were supposed to be there, at your office, in the conference room, where they had set up a dinner spread. You had insisted on booking the bar that Bucky liked, that all your co–workers liked, but least to say your manager was a bitch. “Keep it professional or you will drown.”

Who even says that?

You internally scoffed and rolled your eyes.

come here, right now, he looks like he’s about to explode.

Your nerves and stress were conjoining hands and you could feel it. There was no way they would get to the office, in time. You imagined your manager throwing disapproving glares at you for more than two months, he will probably give you warnings disguised as threats. Maybe throw in some crude insinuating comments about you and Bucky. “Trust me, committing to your responsibilities is more dignifying than ignoring and…sleeping your way up. Just look at Senator Gray’s assistant—”

You shook your head, remembering the lewdness of his comments. Keep it professional.

He would explode if he could see what was happening right now.

You were standing in the line, ready for the next and last ferris wheel ride for the day. There were kids jumping up and down, frustrated workers who tried to calm the complaining parents.

Your body was tensing up because the count was going to start soon. They will announce who got the most votes. Declare whether your hard work paid off. Whether Bucky won. If it was the end to your team, your partnership, whatever you both were. Would Bucky want a new team in DC? Would you have to move to DC? Or was he going to have to hire another assistant—

Bucky squeezed your hand, gleefully. He looked back at you and all your worries melted away, drained from your body all because of that damn smile. He probably had no idea that he was blowing your concerns away. Because, right now, blind enthusiasm was buzzing from his body, almost resembling that of the kids near you. He looked younger, if that was possible. The worry lines from his forehead, long faded away. His posture was more confident. Welcoming. Relaxed. His shoulders no longer slumped from stress, fatigue and paranoia. No longer was he seeking out the ways anything could go even slightly wrong.

He was just there. In the present, without any burdens on his body, without constantly having to stare down the barrel of a gun. With you.

Not his assistant. Not his manager.

Just you.

You moved ahead of the line and Bucky did not let go of your hand. He kept it, in his, safeguarded, as if he was preventing anyone taking you away. So that you wouldn’t fade into the crowd. So that this moment wouldn’t vanish.

As both of you got in front of the line, waiting to get entry, Bucky immediately reached for his pocket. “How much for two?”

The operator gave the price and then looked up. You felt Bucky’s hand freeze in yours, his body going tense. The operator was giving him weird looks and stood, almost defensive in front of the booth. “Have I seen you somewhere?”

You quickly answered. “No, you haven’t.” But he just looks you over, dismissively. A few seconds after he tries to wrack his brain, Bucky clears his throat. “Listen, we’re just trying to get on the ride…if you could please move aside?”

He hesitantly moves aside, letting you both on the booth. “Have a nice ride, I guess.”

You both sit, side by side, thighs almost touching, intensity crackling. The booth starts to move and the wind sweeps through both of you, calmly. You glance at him; Bucky was peering at the sky, as you moved upwards, towards it.

He looked…melancholic. Longing. Almost forlorn. As if he never thought he’d see the sky like this again. As if he would never feel the same wonder he felt when he was just a boy with a childlike laugh and an unnecessary bravery to take on the world.

But here he was. With you. And it felt surreal.

“Can I ask you something?” You softly broke his silence. He sighed and looked back at you, nodding to let you continue. “For a man who hates being in the spotlight, hates overbearing attention and certainly hates talking to snooty senators, discussing power moves to win over people’s votes, why did you even step into politics?”

He was taken aback. Bucky looked at you as if you asked him to solve the question of all the why’s in the universe—that would have been easier. His gaze started to become distant, his eyes seeking answers that he did not like to face.

“Even if you leave Val aside, Bucky, you have more than enough resources and capabilities to spy on her and her plans. Why politics?” You ask, gently.

Your tone was soft. Free. Like sunshine mixed with the kind of care he didn’t dare yearn for in the last 70 years. Like he wasn’t just a ghost; a trauma–filled bomb that everyone was waiting to blast. Like he was a person. Whole. Deserving. Your words didn’t slash through him; They didn’t glare at him, daunting, demanding, as if they were entitled to an answer. Your words, your sweet words were a soft nudge. A nudge that he needed.

“I–,” His breath shook and you slipped closer to him. Gazing at his eyes, holding his sight, reassuring, that you both were the only one existing there right now. “Amends.” His voice broke. Bucky thought you would flinch, but you stayed put. Not leaving him astray.

“After the court–mandated therapy ended, I didn’t know what to do with myself. With this,” He looked at his hands. “I felt the obligation, the need to make it right. Wipe it off, all of it, from my hands. After the Flag–Smashers and when I saw the things they went through, I couldn’t just sit. I thought—” He gulped, breath trembling. But then you moved closer, held his hand, as if a sign. A silent promise. You rubbed soothing circles on his hand with your thumb and he grasped your small palm with his rough, calloused hand. You didn’t force him. Pressure him to go ahead.

“I thought that maybe, this way, I could make a difference. Make lives easier. Safer.”

He exhaled, like he had just let a flood of his emotions flow after holding it for so long with his walls. And you stayed. You didn’t push. You let him exist. Without any judgement. His breath trembled, heartbeat hammering in his ear, brain numbing as he finally let himself feel. And you.

You grounded him. You let him breathe. Understand his emotions. You weren’t prudent around him like you were watching him; observing; stalking: just so you can capture the moment he fucks up.

A sudden ping threatened to interrupt this. The secret oasis that you both had carved in the night. He thought you would move away to check it, your incessant notifications, abandoning him and leaving him high and dry without your warmth. Your kindness. Your perfume. But you didn’t budge; didn’t move an inch from your place. Your eyes didn’t leave his and it was as if they wrapped him up in a security blanket. You softly smiled at him and lifted your hand, gently tucking Bucky’s outgrown hair behind his hair. You gazed at him with such care, such intricacy, so much affection, that he would have melted right there.

“You can find a way to make a difference without torturing yourself, honey.”

He grew shy. “I didn’t realize it at the moment. Thought this was the only way.” You softly chuckled. “I can make a list for you: community service, youth programs, fundraisers for veterans. You can’t make a difference if you suffer inside. If you feel suffocated.”

He breathed in deeply, taking in your words.

“Thank you.”

“Bucky—”

“No, hush,” He took your face in his pulsing, warm hands. “Let me say this please.” You nodded, wordlessly. “You—” He let out a shaky breath and smiled at you, oh-so-softly. “You have been here for me, through this hell, like no one has.”

“You stood by me, helped me, tolerated my uncooperative ass and you still look at me like I deserve something. Care. Hope. Peace…Love. If it weren’t for you…someone who took more than necessary effort to understand me, help me, know me, I wouldn’t have lasted.” You gasped, and his big hands resting against your reddening cheeks started caressing you. He looked at you like you hung the stars up for him. Like you were the only reason. His oxygen. His breath.

“Thank you so much for everything.”

Tears welled into your eyes. You leaned into his touch, his hands that molded perfectly with your face. You were about to open your mouth to say something, until your phone started buzzing again. “Oh god, it must be the results.” You put your hand on his which was still resting on your cheek. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to know, Bucky. This is your moment,” He pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment. But then he looked at you.

You. Who has been here with him throughout every step. Through his first media press, through all of the stupid, pretentious galas, through all of the debriefs. You, who sat with him in silence when he could not bear another noise; who held him at his worst, when the nightmares used to come back and he couldn’t stop trembling; who made him mac and cheese at 3 am because he hadn’t had any decent meals. You, who worked your ass off, ensuring his ideas would come into execution; You, who defended him at every corner when Bucky’s career as Winter Soldier came up; You, who was more faithful in him than he was in himself.

“This is your moment as much as it is mine, doll.” He leaned forward and your heart started pacing faster. As if his earnest words hadn’t already made your insides flutter: he kissed your forehead. A long, meaningful peck. That held more weight, that defied every other sign of affection ever. He lingered, his lips still ghosting over the crown of your head. You closed your eyes, reeling in this moment, holding it close, not wanting it to fade away. He sighed and you knew it was time.

“Hey?” You picked up the call. Nerves were firing through Bucky’s body and he squeezed your hand, trying to ground himself. He couldn’t bring himself to eavesdrop on your friend’s words nor was his anxiety sparing any energy for him to decipher your expressions. What if he didn’t win? Would you leave him? Would you find some other upcoming political hotshot to work for? What would he do with his life?

Almost as if you could read his doubts and anxiety—you didn’t need to, they were literally jumping off his body—you squeezed his hand back and consoled him. A small gasp left you, spreading rapid goosebumps on his skin. He couldn’t understand whether it was a good one or not. Wouldn’t you smile if it was good news? God, what he would give to see that smile…Does that mean he lost? Your hand slipped out of his and his heart broke in two.

Of course, he lost.

You quietly said goodbye to your friend and cut the call. He gulped as he saw more tears in your eyes and he hoped for the worst. For a regretful look, a fit of anger. But he got something worse: unfathomable silence. Your silence. Not a peep of a word. Not one indication of what you just interpreted from the call. You slowly raised your tear–filled eyes and Bucky was stumped. He didn’t know whether you were going to sob or kiss him. He wished it was the latter. Wait, what?

But then suddenly, in that cramped space of the booth, you lunged towards him.

His breath got knocked out of his lungs as you pressed your body against him. Quivering. Barely Containing. Your hands slid from his shoulders to his neck and you nuzzled your face into his neck. Bucky froze as you whispered something.

“We won.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “We won?”

You lifted your head. Tears threatening to fall out, your cheeks filled with glee and your wobbly smile giving him more life than anything else possibly could.

“We won, Bucky. You won.” Bucky completely engulfed you, holding you tighter to his chest, burying his head in your neck. He was consumed. By your sweet and stubborn scent, by your honeyed words and soft sobs of joy. His hands ran from your back to your waist, wrapping them around you as if you would vanish into thin air. He had to cherish you. Hold you.

You sighed into his body, almost as if your souls were entwined, breathing in each other, as if you couldn’t live without each other. You softened more to his touch, melting like snow in his warmth when he ran his hands from your back to your waist. He smelled like faint citrus and lavender, his woody scent completely enthralling your senses.

You both clutched onto each other, embraced each other, because you found comfort. Both of you found home.

“You are the only reason.” He whispered.

“W-What?” You asked, quietly between hiccups.

He cradled your face in his hands and looked at you. He scanned your face, taking in every intricate detail: How cute you looked with your nose red and puffy eyes; How your perfect lips spoke with sweet melodies aligned in every word; Your hair, cascading like an angel’s and your eyes, god, your eyes looking at him like he hung up the moon for you. And to be honest, he would. And you would be worth it.

He locked it in his mind, for safekeeping, because he never wanted anyone else to witness you in your state right now. Because that? That was for him. Just him. And he was damn sure, he wouldn’t let anyone else see you like this. Because right now, even with your eyes, fresh out of tears, your cheeks stained, your face red, and your heaving breaths: you were utter and complete perfection.

“You are the only reason I am right here. As Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. As a man. I wouldn’t have done it without you, doll. You are my reason. My miracle. My rock. You put up with me, you stood by me, you defended me, you trusted me. Believed in me.”

He rested his forehead against yours.

You processed his words, the fervour in his voice, the great vehemence throwing you off. “We did it, James.”

You pulled him closer, tugging him at his shirt, like you couldn’t get enough of him. Your hands travelled from his chest, to his collar, to his stubble. You looked into his eyes, your hands softly caressing his beard, his cheeks, as if you were holding the object of your desires for the first time in your life. Like what you have been waiting for, yearning for is right here, in front of you, close enough to kiss. Both of you understood that this was more than just a victory.

You slowly leaned in. Hesitantly, to see how he would react. But almost immediately, Bucky locked his eyes on your lips; gazing at them like he has been wanting to ravish them for months, years. Your eyes were still on his, shy, asking for permission. But you didn’t need any, because according to Bucky’s mind and body, he has been yours to take for longer than he could care to admit.

His lips brushed against yours, like a question. You gasp, just slightly, with feather-like volume, delicate, willing. But that gasp sent a nuclear reaction through Bucky’s body, like fire; Something more sweeter had taken over him and his mind.

Because then his lips were on you.

Not fast, not rough, not aggressive in any way. But with a slow and agonizing intent. There was desperation, but in a way that said ‘I have been waiting too long for this, so I am going to savor every single second.’ And that, he did.

He tasted you. Gently. Sweetly. Softly. Lightly. Almost as if he kissed you any deeper, he would drown and he would never be able to resurface. As if he was still afraid; Afraid, that you might pull back from him. Feather–like, in case this was just a dream—a figment of his imagination, like paradise—which would make his reality a nightmare.

But god, he was already addicted. To the way you tasted; the way you slightly gasped when he kissed you; to the way you melted into his touch. You tasted like faint cotton candy that he just bought for you and your raspberry mouth freshener—the one you were so picky about because ‘the regular mint ones left a weird aftertaste’. He was addicted to the way you breathed him in, to the way you let him take you. Because that just meant that you trusted him.

And that you did. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Bucky’s stomach.

When you sighed into the kiss, you knew your soul and heart had been snatched. Stolen. Taken away from you. You poured every ounce of your love in the kiss; your heart was palpitating through your chest, your hands and your ears. You could feel him everywhere.

His breath, his kisses, his soft groans and hums. The tingly feeling in your stomach just raged throughout your body. Just because of him. His scent. His hair. His oh-so-perfectly soft lips.

You felt like you were floating. His lips felt like a dream but also secure. Secure in a way that says ‘I will always be there for you’. In a way that said ‘you are my future’.

What felt like an eternity that fell too short, you both pulled away, unwillingly. But you didn’t let go: none of you wanted to. You were lost in each other, dazed by each other’s touch. His hands were at your waist, now gripping, almost lifting you from your position, putting you on his lap. One of your palms was resting on his broad chest, unclenching and clenching his shirt, the one on his nape, softly scratching his baby hair.

Your heads softly banged against each other as you rested your foreheads. He breathed softly and you bit your lip, shying away from his eyes. He lifted your chin with his index finger, searching for your eyes, his intense gaze making heat crawl up your neck.

Bucky leaned down and softly kissed your nose and you let out a giggle. Joy bubbling up both of you, with barely contained smiles. He took his thumb and sweetly caressed your lower lip and pecked you. “You are my everything.” He whispered, content adorned his face. You kissed his cheek, lovingly: “I love you. Bucky,”

“You have been the only person who made me feel safe, made me feel seen, made me feel special.”

“Do you remember that day when I had to skip work because I couldn’t even get out of my bed?”

He frowned. “Because of your period cramps?” You nodded and scanned his face. “You fought with my manager and you skipped too. You came home with insane amounts of chocolate, cold coffee and even a new heatable plushie.”

“That day, you took care of me, like no one ever had. And I didn't even have to ask you…You made sure my blankets were fresh so I would be comfortable, you put on my favourite TV show and you held me while I cried about a dog I saw on the street.”

“You cooked for me, my favourite meal, that nobody had ever taken the effort to do before. You made sure I didn’t overwork myself and you reassured me again and again. Even if it might’ve been strenuous. How could I not fall for you?” You kissed him again.

