#I really was hypnotizing you....except it was a lot more than that

[gonzodangerfeels]

Enoch on high, reaches for midnight at the passage of the moon

[rafesangelita]

♡ oh, nothing! just bitchy!kook!reader walking around the house in nothing but rafe’s favorite heels after he decides talking on the phone with his friends is more important than paying attention to his girl..

warnings: bratty behavior, rafe being sexually frustrated lol, groping, heavy teasing, suggestive ending

a/n: just a little something on the shorter side because these 2k+ wc fics have done their number on me lol

you rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips as rafe’s laughter echoed from upstairs. he has been on a three way call with kelce and topper for going on an hour now, and while you usually didn’t care, he had you waiting for him downstairs in full glam and an empty tummy. this is what you get when you try to play nice and put your catty attitude to the side for one night; a negligent boyfriend who had no care for anything else in the world except for what him and his idiot friends were rambling on about. your impatience is what lead you to be in the position you were in right now; naked and ignoring rafe as he followed you around the house, begging you to give him the slightest amount of attention.

“we can go get dinner now, okay?! i was just listening to topper vent about ruthie, i swear i wasn’t ignoring you!” he refrained from stopping you in your tracks, his cock stirring in his pants when he watched the way your hips swayed with every step. “oh, really?” you spun around, your boyfriend’s eyes falling down to your bare chest, “not responding to me when i called you downstairs like a thousand times wasn’t you ignoring me?” rafe opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when you walked away from him again. this time he watched you round the corner of the hallway, making your way into the kitchen before cursing under his breath.

you could tell you were driving rafe insane by the way he was gripping the kitchen island, his knuckles white with tension. “so, what? you’re just going to walk around like that?” he asked, his eyes burning into your skin. you shrugged, bending over the counter with a look in your eyes that made him want to wrap a fist in your hair and take you right there. “too bad you were busy with your friends earlier.. i actually wanted to be the sweet girlfriend tonight and give you dessert after dinner. oh well..” you pouted, walking past him as you flipped your hair over your shoulder. why were you like this? toxic, bitchy, mean, but still irresistible, sexy, and perfect?

“it won’t happen again, i promise.” rafe was hypnotized as he watched you walk into the living room, your heels clicking against the floor as your boyfriend pleaded with you to let him take you upstairs. “maybe the neighbors would appreciate the view a lot more than you do—” you barely touched the curtains before your boyfriend snatched you away from the large window. “that’s enough.” he said through gritted teeth, his gruff voice just right below your ear. suppressing the butterflies from fluttering in your tummy, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “that poor excuse of an apology isn’t gonna get you anywhere.” rafe chuckled, his hands feeling like fire on your hips.

“let me show you how sorry i am..” he turned you around, his cock aching as he could now feel your tits pressing against him through his shirt. he was making it really hard for you to keep up your act. “acting like a little brat, i know exactly what you need right now.” you gasped when you felt him take a handful of your ass, his bruising grip only exciting you further. “and what is that?” you leaned in, feeling the