"You're perfect, Bucky. I love your eyes and the way they light up when you're with the people you care for. I love your smile and how raw and vulnerable you are when you are actually happy. The way you make sure everybody is comfortable and safe. You, Bucky, you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, my love. Your existence, Bucky; Every since we started working in that crappy office, you made my life easier, you instantly made all my worries fade. I didn't know I could be this happy in my life."

There were unshed tears in Bucky's eyes.

“I love you so much.” You said, gentle tears welling up in your eyes and Bucky cradled your face again. “I love you more, my doll.” You giggled as he leaned in yet again, kissing you more deeply, more fervently, more firm.

So, yes. You concluded that: Bucky Barnes did have time for love. Because Bucky Barnes’ heart belonged to you. He was yours and you were his.

Under that sky, at coney island, on that ferris wheel, you both began. Began to create a life together, for each other and by each other. You both vowed to never let each other go and whatever whirlwinds came in your way, you would face them together.

At coney island, Bucky and you promised each other love, like an oath, never to be broken and always to be held.

if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did —lana del ray thank you for reading! requests are open <3 reblog, like and comment!

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laseracronym · 2 months ago

Note

Yandere Aizawa?? Love to see a stoic feral man, and you always write him so well 🙌

Aw, thank you :) He's such a great character and fun to write for, I'm glad you think I write him well. ^u^

Yandere Aizawa has me just as feral as he would be lmao. I cooked up some headcanons for him and there will be some NSFW in a designated section at the end. Enjoy ;)

Content: Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, dubcon.

Yandere!Aizawa Headcanons

This one's impossible to escape. If he's set on not letting you go, then that's it, that's your life from now on.

Aizawa's the type of yandere that you might not even know who he is until he's caught you. You could be a stranger in the street that's caught his eye and he'll spend months observing you, covertly trailing you from a distance. He'll put all that experience as an underground hero into his obsession with you, stalking you, digging into your past, building up a shrine to you within his mind of who you are. You'll never see him coming.

He views you as helpless and weak (regardless of whether or not that's true). Aizawa is a man that's scared of losing those he cares about, and what drives him as a yandere is just how fragile you are, at how easily you could be hurt, or worse. He's aware that his obsession with you is unhealthy, but he keeps finding ways to justify his mindset. Who knows what could happen to you out in that dangerous world? You would be so much better off with someone like him to protect you. You would be so much better off if he just...kept you all to himself.

Up close, he’s actually quite stiff and awkward with you, so overwhelmed with his feelings for you that he reverts to a more stern, perhaps intimidating, demeanor. This isn’t a yandere that can charm his way naturally into your life, but that’s not to say he isn’t capable of manipulation. Once he has you in his clutches, he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you there. He’s not above blackmailing you to keep you in line. For example, say you’re a vigilante or a villain, he has no problem suggesting a harsh prison sentence awaits you should you try to escape. “Logical ruses” and all that.

While he won’t ever hurt you or even threaten violence to keep you in line, Aizawa will restrain you if he deems it necessary. He doesn’t have a problem with being seen as the “bad guy” if it means keeping you safe. Expect locked doors at every turn, being chained to the bed by your ankle or even more restrictively should you prove to be unruly enough. He’ll even hold you down himself if it means getting the point across. You’re not going anywhere.

It does ultimately end in captivity with him. His attempts at justification only go so far until Aizawa decides he doesn’t care, he’s going to commit to keeping you anyway. Even if it goes against everything he stands for, even if it makes him a villain in every sense of the word, it’ll keep you safe, and that’s what matters to him.

He does try to be a good captor (if something like that is even possible). His actions towards you are out of care and not meant to be a punishment. He tries to keep you happy and entertained, providing you with whatever you ask for, so long as it’s not your freedom. If he thinks he can trust you, he might even take you for (very limited) outings. The life he offers you is one of a well-cherished pet, which could be its own kind of hell when all is said and done.

NSFW

His decision to keep you is far from pure. Yes, his desire to keep you safe is the main driving force, but it’s not the only desire he feels for you. No one’s ever caught his attention quite like you have. Before he found you, his life was consumed by his work as a hero and a teacher. He sometimes spared time for his few close friends, but rarely for romance or sex. Then you came along and he finds himself fantasizing, hungering, for the first time in ages.

He has to admit, once he has you in his clutches, he’s glad to have you away from the eyes of others, that he’s the only one that has access to you now. There’s no doubt in him now that he’s a bad man, a good man wouldn’t do what he’s done to you, but how bad of a man is he? He has you protected and safe from the rest of the world, but are you safe from him?

Aizawa can’t help but get closer, indulge himself a little. He gets in your personal space, even if it makes you nervous, just to feel your body heat. He pats your head, squeezes your waist as he walks by, rests a hand on your knee, trying to get you used to his touch. He has enough decency left to not take too much, to not simply force his way past that final line. He hopes you’ll one day ask for more from him, banking on the fact that he’s the only company you have now, and everyone has needs, don’t they?

But give an inch, and he’ll take a mile. If you, in your isolation and loneliness, seek intimacy with him, you’ll never be rid of him. He’ll make a home for himself between your thighs, content to pleasure you for hours, your thoughts turning to mush as he unravels you on his tongue over and over. Yes, he takes great enjoyment in satisfying you, but it’s also a way to ease his own guilt. When you’re calling his name so sweetly, you must not completely hate him, right? Your captivity can’t be so bad for you if you’re clinging to him, your pussy gripping his cock so greedily. You must see something positive in this, in him.

From then on, Aizawa sees sex as a means of placation, of apology, of distraction, a way to keep you content amidst the suffocation of your life with him. He’s always been a man of action rather than words, after all. He’s never been able to talk you into accepting your circumstances, but maybe his body can convince you.

(Requests)

#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #mha x reader #aizawa smut #mha smut #yandere aizawa #yandere x reader #yandere #fem!reader #female reader #laser writes #laser requests

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kingkat12 · 2 months ago

Text

the secretary (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dry-humping, inappropriate usage of shoes, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, email-banter (tihi), mentions of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics

summary: Mr. Godfrey isn't done with you-- definitely not after he watched you cum yesterday. but are you sure you want to let him continue running over you like this? you're intrigued, that's for sure; obsessed.

word count: 7,815

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: the way I have literally written all of this in the span of 24 hours because I CANNOT let go of this plot and the things I'm uncovering about myself this way????? I'm ashamed. you are ashamed. we are all ashamed. welcome to the club of shame, and enjoy;)

Anyone could be an assistant.

Anyone could write emails, organise meetings, take phone calls, and I knew this very well. My job didn't need me to have a big brain, didn't need me to be a PhD candidate, and didn't need me to be any kinds of sharp to handle my position.

But the more I worked for Mr. Godfrey, the more I realized that not anyone could be a secretary.

Not the normal kind of secretary, fuck no-- not the kind that arranged appointments and answered messages, but Mr. Godfrey's secretary.

That was why he hired me, wasn't it? Because he saw that I could handle it. He recognized, in my job interview, that I was capable of handling the requirements of working for him, to take whatever he would throw at me. I had no idea how, or what the indicators were, but right now? Right now, I felt perfect for the job, and it was partially because he made me feel perfect.

Lilac. French tips. Hair down. Mr. Godfrey's instructions had left me feeling like a doll, and in the best way possible. Even as he was out of office, and would be for the next two hours, I sat by my desk, ready for him to pass me by and hopefully give me a nod of approval; anything would do, after what he had pulled on me yesterday.

Why had he asked me to make myself cum in front of him? Actually, a better question was, how the hell had I allowed myself to comply? There was something about the way he was talking down to me, the way he didn't look at me while I crossed my legs and complied with his every word, and it had thrown my mind for a loop. Why had I enjoyed it to that extent, the humiliation of it all?

I had stayed up all night, wondering what the fuck had happened. The more I googled it, the more I scoured the internet, the more confused I got-- because what came up, were BDSM relationship dynamics. Terms I had never heard before, terms I had never even considered, and they were suddenly floating around in my brain as though they were trying to find their assigned seats.

I was ashamed to admit that I had watched some... odd videos. And by calling them odd, I was being gentle about my wording. They started out rather weird, with people tied up and stuff-- that wasn't my thing, that was for sure. But then, I stumbled upon some subcategory of suit-clad men, and... that was certainly up my alley.

It was easy to imagine them being Mr. Godfrey, especially when the suits were a specific shade of greyish black and the shoes had a certain kind of shine. I felt bad, dirty, disgusting even, the more I went on, the more I let my imagination float around freely, because I was sure I shouldn't be having those thoughts about my boss. I was certain it was wrong on all counts of wrong. You-should-be-ashamed wrong. You-should-be-locked-up-you-disgusting-pervert wrong.

I felt like a pervert. Imagining myself as those girls in the videos, those girls who were getting off on the suit-man's thigh, the ones getting bent over the suit-man's lap and spanked until their behinds were a rather pretty pinkish-colour-- I wondered whether that colour would suit me, and how gorgeous I'd feel with Mr. Godfrey's handprint on my ass. I'd feel like a goddess, I was sure of that.

Then, I found one specific video.

The one video that I ultimately ended up saving on my hard drive.

Because in that video, the woman was getting off the same way I got off beneath my desk, and the suit-man was filling out some sort of paperwork, not giving her an ounce of his attention. Was my life... a porn movie? That was a twist from what I thought it was, that was for sure, yet that wasn't important-- what was important, was what it made me feel, and what the video was categorized as.

The video title read as following (nasty as always); dom puts needy sub in place.

Was Mr. Godfrey a dom?

And yesterday, had I agreed for him to be... my dom? Was that what all of that was?

If so, then I was the luckiest girl in the world-- truly. The thought of all these new revelations left me sitting behind my desk with a bright, beaming smile as I watched his new email tick in with heart-eyes. I revelled in the feeling of being chosen-- chosen to do this, chosen to be his sub(?), being chosen to be his secretary.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Questions And Concern

Dear secretary,

I will be back in my office around 14:40. If Mr. Avery stops by before that, tell him I can meet him around 15:00 sharp. If he insists to meet me any earlier regarding whatever, tell him to shove his cock up his ass. Quite frankly, I couldn't care any less about the colour he wants to paint the lobby, and I have much more important things to care about.

However, I find myself concerned regarding my absence this morning. I trust you have not allowed the lack of direct orders to loosen your discipline? I expect your behaviour to extend beyond my line of sight.

Can I trust that you are focused?

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

If I were focused? Fuck no. How could I be? How was I supposed to focus when Roman fucking Godfrey was sending me mails about my discipline? If he was so damn worried about my discipline, he should come and discipline me himself, honest to God. The more I thought about that word, the more I thought about the good-looking men in suits who were disciplining those women in the videos from last night--

I was about to become a porn addict, wasn't I?

From: You

Subject: Holding The Fort

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

You will be pleased to know that Mr. Avery has not stopped by. Hopefully he will not, so that I may avoid having to tell him to shove his cock up his ass. How would that even work, sir? I have never had these thoughts before, and I must say I am a bit stumped. Male anatomy is not my strong suit.

Regarding your concern, I must assure you that I am capable of performing my duties without your presence in the office. You have hired me for a reason, sir, and everything is running smoothly as of now.

Focused as ever, Mr. Godfrey.

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

Was that too much? It couldn't be. He wouldn't have used the word cock in an email had he not warranted this sort of interaction. Or? Holding my breath at the suspense, I decided to try to calm myself down by opening my private folder--

No, I wasn't about to watch porn at work, you pervert. I was just finding snake, the best game to play in the office.

Time passed quicker this way, when I could turn my brain off and click on the cute snake to chase a bright red apple. It wasn't as though I had any pressing matters to tend to, now that Mr. Godfrey was out of office, and I allowed myself the liberty of slacking off, sure. Who wouldn't? It wasn't like he'd ever know. Now that he wasn't here, I wasn't stressing my ass off either, and I didn't feel the need to relieve myself like I had been caught doing-- I wasn't planning on doing that ever again in this damned office. At home, maybe. While waiting for the bus at the bus stop, fine. But while eating dinner? While filling out tax forms and paying my rent? No, that had to stop. I was doing this way too often, way too freely, way too casually. How many people had actually noticed throughout the years, just like Mr. Godfrey? How many times had I thought I had been slick when I had been blatantly obvious...?

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to throw myself off the top of the Godfrey Tower. But just as I was about to beat my high score on snake, having let my mind wander, a new email ticked in.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: A Teaching Moment

Dear secretary,

You have managed to momentarily short-circuit my brain. Congratulations.

However, since you are so stumped, here is your answer: one could probably do that with significant flexibility, a concerning amount of dedication, and—presumably—a severe lack of dignity. I would not recommend looking it up. Knowing you, you already have.

Now, about your claim of being focused as ever. You do realize I can see your internet usage? You have been playing 'Snake' for the past seven minutes. That culminates to seven minutes of wasted company time. Seven minutes of me rethinking your job security.

I do not care if you are bored. Return to your work, and do not lie to me again.

With reluctant indulgence,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

What?! I immediately clicked out of snake, and pressed my palm against the camera of my computer. Could he see me, or was he only getting some sort of report when he clicked on my device? That would mean that I was connected to his phone, somehow. That was both horrifying and endearing; was that company policy, or was that just Mr. Godfrey not being able to get enough of me?

... Probably the first thing. Something told me I lightly annoyed him, despite his indulgence with me.

After ripping a Post-it and putting it over the computer camera, I straightened up in my seat, crossing my legs at my ankles as I typed up a response.

From: You

Subject: Consider Me Taught

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

For your information, I do not wish to see that sort of thing, and neither have I ever seen it. I find your assumption offensive. I am not some pervert; I am your secretary.

Regarding you seeing my internet usage, I consider my privacy violated. How is that allowed? I do not feel comfortable with that. Yes, I have been playing 'Snake', but that is because I have nothing else to do at the moment and I am taking a short break. Had I had any pressing matters, I would have been busy. I am perfectly capable of doing my job, and you threatening to fire me over something so insignificant and inconsequential does not help the matter.

I apologize. However, I did not lie to you. I do not appreciate being called a liar.

Focused regards,

Your Very-Focused Secretary.

That was too snarky, wasn't it? I couldn't help it-- I stared at the Post-it note in front of my camera and felt my brows draw together with dismay. But here I was, slaving away all day, answering all of Mr. Godfrey's emails, dealing with annoying people who wanted to schedule meetings with him, taking all his calls, and he was monitoring me like I was some lousy secretary?

Was I not special? Was I not?--

Wait.

Mr. Godfrey had answered. Exactly two minutes and thirty-one seconds after I had sent my email. That must be a record of some sort.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Alright

Dear secretary,

You humour me.

I apologize that my access makes you uncomfortable. Is it maybe time for us to discuss some boundaries?

PS: You are a pervert.

With restrained regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I had to do everything in my power to not jolt in my seat and gasp. Instead, I opted to press my forehead against my desk, holding back a string of screams. Was this seriously happening? It couldn't be. Did he seriously just call me a pervert in an email? I could send this to HR and get him in enormous trouble, yet... I gathered the strength to straighten up and drag myself out of the mud; fuck it. If he was calling me a pervert, I'd call him three.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I am glad I humour you, sir.

And if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries'. It sounds a lot like something I associate with pijvodbuhvdobAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

... I didn't end up sending this, obviously. But was I about to type out the word? I couldn't. Would that scare him off? Would the direct call-out make him back off? Mr. Godfrey seemed like a typical avoidant. I didn't want to fuck this up, yet I felt like we couldn't progress without the necessary wordings, sadly. My comfort was necessary too, right?

I tried again.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I am glad I humour you, sir.

But, if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries' after what happened in your office yesterday. It sounds a lot like something I associate with BDSM. I am fairly new to both the world and that sort of thing, but I did watch Fifty Shades of Grey illegally on some pirated website back when I was 15, so I would appreciate it if we could get it cleared up. Is that what is happening here?

PSPS: You are a pervert, too.

Respectfully confused,

Your Secretary.

This could cost me my job. This could cost me everything. I regretted that email the second I sent it, and I squirmed in my chair and pushed away from the desk the second I hit send. What the fuck had I done? Why had I said that? Why on earth had I typed that?!

My body turned into jelly as I gave up on the intense anxiety coursing through my veins, and I allowed myself to slide to the floor. No one saw me, anyway, with how my desk was positioned in the office-- I wormed my way along the floor as I felt my breath constrict in my chest, and now that I wasn't allowed to get off to relieve my anxiety, I was left hyperventilating with no way to calm down.

Was this a panic attack? Had my clumsy email pushed me to that state? I wanted to cry and scream and orgasm from the adrenaline pumping through my veins-- this was confusing. And now, of course, Mr. Godfrey wasn't answering quickly anymore, so I was left to boil in my cauldron of torture.

But just as I started creeping under my desk, hoping to hide, I realized someone was watching me. It wasn't my boss through my post-it covered camera, it wasn't God (I hoped), but as I slowly dared to look up, I saw a very concerned Peter leaning over the desk with a cocked brow. This could've been taken straight out of some coming-of-age romance movie, yet I couldn't feel any of the humour; now, I was only horrified to be found in this state.

My eyes widened, caught red-handed with my back to the floor-- "Peter," I breathed.

He broke out into a soft smile, followed by a gentle laugh; "Hey,"

"Hey," I mumbled, not even trying to get up. With a sigh, I submitted to my role as the girl on the floor, and shrugged. "This is not what it looks like."

"And what do you think this looks like, kid?"

"Like I'm having a stroke?"

"Meh," Peter walked around my desk, no longer suppressing his warm chuckle. He crouched down next to me, tilting his head as he scanned me on the floor. "It looks like you might be in need of a lunch break."

"I already had a break," I breathed, letting my body go limp. "I played snake."

"Snake?"

"The game where you have to make the snake hit the apple? The tail grows with every apple you bite, and then the screen gets crowded, so--"

"Kid, I've played it before,"

"Oh,"

Peter extended his hand for me, visibly amused by my antics. "Need a hand?"

"No," I said, accepting my position. "I'm waiting for the floor to swallow me."

"... Why?"

Because I was an idiot? Because I screwed up between me and Mr. Godfrey before anything had time to actually happen? "Because," I breathed, closing my eyes. "I'm just overwhelmed. I don't think I'm doing my job very well."

Peter sighed, the sound of it mixing with a brewing laugh of his. "If you're playing snake all the time, then I gotta agree,"

His teasing landed softly, and despite myself, a small, pitiful smile flickered across my lips. "I don't play it all the time," I muttered, voice muffled as I pressed my cheek to the floor-- I prayed that my skin wouldn't break out because of it. "I only play it when... when I've sent an email to my boss that may or may not have ended my entire career before it even started."

Peter shifted to sit cross-legged beside me, elbows on his knees. "What kind of email are we talking about here?"

I definitely couldn't tell him that. I opted for something vague; "The kind you don't survive,"

Peter raised an eyebrow, curious now. It took him a few seconds to scour his brain for all the stupid possibilities I could've gotten myself into. Then; "Don't tell me you sent Roman nudes?"

"What?! No!" I sat up so fast I nearly headbutted him. "It wasn't nudes, I'm not-- I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Okay, okay!" Peter put a hand on my shoulder, hoping to calm me down. "Whatever it is, I bet Roman won't care too much. He generally doesn't care, if you haven't noticed."

He was right-- Mr. Godfrey wasn't a man to take much offence, yet... something told me it was a front. He almost cared too much. Why else would he have made me get off in front of him? It was obviously some sort of power play. It was a way for him to feel in control again, right? A man who didn't care wouldn't go to such lengths, and all of this quickly deflected Peter's argument. "I hate it here," I groaned, glancing down at my lilac nails. French tips. French tips. Forbes nose. Oh, the Forbes nose...

Peter laughed properly this time, low and warm as he watched me fall apart, before he stood and offered me a hand again. "C'mon, kid. The floor's not gonna help. Come take a walk, get some water, anything. You're spiralling, but you're not getting fired," he added, gentle. "Even if you're a little weird."

Ugh.

"... Thanks," I mumbled, begrudgingly taking his hand. Peter helped me up with surprising ease, and I did my best not to think about the way his bicep bulged through his shirt when he pulled me up.

Why couldn't my mind function properly? Why was I thinking about all these men this way? However, as I dusted myself off and tried to regain my composure, my computer pinged again.

My blood ran cold. That better not be Mr. Avery.

Peter glanced at the screen. "That him?"

I shrugged-- some part of me didn't want to know, yet the other was screaming at me to lunge at my desk.

"Well, don't just stand there," Peter said, nudging me. "Go read it. Life could be worse... He could humiliate you in front of Middle Eastern royalty, or something."

I shot him a look. The mention of that incident gave me a major case of PTSD. "Ha-ha. You're very funny,"

"Just don't let him fire you," he teased, stepping backwards. "Who else would I find lying on the floor at this place? I need my court jester."

"Hilarious, Peter! I'm dying of laughter, here!"

With a snarky grunt, I refused to watch him walk away when he did. I didn't need to see him to know he was smirking. I stepped back behind my desk with unmatched speed the second Peter was out of sight, adjusted my blouse like it would fix the past ten minutes, and opened Mr. Godfrey's email with my body trembling from the adrenaline.

My eyes skimmed the email--

Oh fuck.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clearing Things Up

Dear secretary,

You are not in a position to send me emails like your previous one. You are overstepping, and you are being inappropriate. I suggest you get back to work and no longer mention explicit movies and terms. This exchange was beneath both of us. Do not repeat it.

However, if you insist on misbehaving, do have the courage to do it properly.

Sternly,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

... What the fuck was that supposed to mean?!

So, I just got the telling off of the centuries, yet I was encouraged to go on? What the fuck?! This was becoming masochistic on my part, and I realized I wouldn't participate in that willingly. In the midst of my brain melting, I felt my thighs automatically pulling together, clenching and unclenching despite Mr. Godfrey's clear instructions not to do that anymore-- I knew what happened the last time I was caught doing this, but he was gone now, right? He wouldn't know. He would never know, and I could relieve myself, I could feel better, I could cool down my brain--

Wait.

My fingers went to my keyboard, operating on autopilot, because suddenly, I remembered the loophole. Mr. Godfrey had explicitly offered me an option to this yesterday, when he said that I could do it, but... with his approval.

From: You

Subject: (No Subject)

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

... May I?

Waiting,

Your Secretary.

One minute. One minute and fifty-seven seconds. That was how long it took until my computer filled the silence with a robotic pling, and I could breathe again.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: (No Subject)

Dear secretary,

What a smart girl you turned out to be.

With that said— no. I'll deal with you when I return.

Patiently,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The blinds were down, and the door to Mr. Godfrey's office was slanted, slightly open-- the sight of it made my heart stop in my chest. I had been gone for about three minutes, only to grab a glass of water, fix my hair in the reflection of the windows and pop some gum into my mouth, but I had somehow managed to miss him coming back to his office.

This was bad. This was so bad.

Just as I anxiously hovered around my desk, trying to get a quick glance inside the office to see whether Mr. Godfrey was free, I spotted the briefcase that had been left outside, leaning against the wall. I recognized that briefcase immediately-- Mr. Avery's.

... Oh no.

And it was at this moment that I spotted the man I had been dreading to see all day, yet the one I had waited for with burning fervour. His suit was dark blue today, complementing his pale skin and bringing out the gorgeous brown colour of his hair-- my eyes were morphing into tiny hearts, and I could do nothing to stop it.

But suddenly, green was all I saw. Green, green, green, as I locked eyes with Mr. Godfrey through the crack in the door, and they were beautiful, but they were filled with burning wrath; the sight of it nearly made me accidentally swallow my gum. He crossed his arms over his chest, jaw clenching, eye twitching with restraint as he quickly jerked his head, motioning for me to get the fuck inside before he chewed my head off.

With a sharp hitch of my breath, I hurried to get through the door, shutting it behind me with a click. In an ideal world, I'd press my back into the door and hyperventilate, but I knew I had a job to do-- by the look of Mr. Godfrey, I needed to get Mr. Avery out, stat.

Anxious, I tried to chew my gum as quietly as possible whilst approaching the intruder. He was going on and on about repainting the lobby a rather particular shade of orange to hopefully raise the happiness-rate in the entire building; "Statistically, orange is the thing-- the colour that is supposed to improve someone's mood!" he said, stammering and stumbling around his words. "I think it would help the general feeling of the office. If your employees walk in happy, why not do it?"

I blinked-- orange? Godfrey Industries... orange? Mr. Avery was clearly a man who was either sick in the head, or sick in the head.

With unsure steps, I took my place next to Mr. Godfrey, who was now leaning against his table, staring back at a rambling Mr. Avery with disbelief-- or was it disgust? I didn't dare to look at him for too long. This way, with him half-sitting, we were almost the same height. For a split second, I wondered how it would feel to kiss him when he was on my level, whether he'd be the kind of man to gently pull me in by my waist or yank me toward him--

My mind would've wandered on like that forever, but out of the blue, Mr. Godfrey extended his hand out in front of my mouth, palm up. Without looking at me, his fingers curled once in a quiet, demanding gesture.

My pulse stuttered.

He wanted the gum.

He wanted to see if I would follow him blindly. This was another test, wasn't it?

I stared at Mr. Godfrey, bewildered, waiting for him to laugh and retract his hand. However, that moment never came. What did come, was an annoyed huff, and another quick curl of his fingers telling me to get on with it without a single word.

So, I leaned forward-- I didn't dare to hesitate too long, and I parted my lips and let the gum fall into Mr. Godfrey's palm. My cheeks burned with shame as my eyes dared to dart toward Mr. Avery, whose voice had faltered mid-sentence.

His gaze flicked down to the hand, then to me, then back again.

God, how humiliating-- and how good it felt to be the one chosen to be humiliated. Even in the thick silence, I had to bite back a rather sheepish smile. Mr. Godfrey and I had managed to shut up our annoying intruder, after all. Efficient. Genius.

But without so much as a glance in my direction, Mr. Godfrey closed his fingers over my gum and turned to drop it into the wastebasket beside his desk, shrugging as he absentmindedly said; "No orange. There will be no orange,"

Mr. Avery could shove his cock up his ass. I knew he was itching to say it.

And on the other side of the room, our annoying guest was fumbling to gather his stuff and get out as fast as possible. I wasn't the only one who got intimidated by Mr. Godfrey, and that was actually rather nice to see. "Oh!-- Of course, yes," Mr. Avery stammered. "It was stupid, really. But I'm always happy to-- to try!" He stumbled toward the door and exited with the clumsy urgency of a man who knew he had overstayed his welcome.

The moment the door clicked shut, I turned back toward Mr. Godfrey, opening my mouth to apologize for letting in the intruder, but I stopped the second I saw green.

He was looking at me now, and it was quiet. The kind of quiet that suffocates, the kind that shreds you apart like the shredder on the 16th floor that nearly chopped my finger off the other day.

Mr. Godfrey didn't say anything. He was just looking at me like he was deciding something, and that made everything a thousand times worse. Was he maybe thinking about how to tell me I was fired, or was he deciding how to deal with me, like he had said in his email? In the midst of my inner panicked monologue, last night's research buzzed into my head.

Dom puts needy sub in her place. The suit-clad men. The handprints left on sore, pink skin. Why had this burned itself into my mind? Why couldn't I be busy with something good for me, like... activism? Ugh, fuck it.

Then, Mr. Godfrey's voice cut through my thoughts with a stern; "Turn,"

What? I blinked. "Pardon?"

"Turn," he repeated, slower this time, voice dipped in that particular kind of mockery only he could master. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk behind him, impatient. "You do know what that means, don't you? Or did all the video games and the gum rot your brain as well?"

My lips parted with a breath I couldn't catch. I felt heat crawl up my neck, shame prickling against my scalp. I should've turned around and done as told, but instead I stood there, blinking like a deer in headlights, unsure if I was supposed to obey or be insulted. In the midst of it all, I could feel the red lights going off in my brain-- what was he about to do?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, long and theatrical. "Pathetic," he muttered, pushing away from the desk. I let my eyes follow him, allowing myself to watch how fantastically tall he was-- every part of me wanted to climb him.

He was right in front of me now, close enough that I caught a faint trace of his cologne, and then his voice dropped just above a whisper; "Turn. Around,"

Something sharp and electric ran through my spine, and my legs moved before I could stop them; I turned around, and every atom I was made of screamed for him to praise me for it. Face flushed, heart hammering, I stood with my back to him. Silence followed as I felt him looking, like his gaze had weight, and like it was actively crawling up my spine. "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I--"

"Bend over,"

I blinked, unsure I had heard him right. "Excuse me?--"

"My patience is running really damn low, so I suggest you don't make me reiterate a fourth time,"

My breath caught, and it resulted in me hesitating for just a second too long.

Cold fingers curled around the nape of my neck-- not tight, not cruel, but enough to make my knees buckle. Mr. Godfrey pressed, and my body obeyed without another thought; my palms braced against the cool wood of his desk, and to my horror, I could feel my skirt automatically sliding up my thighs.

... Was this why he told me to wear a shorter skirt yesterday?

"Sir?" I breathed, feeling my eyes prickle. For the first time, I found myself feeling scared. I could fantasize all I wanted, sure, but having it all happen in real life? I wasn't sure I was ready for it. "Sir, please don't-- please don't--"

"I'm not going to fuck you," Mr. Godfrey said, calm and precise as his hand left my neck. "I have no interest in that whatsoever, I can assure you. However, I need you to stay still so I can check something out."

Could my boss perhaps read minds? I let out a choppy stream of air, nodding against the desk.

Behind me, Mr. Godfrey moved with no rush. He was crouching, now, and I could feel the deliberate slowness of his breath near the backs of my thighs. Then, his fingers brushed the hem of my skirt, lifting it higher with clinical, unhurried care.

My breath caught; I could've sworn I heard him hum. Why hadn't I worn nicer underwear today? Fucking hell. Of course, I had no idea anyone would be seeing the pair I was wearing right now, but I was happy I had at least chosen something with a little bow in the front.

"You're not wet," he murmured, more to himself than me. "I take it that you didn't go against my word, then?"

Was he talking about how he had denied me getting off earlier today? Me not being wet anymore had nothing to do with that, though. I was sure I could've gotten off completely dry, if I wanted to-- but did Mr. Godfrey need to know that? Certainly not. "I didn't,"

"What?"

"I-- I didn't, sir,"

"Good,"

As I exhaled against the desk, I found my brain buzzing with my inner voice pleading with him to touch me. Just the brush of his knuckles against my inner thigh would make my knees buckle, I was sure-- my cheeks were a rather embarrassing shade of pink as I closed my eyes and imagined how good it would feel if Mr. Godfrey decided to press his thumb against my clit, or even better, against my core to check if my wetness just hadn't reached my underwear. I didn't even care if his hand was still sticky from the gum he'd held in his palm.

But then, I couldn't feel Mr. Godfrey's breath against my thighs anymore. "Stand up," he said, rising behind me.

I scrambled upright like my body had been waiting for permission to move. Fidgeting, anxious, I adjusted my skirt, pulling it down as much as I possibly could. Now, Mr. Godfrey had seen me cum, and seen my underwear. What would be next? Would the next thing be him witnessing my suicide, because he had driven me to it? Hopefully not.

My gaze met his the second I turned around, and I immediately regretted it. Green, green, green. Forbes nose. There was no softness in his expression, no teasing-- just that steady, infuriating coolness of a typical CEO. And just as I thought he was about to say something nice, praise me for following his orders, anything; "You... smell like need,"

I blinked. "Weed?"

"... Weed?" Mr. Godfrey echoed, blinking back at me. "Need. Are you partially deaf, or?--"

"Sorry, sir," I squeaked, no longer meeting his gaze. Why did I think he had said weed? Stupid, stupid! "I swear I don't smoke. I barely even drink, sir."

Somehow, I felt like my blabbering intrigued him. "Oh, is that so?"

"Positive,"

"Well, I do," he said, shrugging. "Weed can be nice. Do you have any schizophrenics in your family?"

What?! "No...?" Not that I knew of?

"Good. Then you most likely won't go into psychosis if you try some," Mr. Godfrey tilted his head, scanning me as his brows drew together just slightly. "You seem like a risk-taker to me, though. Why don't you smoke?"

"I--" My knees were still weak, and I had to clear my throat. "I like my lungs."

Mr. Godfrey hummed; "Why don't you drink?"

"Cause I'd be an alcoholic," I blurted out, swallowing. "I get addicted to things really easily. I'm rather obsessive, sir."

"Obsessive?"

"Yes, sir,"

"About...?"

"Things I shouldn't,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't speak. He just looked at me with a blank expression, not giving away anything until he suddenly moved. One step, then two, and he passed me by. For a split second, he was close enough that I could smell the faint bitterness of his cologne and something else under it: smoke, leather, maybe the edge of something metallic?

He sat down in his chair with a satisfied sigh, spreading out. His green eyes were tethered to me, like if he looked away or blinked, I'd manage to run away. "Down," he said.

Baffled, I stared. "Sir?"

He looked vaguely irritated by the fact that I was still standing. "Get over here, and get on your knees,"

The words hit like a low bell in my chest, reverberating; yet, I obeyed... slowly. When I reached him, my knees kissed the floor, and my skirt folded around my thighs as my heart climbed up my throat. I wasn't sure what this was-- punishment? Reward? A lesson for not having sharp ears? What was about to happen?

He didn't explain; this was Roman Godfrey, for fuck's sake. He didn't explain himself to anyone. Instead, he spread out further, just far enough that the pointed toe of his right shoe came into view. It was glossy black, expensive, possibly new. He angled his foot slightly toward me, casual.

"Obsessive," he repeated, as though he was tasting the word. "I suggest you don't tell me any more of your weak points. I'm compelled to use them against you, and I'm not keen on restraining myself in my own office."

I stared up at Mr. Godfrey, eyes round with a mix of fear and confined excitement. However, his eyes were on his right shoe, watching the way the gloss shone beneath the office lights. "You've done well today, compared to yesterday," he hummed. "You aren't rejecting the structure I'm implementing in you, you've controlled yourself, for once, so... I believe that deserves something. Doesn't it?"

I didn't dare answer-- my thighs were shaking. The floor felt too hard beneath my knees, and still I didn't move. Not because I liked it, but mostly because I kind of hoped it would bruise. I'd bruise my knees for Mr. Godfrey any day. "I-- I don't know, sir," I finally whispered.

"Don't lie. You want something, but you're afraid to ask. You're allowed to ask, are you aware of that?"

I was... allowed? I was so tense I could feel the ache behind my knees. My whole body was humming with unreleased want, my thoughts skipping like stones across a lake I couldn't dive into.

Then, Mr. Godfrey leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping: "You can get off now. But if you must, you will use my shoe,"

I blinked. "I-- Sir?"

"You heard me," There wasn't a hint of humor in his tone. "I'm tired of watching you squirm in your seat. Are you not able to cum any other way? If not, then we have to change that."

Shame crashed over me like a hot wave. "I-- I don't know, sir, I haven't tried--"

"Don't play modest. You're obsessive, so obsess," He nodded once, slow and deliberate, at the pointed leather. "Go on."

I couldn't breathe. This was seriously almost exactly like something I had watched in one of the pornos from last night. How was this happening? How was I letting this happen?

But... my body moved.

I shifted forward, the floor scraping faintly under my knees, and lowered myself just enough to press the clothed ache between my legs against the toe of his shoe. The friction was maddening even through my underwear-- just the firm drag of polished leather against a part of me so tender I could barely keep my balance.

My breath hitched, and my pleading eyes found his; "Mr. Godfrey, sir, are you-- are you sure?" Please, please don't let this be some mean trick.

He didn't react-- not a twitch. Just sat there like the authority figure he was, watching me demean myself. "Don't question my word," he said, icy.

... Okay, then.

My thighs trembled as I started to move-- tentative, shallow motions, with my clothed sex gliding against the stiff leather of his shoe. The room blurred out of focus, and I wasn't even sure if I was breathing anymore. Why did this feel so good? I never thought I'd ever sink so low, yet here I was.

There was no sound in the room but the slight drag of fabric and the soft, wet sound my body made against something that would never respond to me.

And still, Mr. Godfrey didn't move, didn't blink, but at least I had his full attention this time. Now, he was actually looking at me. Yet; "Pathetic," he murmured, just loud enough. "It's almost sweet."

I swallowed a gasp and squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the wave of humiliation from peaking and breaking over me. My cheeks were wet-- maybe with sweat, maybe not. I couldn't tell anymore, yet still, I rocked. Each movement sent a shudder up my spine, each pass over the tip of his shoe tugging a needy, desperate noise out of me. I needed more pressure, needed to lean into it, but I couldn't balance.

Without thinking, I reached forward, planting a shaky hand on the edge of his thigh for support, feeling the soft fabric of his suit against the burning tips of my fingers.

But... I shouldn't have. Holy shit I shouldn't have, because instantly, he recoiled in what I could only decode as disgust. Mr. Godfrey wafted me away like I was something distasteful-- "No," he hissed, biting and sharp. "You don't get to touch me."

Fuck-- I froze. Something about his knee-jerk reaction shocked me to my core. My whole body seized in place, and that was when it hit-- the burn. Not just between my legs, but in my eyes, in my chest. The rejection, sharp and cold and cutting straight through the heat of arousal; my vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard, but it was too late. He saw.

Mr. Godfrey's gaze locked on mine again-- green, cold, assessing. Just for a second, I thought I saw something resembling guilt, but that would be impossible. Roman Godfrey didn't feel guilty about anything. If anything, he made you feel guilty for even existing in his vicinity.

But then, something shifted. He didn't soften, not quite; he didn't have that in him, I think. Still, he leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and brought his hand up between us.

I flinched, until my foggy brain realized Mr. Godfrey's thumb was gently pressing against my lips.

Open.

Without thinking, my mouth wrapped around his thumb, slow, obscene, wet, as my hips ground down harder against his smooth shoe. Something about this functioned like a pacifier, and I suddenly found myself no longer wanting to cry. What the fuck?

Mr. Godfrey's eyes stayed on me, watching the way my lips closed around him. And then, he granted me the words that were the closest to an apology than anything he'd probably ever granted anyone before; "Good girl," he cooed. "That's better."

My tears, freshly humiliated, welled again, but now they mixed with something sickly warm-- something that felt dangerously close to affection for both of us. He wasn't angry anymore. He was... assessing me, testing me out like he was trying me on for size. I could breathe again. He had actually praised me. Roman Godfrey had praised me. That was all I had ever wanted, since the second I started working for him.

Mr. Godfrey shifted his hand, thumb still in my mouth, and the pad of it traced over my tongue like he was checking the texture. My jaw ached to close around it, bite down, do something that would make me feel less helpless, but I didn't dare. I suckled, soft, obedient, grateful.

"There we are," he murmured, like he was proud of a kid for saying a full sentence.

The burn of his affection made me whimper. I didn't mean to, but the sound escaped from somewhere buried deep.

"Was that too much for you?" he asked, brushing a tear from under one eye with the knuckle of his free hand. The question was rhetorical-- he didn't wait for an answer. "Told you we had to talk about boundaries."

I didn't know what to say, yet couldn't say anything at all with his thumb filling my mouth. Still, my body kept moving, clinging to the friction, chasing release like it was the only lifeline I had left.

"Greedy girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured, shaking his head. "You want comfort and corruption. That's a dangerous combination. That'd get you obsessed for sure, and that's not what I want."

What the hell did he want, then? I had no idea.

My fingers curled into fists-- he wasn't wrong. I didn't know how to want something halfway, I never had. I only knew how to consume, obsess, drown, and right now, I could feel myself drowning in the pleasure. Who would've thought grinding against a shoe would feel good? Those girls moaning their asses off in those porn videos were seemingly not lying that much.

Mr. Godfrey watched me the way a handler might study a trembling animal-- somewhere between clinical and captivated. His thumb stayed in my mouth, anchoring me to him, keeping me quiet, subdued. It was too much. It was not enough. I didn't know which.

"That's it," he said, his voice like blood-drenched silk. "You're almost there, aren't you?"

I whimpered around his thumb, nodding, the friction unbearably perfect now; sharp leather, soaked-through panties, and the humiliating rhythm of my own hips chasing a finish that felt impossible to stop.

"Pathetic little thing," he whispered. "You're one heck of a fucking secretary."

That did it-- I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a car crash, sudden and sickeningly sweet; my body convulsed as my hips locked down hard against his shoe. I moaned around his thumb, eyes screwed shut, utterly undone and unable to hide it; I didn't have to.

And Mr. Godfrey just let me. He didn't move. Didn't help. Didn't soothe. He let me. He held his thumb steady in my mouth, watching me with quiet satisfaction as my body betrayed me; I shuddered, and clenching and weeping against something that would never, ever love me.

"Look at that," he murmured when I finally started to come down, my thighs trembling, my body wrecked. "See what happens when you follow my rules?"

I...

Yes, but...

I couldn't believe what had just happened. What the fuck had I done? When would this feeling of shame leave me?

And had I just... gotten off on somebody's shoe?!

The post-orgasm clarity hit me like never before. With the last shred of dignity in my body, I allowed my teeth to gently sink into Mr. Godfrey's thumb-- it was barely anything, barely a scrape, barely a bite, but I had to do something in order to soothe the fire raging through my soul.

So, I get to humiliate myself like this when I follow his rules? I get to feel shame beyond belief in exchange for him shaping me to his liking?

No, sir.

Eyes burning with every feeling churning in my gut, I glared up at Mr. Godfrey through my brows, making him face my rebellion. How dare he use my affliction with him against me like this? How dare he waft my hands away from him? What the fuck was his problem? Why was he doing this?! I wanted to sob and hit him, to beg him to explain what he was doing to me. Was he conditioning me? What for? The image of the previous secretary flashed before my eyes, the odd tear in her skirt making the pit in my stomach heavier than ever; angered, I flared my teeth, sinking them harder into his thumb, hoping for some sort of reaction or wince from him, yet nothing.

Instead, Mr. Godfrey pulled his thumb from between my teeth as though he couldn't feel a thing, and abruptly got up from his chair. I guessed he could see the thoughts behind my narrowed eyes, and it didn't take a genius to figure that it pissed him off. He had granted me my orgasm, so I should be grateful, right? Fuck no. Then, it didn't take long before he got his foot back from under me, and--

I gasped.

Mr. Godfrey pressed his shoe against my chest and pushed.

He stood on top of me, not pressing his whole weight on me, yet it was enough to make my eyes bulge as I tried to catch my breath. My back had hit the floor with a thud, and I struggled to understand what the fuck was happening. I would've hit him, would've tried to get him off of me, but... I wasn't allowed to touch him.

Even as he was stepping on me, my mind wouldn't let me go against him.

... This was so fucking bad.

Mr. Godfrey leaned down, pushing down hard enough to make me whimper, before he hissed with pure wrath in his eyes;

"Brat,"

(a/n: never have I ever found shoe-humping hot. never. I still sorta don't, but this was... yes sorry this was HOT IDKKKK WTF IS HAPPENING TO ME??? BUT THANK U IF YOU'VE READ THIS FARRR AHAHAH<33333)

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vegaseatsass · 23 days ago

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Here are some things I loved about Episode 8 Ramilpaytai!

Lipgloss smeared all over both their faces. In my honest but rock solid opinion, this is sexier than any toy in Paytai's side dresser. Thank you thank you thank you The Next Prince for letting Jimmy and Ohm beat the hell out of each other's mouths and cheeks and chins, it is everything 2 me

It IS Paytai's side dresser btw. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Those are Paytai's personal belongings that Ramil gets to pick through like a kid at a slumber party eagerly pulling toys he doesn't have at home out of his friend's closet

But really I love how in past scenes it's been Paytai choosing the toys and offering them to Ramil, but this time Ramil laid out three sequential toys in preparation for their scene, and one of them was a COLOR-COORDINATED BLINDFOLD that matched their COLOR-COORDINATED lace slut shirts.

And that blindfold and those handcuffs were for Ramil! !!! !! ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just as Paytai offers him the collar and the leash, Ramil is the one to initiate when it's his turn to surrender. They trust each other so much, and are so so careful with each other.

I'm assuming longer scenes is not actually their norm (or ours sob rip) because Ramil's life mostly runs on his father's time table, so he took the risk of canceling his entire fencing practice just so they'd have this time to really, really play. He's kind of in renewed honeymoon mode with Paytai right now.

I have seen lots of interpretations of Ramil with the crop so bear with me on a very "this is just, like, my opinion, man" take: For me, the way it read when Ramil put the crop down is that reality punched through their scene and took the wind out of his sails as a dom. So much of this space Paytai has helped him create is about building Ramil up and letting them both but especially Ramil feel like there's one protected place where Ramil has absolute power and can keep them both safe. Imo what Ramil needs is to feel in control and what Paytai needs is to be Ramil's complete focus. So when Ramil remembers the other connotation that whips have in their relationship it punctures his ability to stay in that powerful, in-control place; the powerlessness and pain of real life intrudes and he crumbles. But as much as Paytai loves it when Ramil is in control, when Paytai can let go of the reins in their relationship and just float in Ramil's hands, he also loves it when Ramil is stripped down to his core, raw and needy and vulnerable, espeeeeeecially when what he's shaking and crying about is Paytai. Because again! What Paytai needs isn't for Ramil to run the show but for Ramil to keep his eyes on Paytai. So both his strong, cruel side and his weak, hurt side sate the same obsessively deep craving in Paytai. And I think that's neat. I personally don't see Ramil putting the crop aside as like, okay he articulated a need, averted a bad scene, and has established he's not into whipping Paytai ever, so that toy is going back in the dresser for good. I think they probably have reclaimed punishment, discipline, and physical pain in the past, and will reclaim it all again in the future. For me this was just a window into what it looks like when the unlivable conditions they're trapped in intrude on their attempts to reclaim some control and comfort for themselves, but those attempts are a work in progress, will continue, and best of all, will continue to feature so much experimentation, trial and error, and open-ended play. God I love that they aren't limited to rigid roles but are trying things. I love it so so much.

I KNOW I MENTIONED RAMIL IN THE CUFFS ALREADY BUT: RAMIL IN THE CUFFS!!! PAYTAI KISSING HIS BOUND HANDS!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YO

#honoring my summer 2025 resolution of 'say more things in posts not just tags'#the next prince #ramilpaytai #the next prince the series #dear diary #sexy tag #the next prince spoilers #very possibly this post is a huge mess but you know how it is. better to type and have lost than to never type at all or smth #headcanons on headcanons

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leashybebes · 5 months ago

Note

seventeen, or forty, or nine! :^)

here is number 9 - bookstore AU. went for more of a meetcute vibe than either of them working in a bookshop but *handwave*

Buck's tried three book stores, two of which got him blank looks, and one an apology about being out of stock and an offer to order in. Karen's birthday drinks are tomorrow night, so that's a bust. He's already got her actual gift, but he saw the book title in a list of queer non-fiction recommendations that he was browsing the other night for…reasons he's kind of feeling his way around the edges of, and it jumped out at him immediately. The reviews are kinda mixed, but the title is too good to pass up, and he knows Karen will get a kick out of it even if she doesn't wind up loving the book itself.

His final stop is Skylight Books in Los Feliz and in the crowded shop, with shelves of all heights and at all angles, it takes him a second to find the queer section mainly because - as he belatedly realises, a big, bulky guy is blocking the sign as he stands with his arms folded, scanning the shelves. Buck ducks towards it, sees the title of the book, a single copy whose cover proudly proclaims Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America. And then the title is obscured when the guy reaches out his big hand and scoops it up, and Buck blurts, "Wait, wait, no!"

The guy looks at him, eyebrows up, dark blue eyes a picture of puzzlement and Buck's reasons for scanning those lists of queer literature and movies and history crystallise sharply. He's gorgeous. He's so tall and so broad and his eyes are so pretty and his jaw is so stubbly and strong and Buck wants to taste it. He also really, really wants that book.

"Hi," Buck says breathlessly. "I'm really sorry, but I need that book."

The guy glances down to the book, back up to Buck.

"I hate to pull playground rules, but finders keepers, man."

"No, wait, you don't understand, it's a birthday present."

"Same," the guy says, starting to step around Buck and towards the checkout. Buck's heart sinks at the imminent disappearance of both the book and the guy.

"No, no, c'mon, the birthday drinks are tomorrow, you've got time to find another copy, right?"

"That's a coincidence," the guy says. "My friend's birthday drinks are also tomorrow. Sorry."

"No, wait, like - look, I saw the book on this list of like - interesting queer non-fiction, and uh, my friend - well, my friend's wife originally, but my friend too now, she's so cool and so interesting and I think I gotta ask her questions about like. Being queer. So this would be a really great segue into talking to her about how I'm like…ninety percent sure I'm bisexual - " Some reflex takes over and Buck does a quick up and down glance of the guy's body. " - ninety nine percent sure, okay, so like. You gotta help me out, man."

The guy blinks, something amused in the small curve of his lips. "No dice, buddy. No one gave me a coming out book shield, so. You'll do fine."

"Aw, c'mon, please! Karen's so cool, and I - "

"Wait, Karen Wilson?"

Buck blinks. "Uh. Yeah? What the hell?"

"I used to work with Hen."

Buck's head is filled with static, running through a mental rolodex of people Hen or Chim have ever mentioned as predating him at the 118. There's always the chance this guy is a pharmaceutical rep, but he definitely has more of a firefighter's build.

"I work with Hen right now!" Buck says.

The guy looks him up and down, tilts his head. "Wait. Are you the - the disaster magnet probie?"

"Yes!" Buck says, way more pleased than he should be. "I mean, not anymore, I haven't been a probie in years, but uh. That's me! Evan Buckley!"

"Tommy," the guy says, and holds out the book. "Going on what I know, there's a non-zero chance the store collapses in on us if you don't get your way, so. Here you go. Good luck with the bisexuality."

"It, uh - it could be a joint present?" Buck suggests, his mouth taking over.

Tommy's eyebrows go up again. "Little early for that, isn't it?"

"Get coffee with me, then," Buck offers, his heart in his mouth. He's asking out a guy. He's asking out the hottest guy he's ever seen. He's asking out the hottest guy he's ever seen and if he crashes and burns he's going to have to see him tomorrow at Karen's birthday drinks and -

"Sure," Tommy says, half-smirk broadening into a smile that lights up his whole face. "I'd like that, Evan."

#bucktommy #my writing #au meme #if you see typos no you don't #may or may not be writing this at work in between meetings 👀👀

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sunderwight · 1 year ago

Text

Much as I love the idea of PIDW being rife with terrible porn tropes and interesting (if contrived) erotic writing conventions, all actual evidence in canon would seem to indicate that apart from some sex pollen and "uh oh, the protagonist has gone into a fugue state, whatever shall calm him down?" type stuff, it was fairly vanilla.

Like, that's part of both Shen Yuan and Airplane's frustration with it, I think. It's full of sex and it's not even sex either of them enjoy the concept of. Airplane was fully just trying to pander to an audience he felt he knew and could manipulate, but not one either he nor his ultra mega hate reader were actually part of.

Not that they understood that themselves at the time.

I mean I know fandom likes to make Airplane less closeted than Shen Yuan (for a lot of reasons), which I support, but I feel like in canon at least... he didn't cotton on to Luo Binghe's change in interests at first either. It wasn't until he was watching his protagonist obsess over resurrecting Shen Qingqiu at any cost that the light started to dawn. For Shang Qinghua, also, many more years have passed since he was back in their original world. He's had more time to reconcile himself to certain ideas.

What glimpses we get of the person he was before he died, was reborn, and lived a whole other life well into adulthood, would seem to indicate that he probably wasn't much better than Shen Yuan back when he was writing.

I mean he probably was still BETTER (the bar is on the floor), like I bet he could have a fantasy featuring Mobei Jun without having an existential crisis or pretending it didn't happen, but he would have probably been like "wow I guess I've been writing so much m/f porn that I can't even enjoy it anymore and my brain had to come up with something else, anyway Mobei would make a hot chick tho, I'm gonna write one of his cousins as Binghe's next wife" and gotten on with things.

Basically I guess what I'm driving at is that it would be funny if SQQ and SQH figured they had a solid handle on the kinds of sex pollen-y porn tropes to expect from the world (mostly just the occasional fuck-or-die that missionary can cure), only for the rug to get ripped out from under them because the system incorporated a bunch of stuff from Airplane's subconscious to fill out the gaps. Not even his notes. His daydreams and fantasies.

SQQ: what the hell?! PIDW didn't even have werewolves or tentacle porn monsters!

SQH, suddenly reminded of some very specific fap sessions: right?! this is definitely weird and in no way my fault! it must be because of the genre switch!

SQQ: *suspicious*

SQH: which is your fault! you made the protagonist gay! in fact it's probably your fault that I'm gay too now!

SQQ: bullshit. what did you do. was this in a draft?!

SQH: *sweating* I can say with absolute confidence that it was not! I never wrote anything like this!

SQQ: *having a crisis now because maybe he DID accidentally cause the monsterfucker stuff and he desperately doesn't want anyone to realize that he's actually into it*

SQH: *continuing to sweat because the world is consistently manifesting content from his personal spank bank and if cucumber ever figures that out he's a dead man*

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Note

I'm back with a part 4 if you want to do it it's kind of more of a crack write I just need Klarion trying to explain the family tree

But not explaining how he was made at all So Young Justice and the Justice League are now convinced that a the Ghost King was a teenage parent who is now 27 years old and just passed college with a degree in astronomy and machinery

Klarion's other parent is a a crazy fruit loop 64 year old millionaire who went to college with Klarion's Mom parents who had an emotionally unhealthy obsession with his mom's mother and then it passed on to his mom.

And he has an older sister who is technicality a clone of his mom but also has the bastards DNA so fundamentally making Ellie Vlad Master and Mom's first born kid but there's six other siblings that Klarion had that died back a while back but Mom got granddad who's apparently the time lord AKA Cronos which is a whole another long story to go back in time and save those kids get them fixed up and now Klarion technicality has seven older siblings which all do their own things

And then he starts mentioning his uncle who is a 9 ft yeti his technicality auntie who is a medieval ghost princess who can turn into a dragon his auntie Pandora and his his grandfather cronos

My names for the six other clone children are Donald (he/him), Cecelia (they/she), Bartholomew(Them/They), Kyle AKA Bite(He/It), Brutus(He/They), and then there's Danna (She/Her) who actually really like the name Dan and asked Klarion if could have it when Klarion changed his name

Sorry if this is a little bit too much I've just really been thinking about au for this after the last part you made I hope this helps you with your writing or at least makes you laugh but I really love the idea of Danny's AKA somewhat clone children and finding their own personalities and and fighting themselves out of just being failed clone of their mom also I love the idea of Danny going back in time to save the rest of the clone kids cuz now he's a mature adult who wants to save their lives and wants them to grow into their own people.

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I probably did way to much research into all the fandoms I am in to see what I could tie into this... And yet this feels shorter than it should but I also currently lack the time to add more. But for now I hope this will be satisfactorily.

Also this family tree idea especially the part of saving the melted clones. LOVE IT!

So even though it took me a while! here is Part 4 you inspired! Thanks so much for the ask!

------------------

"Dude, you are making us only curious!" Impulse spoke up as he sat down next to Klarion who had his head in his hands. "Like you and your mom can't just drop your family lore like that!"

The witch boy on the other hand looked up with narrowed eyes at the speedster. "What lore?"

"Let's see, the part that apparently a Vlad tried to kill your Grandpa to make friends several time. That your mom is 'ghost' adopted by the lord of time Cronos and Pandora, which makes us family too by the way, and that you have a sister that apparently is even crazier than what we got to know of your family so far." Wonder Girl counted off her fingers next to him grinning as she mentioned the part of probably being a part of his 'crazy' family too. Which hell yea, that sounded like a lot of fun to be explored she would have to talk with Wonder Woman about that as soon as possible.

"Also..." Red Robin added as he flipped through the photo album that apparently no one remembered he had. He was turning it around and pointed at a particular photo with a wild bunch of people in it that varied between more human and well... less humanoid people. One of them definitely was a Yeti and there was also what looked like living armor as well as Teekly (they knew that demon cat at least), a giant green dog and for some reasons there was a green aggressive looking Octopus in the background too. "...how are you related to a Yeti?"

"Hey that man there and those other teens in the picture actually have some resembles with you! Do you have older brothers too?" Superboy additionally asked as he moved around Red Robin to see the photo better pointing at a man that appeared to be in this late twenties, blue eyed, black haired and a little on the buffer side. If he didn't know any better and the fact that he should keep his mouth shut about their actual identities he would have jokingly asked Red Robin if his family would like to add more kids considering Klarions family apparently had a bunch of black haired blue eyed members too, judging by the photo at least.

"What are you talking about. That man is my mom and yes the others are actually my older brothers and that Yeti is uncle Frostbite who also happens to be the best medic in the Infinite Realms" The four teen heroes looked stunned at the picture and then back at the Ghost King that was smiling at them, still seated by the dinner table with their mentors. Who by the way were now perking up at the change of topic and the information they could gain with it, well Wonder Woman was more interested in the apparently extended family she had.

"Oh I remember we took this photo last year, it was such a hassle to get everyone into one place with them all being busy doing their own things." Danny mused for a moment, remembering fondly how he had to literally drag some of the kids home through a portal.

"It was more annoying than anything too since I was declared to be the youngest...." Klarion muttered also remembering that day not as fondly as his mother.

"Wait, wait, wait! That is a picture of your family? I need an explanation buddy!" Impulse cut in without shame, quickly removing the picture from the photo album to get a better look at it before holding it out to Klarion so he could explain all the individuals. "Plus why does your mom look soooo.... human?"

The witch boy on the other hand stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking over towards his mother as if waiting for something. After a moment the teen heroes as well as their mentors saw Danny nod with a little smile. "This dimension doesn't have the GIW so its fine, the Justice League Dark won't be a problem either, right?." Constantine flinched at the smile the Ghost King was giving him, muttering something under his breath as he had hoped his presence had been forgotten.

"Since mom is giving his okay...." Klarion mutter sitting crosslegged on the ground as he snatched the photo album from Red Robin and flipped through it. "Lets start with the easiest stuff to explain."

Danny chuckled noticing that not only the teen heroes but their mentors as well showed an interest. He choose to stay quiet letting the adults listen in on the kids, and if things went bad he would just ask Clockwork if they could revert time back to this moment and he would change his nod of permission to a shake of denial.

"Okay first of, this is my mom and his sister Jasmine, this is Danielle my older sister and that hulk with flaming white hair and blueish skin is me. That was before I got deaged because of destabilising." Klarion explained flipping to a photo of him, Danny, Jazz and Danielle. "Mom was around fifteen, Aunt Jazz about seventeen and Ellie should have been about a year old but she was aged up to twelve. They look human in this one because well they are. Mom was originally human and became what you call in this dimension a Meta through an accident."

"Wait... that would mean your mom... How could he have two kids at that age of fourteen? You look like an adult and your sister was aged up?" Wonder Girl couldn't help but ask as she looked from the photo and back to Danny at the dinner table again.

"That's cause Vlad was a fu-"

"Language Klarion!"

"Vlad was a fruitloop. That photo was taken shortly after Vlad and I sort of redeemed our selfs. Plus, mom didn't really have my sister and me willingly.... we were kind of forced upon him in a way." Klarion explained shrugging. "Old Man Vlad had an obsession with his mom that then turned on mom, which resulted in my oldest sister Danielle first. Actually, a lot of my elder siblings resulted from that, but they didn't survive it the first time, Mom got Old Man Clocks help to save them once he got used to being the Ghost King. I got added to the mix shortly after my sister, but... i wasn't in the best state of mind at first, kind of went through a redemption phase in which mom had to fix the timeline of our original home dimension, too."

Danny chuckled again at the disturbed looks the teens were giving his son as well as the looks their mentors sent him. He probably should correct Klarion's wording... but being one of the gremlins of his family he just smiled on, not commenting. He really understands now why Pops Clockwork liked watching the chaos he used to cause as teen, and still sometimes causes as adult.

"Klarion... how old is this Old Man Vlad?" Red Robin asked grimacing as his eyes under the mask flicked up to the Ghost King and then back to the witch boy both seemingly unbothered by the disturbing information they were sharing.

"In human years... probably around 67? You stop counting age at some point if your a halfa." Klarion shrugged, not noticing the grimaces of the teens around him. "Anyway, Ellie is sort of the first born. I came in after that, with my core being a mix of Mom and Vlad. Not DNA wise though since I came to be because of their ghost cores. That's why I look like that in this photo. Though human DNA wise I am probably now mostly Moms, we never bothered to ask the old man."

Danny muffled another chuckle, coughing as Superman sent him an incredulous look of shook while he felt Batmans burning gaze on him.

"You... mentioned more siblings?" Red Robin asked carefully sharing a look with his team, feeling like there was a whole lot of trauma in Klarions family he wasn't sure they should address or not. So asking after his siblings was probably, hopefully the safest option. They didn't know that while there was trauma in the witch boy's family it was not the kind they were imagining.

"Yea I got a bunch more brothers, Vlad was a evil crazy fuitloop, before he redeemed himself. They all kind of melted in one timeline but mom and Grandpa Clock found a way to save them." Klarion nodded flipping to another photo containing him, as he looked now, and all his siblings.

"So, Ellie you know about already. The one with the sunglasses and died hair is Bartholomew, second oldest. They made themselves a home in other dimension, barely at home cause he has to much fun messing with something called a 'Starstream' by being a 'Constellation' and throwing gold coins at 'Incarnations'. Don't ask me what that means, I barely pay attention when he gushes about his favorit 'Incarnation'. They spent like all their money and pocket money there. Aunt Jazz thinks he might develop a gambling addiction if we don't stop his spendings." The teen heroes eyed the teen that looked like a young adult grinning in the photo as the witch boy pointed at the one next to them. "The one with the vile is my elder brother Bite, most responsible one of this bunch. Mom even allowed him to take care of a couple of dimensions by taking the role of being their God of Death. I think he messed them up more than helped but he is doing a somewhat good job, even if he is sort of obsessed with making some red head his saint or something..."

"One of your sibs is a God?" Impulse gabbed and Klarion just blinked at him with a shrug. "My Grandfather is the ruler of Time, your point is? Wonder Girl is also related to a God of your dimension."

"Never mind him, moving on." A yelp resounded as Superboy pushed Impulse head down leaning in more to see the photo better. "You got one emo looking brother there!"

"Oh that's Yamikumo, he is like a year or two older than me right now, in human years. He barely got any of mom's powers so he choose to try to life a somewhat normal life but weirdly enough he choose a dimension that is ruled by people who have powers and abilities, you know like the Meta Humans of this dimension. Now that I think about it, he is also the only one who actually is studying on how to be a Hero."

"Do you end up fighting with him if he studies to be a hero?" Wonder Girl whisper asked him with a quick glance towards their mentors, to which Klarion shook his head. "As long as we leave the dimensions one of us choose to live in alone we usually don't fight about stuff like that, aside from the usual sibling fights that is. Then again I do have some siblings that like to make bets like who is better at ruling as demon lord, or who can safe a dying timeline quicker."

Danny chuckled again as he watched the kids, Klarion had definitely caused some misunderstandings with his wording. Then again it wasn't like Klarion said anything that wasn't true, but then again his son loved chaos. So there was a suspicion that Klarion intentionally choose the way he worded the explanation about how he and Ellie came to be as well as the rest of siblings.

"So....." Superman slowly started wondering how he should bring up the topic. "...you became a mom at 14?"

"Say Danny is there a way for me to meet this Vlad? You know since we are family." Wonder Woman also asked smiling in a certain way that reminded Danny of Valerie when she was mad but didn't want to show right away how mad she was, to which the Ghost King on reflex could do nothing but gulp for a moment. Not noticing that a green post it note appeared on the table before him.

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imagowrites · 1 year ago

Text

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales; Why It Shouldn’t Exist

Or how I invested time and energy into an analysis of a relatively dead franchise instead of doing it for my actual media analysis university course.

An essay by: a bitter and obsessed PotC fan since they were 7, with a lot of free time.

Lads, this is going to be long. You have been warned.

The Beginning

At the very beginning of the movie, we see a young Henry Turner looking for his dad.

Now, we're not talking about characterization problems or how likely it is that a ten-year-old child would risk his life to look for a man he technically only saw once; we're talking about plot problems, actual logical fallacies. My questions are:

How? The Flying Dutchman is a legendary ship, impossible to be found unless She wants to be found. The only reason we see Her in Dead Man's Chest is because Davy Jones himself is looking for Jack to collect his debt, and in that occasion the Dutchman's captain wasn't even doing what he was supposed to do, so he was most definitely in the living world. Will otherwise, he's doing the job Calypso gave him, so he's constantly in between. Is the movie trying to convince me that a kid was able to do something no one in the history of piracy was ever able to do? And even if he did, why hasn't anyone explained me how? He simply looks at a map and throws himself on the bottom of the ocean. How did he know The Dutchman was there? How did he know it would've come to surface?

Where is his mom? We got to know Elizabeth in the first three movies; we know she's a smart woman and we can assume she's an attentive mother. She didn't notice her son preparing himself for a trip in the middle of the ocean to go look for his dad? Was she distracted? Was she outsmarted by a 10ish-year-old? Or is she just not contemplated in this scenario?

Why does Will look like that? Will is doing his job, so... why does he look like he's slowly corrupting? That kind of corruption is the punishment Calypso reserves to The Dutchman's crew when the captain fails her, which isn't the case. Did they forget about it? Was the idea of putting algae on Orlando Bloom's face just impossible to resist to?

Alright, this isn't actually from this movie but it's bothering me, so I have to write it; also, it would make this whole movie unnecessary, so it's somehow related to it. Why (and I can't stress this enough) can't Elizabeth be on the Dutchman? Why can't they do the job together? Is it because she's not a pirate? I'm pretty sure se actually is. Is it because she's a woman? Last time I checked she was the KING. She wants to stay with Will forever, Will wants to stay with her forever, they can literally live forever on the same ship. Why aren't they?

Whatever the Hell Happened to Jack Sparrow

Imagine creating a character that is so iconic whenever you ask a person who was a kid in the early 2000 to imagine a pirate, they imagine said character.

Now imagine fourteen years pass and you decide to ruin that character by making him the most hideous, annoying, idiotic person in the whole saga, and we're talking about a saga that has Philip the Missionary in it. Why? Jack Sparrow is THE anti-hero. Never on the right side, but never on the wrong one. You can tell he's doing something morally questionable, but you still find yourself rooting for him. He's stupid enough to make you laugh, but he's secretly clever enough to always get away with it. Now he's just... drunk. And that's not even an excuse for this horrendous new characterization, because he was always drunk. The guy FORGOT HE WAS ROBBING A BANK, the same guy just one movie earlier was able to escape from the King of England's palace and steal a lady's earring (by pretending to be a literal slut) in the process. He just switched from the iconic drunk bi bestie everyone loves to my cringe uncle that drinks too much at Christmas parties and makes everyone uncomfortable. Please, if the risk is ruining an entire generation's beloved character, either don't make the movie or find a better explanation than "Bad luck dogs you day and night".

The Pearl in The Bottle

So... what you're telling me is that Jack Sparrow, the guy who was able to defeat Hector Barbossa, Davy Jones and Blackbeard thanks to his slyness, and who loves his Black Pearl more than anything else in the world, had said ship in a bottle in his pockets for FIVE YEARS... and he never thought about breaking the bottle to free Her. That's what you're telling me. This is the pivotal point upon which the entire Jack's plot hinges. I... I don't even know what to say. Was this supposed to be funny?

What an Incredibly Lucky Coincidence

A guy needs a treasure to save his father. To find it, he needs the help of a notorious and legendary pirate. He looks for him everywhere, sailing on dozens of ships just so he has the remote chance to stumble across the pirate. The last ship he's been on has sinked, he's the only survivor. He's been found in the middle of the ocean and someone brought him to the nearest city. Which city? I mean, the one that has both the pirate he was looking for and a lady who's the only person in the whole planet who's able to find the treasure he was looking for! And, oh my... he finds the both of them! In that same city! Without even LOOKING FOR THEM! A hell of a coincidence, if you ask me. Also known as lazy writing.

What's Wrong With the Guards?

Now, I know Pirates of the Caribbean isn't exactly known for its accurate historical reconstructions, but why are the guards in this movie acting like they're some sort of hellhounds ready to kill anyone in sight? Even pirates and traitors as Jack and Henry were supposed to stand trial before being sentenced to death. It would've probably been an unjust and barbaric trial, but there should've been one. We literally saw it, in the previous movie. Why's Jack been sentenced to death for simply existing here? He gave pirate vibes and they decided that was enough?

Paul McCartney

This is not an actual point of the analysis, I just wanted to remind people that Paul McCartney is in this movie and that's the only valid reason to watch it.

Salazar

I am confused. Once again, I have questions.

El Matador Del Mar was so good at his job he had almost defeated piracy. "The last ones joined together to try and defeat me". The last what? Pirates? There were no pirates left? This happened when Jack was young, so a lot of time before the first movie, right? Where were, I don't know... Blackbeard? Davy Jones? Barbossa? All the other Pirate Lords? I might be wrong, but I guess Salazar didn't kill them, did he? Why weren't they there during that "last battle" in which "the last ones joined together"?

The Devil's Triangle. I just don't understand what's the logic behind it. So, this is a cursed place. Whoever enters there, can't get out. One would think it means that if you get there, you die; and Salazar does die, but he somehow also becomes a ghost whose only purpose is to find Jack Sparrow and have his revenge. So, do people become ghosts when they get in The Devil's Triangle? We have to assume people have gotten stuck in there before; otherwise, there wouldn't be legends around the place. So why isn't it like full of spirits ready to haunt people? Why are Salazar and his crew the only ones?

Poseidon or Calypso?

What's the Trident of Poseidon? Does Poseidon exist? Isn't Calypso the Goddess of the sea? Breaking the Trident, you break all the curses of the sea, so the Trident must be more powerful than Calypso, which leads to a question. Where is she? She IS the sea, right? So she must have known someone was about to find the Trident and brake all curses, including her one. She just decided it was okay? It really feels like someone decided to suddenly change the world's mythology without giving explanations.

The Compass

This is possibly the most blatant plot hole in the whole saga. Probably the most blatant plot hole I've ever witnessed, and man, I watched all the Harry Potter movies. In Dead Man's Chest, Jack meets Tia Dalma in her "shop" and he tells her he's looking for the Davy Jones' key. She asks him "The compass you bartered from me, it cannot lead you to this?", making another pivotal point of Dead Men Tell No Tales factually senseless.

That man couldn't have given his compass to Jack, because that wasn't his compass.

So either Salazar is lying while telling his tale or they forgot about that line in the second movie. Anyway, let's pretend that line doesn't exist; even if that captain gave Jack his compass in that exact moment, why would it be the key to free Salazar, exactly? How is the compass in any way related to The Devil's Triangle or to Salazar? In the movie, they try to explain it with a sentence: “if you betray it, your greatest fear comes true”. So, is Salazar Jack's greatest fear? I really doesn't seem right, Jack almost didn't remember Salazar when Henry mentioned him. To Jack, he's only a guy he outsmarted decades earlier. Also, Jack technically already gave the compass away, twice: to Elizabeth in Dead Man's Chest, to make her find the chest, and to Beckett in At World's End, when they're negotiating.

That's... That's Just Body Shaming, Mate

Let's talk about her. So, the woman's ugly. It can happen that a woman is ugly. Was it necessary to build an entire scene around some blatant body shaming? This scene wants to mimic the similar scene in Dead Man's Chest: Jack's on an island, running from the main villain, and he's forced to do things he doesn't want to do until someone saves him, then it was Will, now it's Hector.

Except in Dead Man's Chest it was LITERAL CANNIBALISM he was facing, and yet he looked LESS TERRIFIED and DISGUSTED. What's exactly the message here? Lads, is marrying an ugly woman worse than cannibalism? I don't know... that was just bad.

Justice for Hector Barbossa

If you know me (you probably don't, but if you do) then you know about my obsession with Hector Barbossa. I truly believe he's the best written character in the saga, and he's in my top five of the characters I love the most in all media. I watched The Curse of the Black Pearl when I was seven and I am autistic, so I had all the time to develop a literal relationship with these characters in my head. As much as Geoffrey Rush's interpretation was impeccable, as always, it really hurt to watch Hector in this movie. He just doesn't sound like him. First of all, why isn't he on the Queen Anne's Revenge? Why's he letting someone else sail around on his ships? He would've never. Why's he just sitting on a throne and shooting musicians instead of, I don't know... being a pirate? Being a pirate is the only thing that matters to him. He says it at the end of On Stranger Tides, and he even says it in this movie, to the witch. "I'm a pirate. Always will be".

So, why isn't he pirating? What happened to him? And what about the pact with the witch? He made her curse all his enemies; that's honestly the most out-of-character thing he could've done.

Seriously, watch this movie, and then The Curse of the Black Pearl and tell me he sounds like he's the same character. Then there’s his death... was it necessary? And I don't mean if it was necessary to the plot (it wasn't), but the way he died, did it make sense? He takes the sword and sacrifices himself to kill Salazar, but WHY? Salazar was back a mortal. They could've brought him to surface and then shoot him. What was the point of his death, Disney? I will never forgive you.

I would've preferred if they never showed him again. He's alive and living his best life in Tortuga, if you ask me.

How does Carina Smyth exist?

Let's do the maths. Carina Smyth has approximately the same age as Henry Turner, who was born around nine moths after the end of At World's End. At the end of that movie, Barbossa once again stole the Black Pearl (he's iconic we stan a legend), so we have to assume it is during that time (between the At World's End and On Stranger Tides) that he conceives Carina. He stays with this woman during the whole pregnancy, bacause he says he was there when she died. So nine months, at least, right? Except; Jack makes it clear that he and Barbossa met Carina's mom, Margaret, together.

When, exactly, did this happen? It can't be between On Stranger Tides and Dead Men Tell No Tales, because Hector himself says only five years passed between the two, and Carina doesn't look like a five-year-old;

it can't be between At World's End and On Stranger Tides, because we know Jack and Barbossa weren't together, and Hector was too busy losing a leg and planning his revenge by working for the King of England; it can't be during At World's End, because Barbossa was too busy rescuing Jack and then slaying (literally and metaphorically) Beckett's men to save piracy; it can't be during Dead Man's Chest, because he was dead; it can't be during The Curse of the Black Pearl, nor during the ten years before it, because he was... he was a skeleton, I hardly believe he could reproduce, despite what’s written in some fanficions; it can't be before, of course, because Carina would be too old. The only chance, but it's a stretch, is that Hector and Jack met this Margaret Smyth years and years before, and that at a certain point (while he was still busy slaying, losing a leg or planning his revenge), for some reason he decided to come back to her and accidentally had a daughter. That would mean that Jack remembered Margaret Smyth's name DECADES after he met her.

The Post-Credit Scene: What?

WHY'S DAVY JONES BACK? The Trident technically broke all the curses of the sea. He is THE cursed man of the sea. AND HE'S DEAD. The only answer I was able to give me, is that the moment the Trident broke the curses, the curse that said if you stab his heart he dies was also broken, so he technically didn't die, but it makes even less sense, because if the curses just aren't real anymore, then a man shouldn't be able to... carve out his heart and put it in a chest, right? (Which by the way, makes Will Turner being alive senseless as well). Even if so, Davy should've come back as a human.

My conclusion is that this movie should not exist, and we, as a community, should pretend it was never made. Hector is alive. Bye.

Imago

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #potc analysis #dead men tell no tales #analysis #media analysis #pirates #jack sparrow #hector barbossa #carina smyth #henry turner #elizabeth swann #will turner #calypso #davy jones #salazar

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adams-angels · 1 year ago

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Adam sfw/nsfw hcs? I love your work! Thanks!!

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

SFW

I'm gonna start off strong by saying socks and sandals. Thinks it's great.

Will stop listening when he's losing an argument. Stutters and minces up his words if he gets flustered or too aggravated.

Lute is his best friend

Says he has tons on friend but in reality lute is his only friend

This man thinks he's higher up in the food chain than he actually is. Which then leads to weak apologies from him

Doesn't go anywhere without his mask. Really big believer in that he doesn't like showing his face because both his wife's left him

Still absolutely bitter about that btw

Has an unhealthy coping mechanism when it comes to jealously.

For example, your an angel and some newbie starts talking with you and there's nothing really in it but he opens a portal to hell when your not looking and literally kicks the guy through it before closing the portal.

Or if your a sinner and you're telling him about someone who helped you the other day he will HUNT THEM DOWN next extermination day... If he can wait that long.

Likes getting you lil gifts, key chains, magnets, pins. He'll see a little thing and think that's perfect and wont hesitate buying it for you.

He won't give it to you though. He'll leave it somewhere obvious in his apartment for you to notice and go "oh, that's cute." For him to shrug and say "it's okay. You want it?" It took a while before you actually started accepting gifts this way

In public he will get you the biggest things. Giant teddy bear. New TV. A unicorn. But that's just to show everyone that he spoils you. That no one can treat you as well as him.

Loves lazy days

Also loves it when you preen his wings

Was the kinda guy that didn't have any kind of skin care until he met you and now you're both chilling with facemasks on.

Has panic attacks when he thinks you're going to leave him

When he's not wearing his mask he will not smile. It's really difficult to get him to smile or laugh when he's not wearing a mask.

But he's got the most beautiful smile

You managed you get him to laugh because you fell. What? He's still an asshole.

You couldn't be mad at him. He sounded so happy.

Has dumb pet names for everyone he's close to. Some are cute. Some are absolutely vulger. "Sweetness." "Babe." "Cutie" "cockwarmer." "Adam's dumpster." "Precious."

He's insecure AF baby

Loves hearing you say you love him

Will only tell you he loves you in private.

Would take a very special case for him to say it in public

If you get in a serious argument with him he'll run away in anger. He'll then come back after an hour or so begging you not to leave.

Sorry I really love pathetic Adam. fight me.

Smut below the cut! Minors dni

NSFW

Ik everyone says it's great at sex but I don't think he would be 🤷🏻‍♀️ not at the beginning anyway

I think he's a selfish lover and it takes someone he really cares about to make any changes

Would absolutely finish inside you then fall asleep soz babes

His cock is good tho. Likes it's a biggen. Length and width.

It was probably made to fit perfectly so

At least that's what he says

He won't believe it if you dont orgasm the first time you have sex with him. Everyone else has! Why wouldn't you?!

Well, Adam, they lied, sweetie.

Loves getting his cock sucked.

Asks for it constantly

If he gets in an argument with you he'll probably say "I'm sorry, it's just been so long since I got head."

He loves eating you out. Watching you squirm while his tongue is inside you really gets him going.

Likes you have you sat on his face so he can hold you down

He cried the first time he had sex with you after realising he loves you

Will beg to be loved when he's close to finishing. "Tell me you love me!"

Will get embarrassed after the fact

He was adamant he didn't like you. That you were just hot. But one day found himself jerking to the thought of you and that post nut clarity hit like a freight train.

Loves being praised ofc

Breeding kink. I mean come on. He was made to populate the earth. It was literally his job.

Loves rough sex, being in charge.

Will get possessive during sex

If he's having a bad day he'll be a lot more desperate and a hell of a lot more possessive

"mine" is his favourite word.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel smut #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam smut

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jweekgoji · 8 months ago

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[BW] Yandere!Dinobot/Reader [hcs/thoughts]

tw/tags: heat cycle, yandere themes, mentions of stalking, jealousy, possessiveness, a tinyy bit suggestive. word count: ~700 a/n: born to obsess over underrated characters forced to yap about the popular one (but I'm joking, I love them all, I'm just sad that Beast Wars is not talked about as much as other shows).

some quick thoughts in between requests because if I don't express it now, i will forget about it.

okay hear me out on...yandere Dinobot. I know Beast Wars is not really popular in the fandom, but oh my god, this ugly handsome man

we all saw that maximals/predacons share those animalistic traits that are connected to their beast modes. Rattrap likes to chew on scrap, Cheetor acts like a cat and even meows, Tigatron considers white tigers as some kind of family; Tarantulas and Blackarachnia have that rivalry for obvious reasons (bad for him).

it would be funny if they also had some type of cybertronian heat cycles.

even though Dinobot is heavily influenced by Jurassic Park velociraptors, I still feel like he'd act like a big bird rather than a lizard. or something in between, of course.

Yandere!Dinobot is overprotective and snappy as hell, to the point he considers even other maximals as a potential danger to you. Unlike more rational bots, Dinobot has no shame at all. It would cost him an arm and a leg to admit it to you, but he's actually jealous. Of what? There's no need to find any reason to explain his behavior once the season starts.

Yandere!Dinobot is vocal; he will growl, hiss and snap his teeth at anyone who tries to approach his mate. All maximals know that it's not the time to come near the two of you, but the unrespectful predacons...I'm a sucker for duos, their possibilities, and to imagine the dynamic between Megatron/Dinobot, both trying to court the poor reader.

But once the two of you are alone, I can see him having those rare moments where Dinobot lets himself relax. Most of the time he's in a constant state of alert, the dangerous mix of his primal instincts and that warrior code of his just tells him to take you somewhere far-far away, so no maximal or predacon will get you. So maybe he can rest just for a little with you next to him. Dinobot definitely makes soft purrs, even to his own surprise.

Yandere!Dinobot is a stalker. Maybe, when it's just the start of the relationship between the two of you, he will try to somehow justify it, at least. Like, “I am just testing your skills, a true warrior must be always alert. You don't know when the predacons attack you next” , but the more you grow closer to him, the more he lets himself be a tiny bit warmer to you “You should not wander off alone. Stick closer to me”.

Read it, and don't forget a little personal nickname he has for you, which he adds at the end of the sentence.

It will also be funny to imagine Dinobot being a little too invested in building a nest. It also gets more awkward if your beast mode is some far different species. Why would he need to collect your stuff from your room? And why is he so adamant about you always staying in his room? He is holding you so tightly that you practically have no chance but to stay. So clueless!

“Is that [...] from my quarters?”

“Just be quiet and start recharging, you irresistible fool!”

Dinobot himself is a little embarrassed too if you start asking too many questions. He doesn't like being all vulnerable, even though he trusts you very much to know that you will never make fun of him. His own mind is clouded with not so innocent thoughts, and it actually becomes a big problem when he tries to focus on his training or fighting.

I don't think Dinobot would try to attract you with those silly dances reptiles/birds do to impress their mates, but when he is in his beast mode, you can definitely notice his tail wagging just a little bit when you're around. Rattrap probably picks on it faster than you and teases Dinobot about it until the two start fighting again.

#dinobot x reader #bw dinobot x reader #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere transformers #transformers x reader #beast wars x reader #bw dinobot

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wolfiesmoon · 7 months ago

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A well-kept secret...

Alhaitham x gn!reader

the triumphant writing return of your favourite incompetent idiot🥰

as always i apologise if i get anything wrong lore-wise i'm not in sumeru yet on my acc and i don't want to spoil the story for myself so i'm going of pure vibes

"huh i could have sworn you wrote something like this before..." no i didn't here's 5000 bucks now shut up ...anyways, after getting re-obsessed w genshin i have decided to cook smth up for my alhaitham kissers😏😏😏😏 that and i've decided to watch a 20 h playthrough of the entirety of HSR bc neither my phone nor my laptop can handle that game and i want to see what comes after Jarilo (and i wanna write fics too come on)

ALSO HOW COULD I FORGET I FINALLY GOT NEUVILLETTE 🥰🤭😘😱😍🙏🏻💁‍♀️😍😘🤩🙂‍↕️😻😽😸🫦 HUBBYS HOME FR FR

The thing you could have never expected upon getting a job at the renowned Akademiya of Sumeru is that you would fall for the Akademiya's elusive scribe, Alhaitham.

It bothers you to no end that it just has to be him of all the people in Teyvat, since you know he'd never return your affections, even in a million years. He just isn't a man who places importance in romance, you've learned.

And even so, he doesn't seem to like you much in general. It's not that you're a bad person, not at all, you just kind of feel like he's slightly annoyed by your presence. You always catch the silent sigh that escapes his lips when you happen to have to deliver something to him and his replies are even more curt than usual when talking to you.

So you just watch him from afar, stealing occasional glances at him while he's face deep in a book or taking a leasurely nap by the window. It sort of makes you sad, as beautiful as the sight is.

You'd love to tell him how you love the way his fingers slide over the book spines as he's searching for just the right book to examine, or the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he's reading, or the way his chest slowly rises and falls when he's napping next to- Oh, now you're just making yourself even more miserable.

And though you already know what he'd say if you revealed your feelings towards him, you can't help but want to confess them all anyways.

You turn the corner, important scrolls that you're supposed to give to him in hand. You find Alhaitham slumped over his desk, seemingly asleep. It's a secluded, quiet corner of the Akademiya that you know he likes to take naps in, so it's not a surprising sight. In fact it's a very welcome one. Atleast for you.

You think about waking him up for a brief moment, but then decide that you'd rather not face his annoyed glare today. So you simply place the scrolls on the desk in front of him, hoping he'll notice them once he wakes up.

As you turn to leave, you suddenly get an idea. There might just be a way you can release your pent-up feelings for him without him ever knowing.

He's asleep right now, so there's no harm in a tiny little confession, right? It's not like he'll hear it anyways.

But then again, that's such a pathetic way of confessing that it actually hurts. What are you, a lovestruck teenager?

After a few seconds of your ego having an internal battle with your lovesick heart, the heart comes out the victor. You take a deep breath, deciding to make it quick because he may wake up any second.

"I'm in love with you and I wish you were mine." you blurt out somewhat awkwardly before turning on your heels and getting the hell out of there.

In fact, you left so fast that you failed to notice the way Alhaitham's cheeks dusted a light shade of pink and his eyes slowly opened, staring at the wall on his right.

"Mmmm..." he groaned, shoving his head into the crevice of his elbow that was laid out on the table.

Although you know that he never heard your confession, you still feel too giddy to approach him at all the next day. You've really just gone and did that, and looking at his face would be an all too vivid reminder of it.

"Here's the document the scribe requested this morning. He said you must deliver it to him." your coworker handed you a neat folder, tied with a colorful string.

Knowing there's no way you'd be able to face Alhaitham so soon, you asked your friend to do it for you, knowing she'd happily take a break from reviewing documents to deliver one instead.

And so your day continued on without a hitch and you slowly started to forget all about yesterday as you became engrossed in your work. Maybe it's better that way, after all.

As the day came to a close, you took one last overview of the work you've done just to make sure that everything has been translated properly before storing the documents away and turning around to head towards the exit.

However, you were jumpscared by someone standing right in front of you with his arms crossed. Your eyes met a pair of turquoise ones and you let out a stranged noise of surprise. It's Alhaitham in all his glory.

"Oh, it's you. Well, goodbye, I'll see you tommorow." you smiled at him as wide you possibly could, laughing awkwardly and walking around him, too flustered to wait for a reply from him.

"You didn't bring me the document." his voice stopped you in your tracks and you turned your head back to look at him. Have you forgotten something, after all? What document could he be- Oh, he means the one delivered by your friend.

"Oh, I got busy, so I asked my friend." you shrugged, wondering internally why he's even confronting you about this.

"It was an opportune... Hm. What's done is done." he makes a small pause before fully turning around to face you. "I heard your confession yesterday."

No. No way.

Okay, that's it. You're actually going to die now. And the blunt way he said it makes it so much worse. You knew you should have done it when he was wearing those soundproof earpieces of his. You cursed yourself out internally for not noticing that he wasn't wearing them back then.

"Heard what?" you decided to act dumb, though you're sure you sound anything but convincing right now.

"You said you're in love with me." his eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise, his body language was the same as always. So that means you can't gauge his thoughts on the confession at all in order to act accordingly.

"What in the world are you talking about?" you kept up your act of innocence. You'd rather die than admit you actually said that to his face, while you thought he was asleep, no less.

"Hm. I never took you for a such cowardly person." He sighed, then continued. "You could blame it on the lack of interaction between us."

The sudden comment about your cowardice to admit to something you did was like a stab to the belly, but you quickly recovered, trying your best to not look offended. You thought he was the type of guy to avoid conversations about embarrasing things he overheard, or, well "unnecessary" things, as he would put it. He's never even initiated a conversation with you before, dammit.

"Ugh... so, are you mad about it?" you finally gave up on acting coy. Though you're sure you can answer your own question right now.

"What an... interesting hypothesis." Alhaitham closed his eyes, turning around. "Next time, make sure to do what I ask of you. It's simply for my own convenience." Then he just up and left, leaving you standing there like an idiot.

Really? That wasn't a proper answer at all. You would have thought he'd simply reject you if he really wanted things to be as convenient for him as possible. Giving you vague answers makes this convenient for neither of you.

But, then again... he didn't reject you right off the bat. That's something, right?

As much as Alhaitham called you out on your cowardice earlier, he found himself thinking that he's no better as he dropped onto his bed that night. How in the world is he supposed to admit to you that he wants you to deliver the documents that he needs because he enjoys looking at your face? How is he supposed to admit that he catches occasional glances of you too, sometimes? How is he supposed to admit to you that your mere presence clogs up the words in his throat, making him unable to speak as eloquently as he wants?

How is he supposed to admit to you that your little confession yesterday just ruined his ability to think rationally, that you made him broken beyond repair?

"Ugh, how bothersome..." he pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates how irrational love is.

#𝄞‧₊˚ ꒰𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓈𝓎𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓃𝓎꒱#☆‧₊˚ ꒰𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝒶𝒸𝓉꒱#im gonna be honest i lowkey hate this one but when do i not hate my own writing #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #alhaitham x gn reader

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2af-afterdark · 1 year ago

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"Would You Love Me if I Was A Worm?": The Kings' + Minhyeok + Angel Answers Versus the Truth

A/N: I need some random, goofy fluff. Please don't look at me.

Satan

“I don’t know.”

Honestly, Satan is the kind of guy who couldn’t answer you because, well, you aren’t a worm. How would he know if he’ll still love you? In reality, he would probably love you in a sense of the word. He would definitely take care of you and kick anyone who dared to get too close to his worm, because you know half of Hell would still be obsessed with you.

Mammon

“My master as a worm? How amusing.”

When he said he belonged to you, he meant it. Human or worm, that will always be true. So, yes, he would still love you as a worm. You would live in a worm palace and have all the pleasantries you could ever desire. He’d set you on his desk when he’s working and carry you around when he’s out. You are not some mere pet that stays at home when he leaves. You will always be at his side and pampered to an absolutely terrifying degree.

Leviathan

Yeah, he’s going to glare at you because the question is nonsensical and really dumb. He doesn’t even answer it because it’s a waste of oxygen to do so.

Except the truth is that he would be the only one caring for you because he’d get jealous if anyone else tried to. The emotion isn’t exactly romantic love, but he loves you even as a worm regardless. You are his special little worm. He takes good care of you, although he’s not much nicer to you as a worm than he is when you’re human.

Beelzebub

“What a weird question. Sure.”

He says he would love you if you were a worm, but we all know that he would forget about you whenever he leaves the palace for more than 2 hours. All your care would fall on Bael, just like everything else does. He would definitely pay attention to you when he remembers to come home though. He would probably give you apple slices and watch you for a while whenever he returns. His feelings would probably be more akin to fascination than love; like watching a squirrel in the wild, except you're a worm in a terrarium. That’s sort of a form of love… Sort of.

Minhyeok

“Yes!”

Honestly, he responds before you’ve even finished the question. You got to “would you love me” and he already knew the answer. He will love you no matter what. He would want to be a worm too so he could be your worm husband and start a worm family with you.

Gabriel

“No.”

Why are you asking him this? He wants to kill you! A worm sounds really easy to kill. On second thought, sure. He’d love it if you were a worm… For about five seconds before you weren’t anything anymore.

Michael

“How tragic that you want a form different than the one God blessed you with.”

Again, he wants to kill you! Please stop harassing Heaven to ask weird questions. He doesn’t love you now, let alone if you suddenly became a completely different creature. He’s actually insulted by the question. Why are you like this? Yes, he would definitely be fighting Gabriel over who gets to kill your adorable little worm form.

Raphael

“Do you plan on being one? I'm sure I could keep you.”

The man is kind of obsessed, honestly. Look at how cute you are as a worm; truly the most beautiful worm in the world. Man would treat you like a pet but still expect your little worm self to show him affection. He wouldn’t want to leave home and would spend waaaaay too long watching you all day. Also, he would sleep next to you, even if that meant sleeping in the dirt. The man is weird.

#2af writes #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb beelzebub #whb minhyeok #whb gabriel #whb michael #whb raphael

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timeslipcamp · 3 months ago

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thoughts on episode 15

this post will contain spoilers and rambles about how much i love rui read at your own risk

he's only at the beginning i know LET ME LIVE

loved the lil walk with rui. i love that dude i wish we could have seen him before he was cursed. the bittersweet "i used to do that all the time" when he was talking about researching his curse 😭 can we cure him too please

this was funny as hell no way does haku have dad energy, he has jealous energy

these two lines honestly just feed into my theory that it's a very understated staff vs ghouls atmosphere (not so understated i guess) and that haku is working for them. traitor 😔

RUI IS ONTO HIM. haku always just knows when to appear, huh? and this isn't the first time, we run into haku everywhere. why is he always out walking? what is he looking for? rui might know, he's in the shadows after all.

i am genuinely curious about the wisteria taking people though. why would they mention that? what does that have to do with anything? is it only certain people?

would love to know why subaru interrupted zenji like that, even mc noticed that was out of character for him. i get the feeling there's more to this place and subaru's past then he let on, but it could also have just been a throwaway red herring line to get us to be more suspicious of the subaru stuff that was going to be revealed later. but honestly my main concern is that zenji and jiro have not only never been to a museum, but they've never been to an amusement park 😭 let them have fun!!! let me take them out!!

haku being insistent on the folk tale channel is interesting, though i'm not sure if it was just to show character traits or if it's actually for the plot. sometimes dialogue is just dialogue, ya know? weird that haku had him record a folk tale so insistently and then never tell us which tale. sus 🤨

this chapter also seems to spend a lot more time on the interaction between the ghouls, which im not mad about. it's always fun to see how the writers balance the mission and also character development. love a good monster of the week show.

i fucking laughed out loud when subaru popped up that was genuinely the funniest thing this whole episode

also not to be such a haku stan when i'm very clearly team traitor!haku but

how come every time he looks at us it's so soft like man cmon please make it easier to hate you. stop being so nice

honestly the more this whole subaru thing goes on i really don't think he's suspicious so much as he's just so terrified of losing control that it's become an obsession.

my whole take on the subaru thing centers around anxiety and poor coping mechanisms. i'm hesitant to say it's ocd because of how mental illness is usually portrayed in horror media, but it definitely feels like the anxious spirals that kind of cycle on obsession. especially once it comes out about the scandal he was supposedly involved in. if you already have anxiety about how you're perceived and something like that happens on such a major scale that you have to step away from the public eye, (and especially after doing something like losing control) it's not a huge leap to think it'd almost become a trigger response. especially the cabbage on the burger part on the table--you see reactions like that all the time. i won't go into a full psychoanalysis, as i'm not a psychology expert, but that's how it reads to me. so far. he's still on my list lmao

also this campus interaction pointed out by @sane-tkdbblog is a lot more interesting now

regardless haku needs to shut up, there's way better ways to get people to stop with the self deprecation 😭 haku pls. still though it was interesting that haku thought it was serious enough that he asked us if we wanted to keep working with them. was it because the violence was that serious? was it a test to see our loyalties and where they lie? was it him being selfish? who knows with haku at this point

more fuel for my traitor!haku is being blackmailed theory. easiest way out is going along with it to save himself.

what i REALLY want to know more about is what zenji's referring to!! whose sos did he miss? is that what led to him dying?? zenji TELL ME

super dark story in this one as well, had my phone screen covered for the last few parts lmao. also INSANE ending, love a cliffhanger, but again i think subaru's probably just going ro try and do something else to gain control of a situation again. post incoming about the tree of severance

🌟10/10 for spooky ghosts

🌟10/10 for zenji's outfits (and everyone's really)

theory posts to make still: subaru's demon, further traitor theories, the defunct houses, tree of severance, and why i hate the teachers. also another one about taiga lmao

asks and dms are always open!

#tkdb #tokyo debunker #tdb #theories #episode summaries #hotarubi #subaru kagami #haku kusanagi #zenji kotodama

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partycatty · 1 year ago

Text

me and @bluedgedsword on that same wavelength fr

johnny cage > scratch

johnny's new role leaves him growing a beard... and you're kinda into it

warnings: smut :3 u get headdddd, johnny is PUSSYHUNGRY!!!, playful sex (banter king), false information (beards dont turn red when he gives oral but a girl can dream)

notes: his little leg shake is so cute actually i need to get him pregnant asap, also his NOSE IS SO HOT NGH IM OBSESSED

masterlist

• johnny reluctantly agreed to pick up a new job courtesy of his agent. one issue though - the character he's playing has a stubbly beard. and johnny's the kind of man that waxes every sexy square inch of skin.

• you're often sitting on his lap, plucking his brows or pulling ingrowns from his stubble. he shaves the moment he can grip a hair with his fingernails, he's just always preferred to be clean shaven.

• like hell he's gonna do a prosthetic beard, though. go big or go home! so, over the course of the next couple weeks, johnny leaves his face completely untouched. of course, you're his eyebrow groomer, but he'll grab your wrist if you even so much as hover by his growing stubble with a knowing look, making you pout.

• "i know doll, but the second shooting's done, i am burning this damn thing off. it's so... itchy," he whines, scratching his face.

• at first, you hated it. it looked so out of character, so unlike johnny to have a beard. he was always the classy man, clean from head to toe, but his face just felt more... rugged.

• this all changed when his stubble reached its peak length (something like this), your feelings about it started to change. that, and seeing him in nothing but his robe and a mug of coffee in the morning stirred some demons deep in your core. johnny tears his eyes from his phone and looks at you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

• "i know that look," he purrs with a sly grin. "what's on your mind, sugar?" as if he doesn't already know what's swimming through your mind every time you look at him for a second too long.

• "nothing," you reply gently, unwilling to admit your sudden attraction to his new feature as you turn away with a huff. "i'm just... looking."

• like the slippery devil he is, he places his mug down and saunters up to you, sliding his arms around your waist and pulling you close. johnny leans into your ear, his scruff brushing against your cheek.

• "i thought you didn't like the beard," he chuckled breathily, one of his hands snaking down to grab a handful of your ass.

• "people change?" you can only ask with a flustered, wobbly grin as he towers over you shamelessly. johnny leans in for a playfully messy kiss and the hairs tickling your lips makes you yelp into his mouth. you push him off and scratch the area around your mouth. "feels weird, though."

• "you're tellin' me," he chimes in, running a hand across his cheek. "too weird?"

• "just weird enough," grinning, you pull him in for another kiss, this time a little more heated. it turns sloppy quickly, and johnny leads you by your hips to the couch, gently lowering you with his hand on the small of your back. when he pulls away, you giggle at his already blown out pupils. he returns the giggle with more laughter himself as he swipes a finger across your bottom lip.

• "what's so funny?" you ask, wiping your own lip wondering if there was a speck of breakfast left behind. he just shakes his head.

• "your mouth is all red, sugar," he laughs again. "look."

• he pulls his phone from his robe pocket, angling your head up by your chin and snapping the photo. he flips the screen to show you and sure enough, the area around your mouth is an irritated reddish tone. you both exchange light giggles between chaste kisses, that is, until they become full of desire again.

• luckily for you, johnny's sex drive knows no bounds. he could be grinding against you at the asscrack of dawn, bending you over your lunch, or having his way with you in the evening. now seems to be one of those times he's eager to get his hands on you, judging by the way his robe is tented up.

• you cup his face as he shamelessly presses his bulge into you, shoving his body between your thighs while his hands explore. there's no inch of your body he isn't familiar with, but he still ravishes you like it's the first time every time. your nails scratch at his facial hair absentmindedly, earning a sweet groan from his throat that transfers into your own mouth through vibrations.

• the conversation of "are we doing this now?" is a long abandoned subject in your relationship. if you want each other, you're at each other like animals. with this in mind, johnny traces down your front, sucking deep marks into your jaw and throat.

• with one hand toying with the waistband of your pajama pants, the other is harshly tugging your flowy top upward where it catches on your breasts. johnny kisses between them, sloppily making out with your plush skin as he works his way down, eyelashes fluttering as he savors the taste of your skin. your stomach twitches as you muffle giggles as his beard drags down to between your thighs - where things are suddenly far less funny.

• johnny presses his nose against your clothed clit unexpectedly, making you jolt in surprise. he looks up at you through his lashes, a lopsided smile on his lips.

• "you don't have to," you gently insist, running a hand through his hair lovingly. he leans into your touch, glancing up at you with soft eyes before he speaks.

• "i know i don't," he replies, sure of himself. "but you know i'd die down here if you let me." his hot breath onto your sex sends chills down your spine. suddenly, he props himself up slightly. "are you saying that so i don't go down on you with the beard, honey?"

• "no!" you prop yourself up on your elbows as you look down between your legs. "i just mean, like, i know you don't get much out of it, so i wasn't going to ask."

• he stares up at you like you just said the most ridiculous thing in your entire life. like you're genuinely insane. are you insane?

• "you're... are you serious?" he asks, scoffing with amusement. "baby. you are a goddamn delicacy. i'm talking grade A, michelin star, 5 star yelp-" you yank his hair gently, knowing he's about to go on a cheesy tangent. his head tilts with the movement, and he lets out a small whimper of surprise. "-hey! i'm serious. i want to, i always do. as long as you'll let me with this damn thing." he scratches his jaw. you nod, and he resumes with pleasure.

• both of johnny's hands grab at your waistband, tugging down eagerly. just before you're fully revealed, he open mouth kisses just above your slit, savoring the way you writhe with anticipation. you help him to remove your bottoms, now fully bare and presented for him, a sight he'll never get over. his eyes are transfixed on your pussy, as if he were hypnotized.

• "pretty as always," he mutters to himself, leaning forward and throwing your legs over his shoulders. he wastes no time devouring, sucking up your juices with an open and ready mouth. his tongue darts out hungrily, teasing your hole. he brings one hand up to rub into your clit, feeling it throb under his touch. you whine at the onslaught of pleasure, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries.

• johnny notices this quickly, tugging on your arm until your hand is removed. with one hand holding down a thigh, the other is interlacing with yours lovingly, a sign that he's doing this because he adores you.

• still tongue fucking you, your hips rock needily. his nose catches on your clit, giving you a delicious combination of pleasure that leaves your eyes watering. he laughs to himself at your movements, sending vibrations that make you tremble.

• his lips move back up to your clit, sucking deeply. his tongue flicks against it, his jaw dancing with each movement. his beard scratches against your folds, earning a sweet burning sensation as the slippery friction combines with the scratchy one.

• "my compliments to the chef," he lazily compliments you, pulling away to breathe. you stroke the side of his scruffy face as you catch your own breath. the tip of his nose, lips, and beard are glistened by your arousal. even with his pretty grin shining up at you, his comment makes you lean back as you groan dramatically.

• "just shut up and make me cum," you huff out frustratingly, grabbing a handful of his hair again. the sudden yank makes him gasp as he sinks back down against you. he grins to himself, the only reason you know is because you can feel his teeth against your pussy.

• "m'sorry," he sheepishly mutters against your folds before diving back in, this time with a clear goal in mind. with your hole thoroughly soaked, he slides a finger in, and then two, pumping at an even pace that makes you writhe and whine. he latches back onto your clit, sucking with fervor. johnny prods and pokes deep inside of your walls, searching for what'll make you cry out his name in desperation.

• you would've felt guilty with how much you were receiving and how little you were giving in return, but you were horribly amused when you noticed that johnny was whimpering into your pussy, his hips hopelessly rutting against the couch through his fluffy robe. johnny's pleasure was very much riding on yours, and it was yet another reason you fell in love with him.

• your orgasm rides up on you again as you clench your thighs around his head. as if you were a twig, he forces you back open. he alternates between sucking and flitting his tongue against you, but what really makes you finish is when his teeth catches on your sensitive bud as he's knuckle deep. he bites down ever so slightly, enough to send a rocking wave of pleasure through your body.

• your back arches so far up you might need to get it readjusted by a chiro. he eats you out through your orgasm, prideful as he keeps you open like it's his last meal. your juices overflow against his face, but he couldn't care less. if there's anything he'd want to be painted with, it'd be your cum.

• when you're nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess, johnny finally pulls away, sucking his lips inward to taste what he wasn't able to take in. you look down, giggling at his pussydrunk expression. he cleans his fingers off with a sweet smile.

• "you're my favorite," he says in a loving daze, hands squeezing your sides as if you're an angel that'll fly away if he loosens his grip too much. "i hope you know that."

• "i know, johnny," you reply in a breathy rasp, wiping the sweat from your forehead. "you do too much for me."

• "not enough," he corrects you, putting your legs back down and sitting up on his knees. johnny glances around, locating your panties and bottoms and helps you into them gently. he stands and finds himself a paper towel to wipe his face clean. "wasn't too scratchy down there?"

• you beam up at him, holding yourself up on the couch by your arms. you shake your head with a sleepy expression. he leans over you and places a loving kiss to your lips, the hair on his face no longer much of a bother to you.

• "you should wash your face," you mutter against his lips. "i saw on tiktok that doing it too much with a beard bleaches it red."

• "no shit?" he entertains the thought. "i'd've been a ginger ages ago if i grew it out sooner. should i keep it after filming?"

• "i dunno. i'm used to the clean-shaven johnny, i think. i'll have you any which way."

• "that's what i love most about you, doll."

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #mk1 #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mortal kombat smut #marley writes ☆

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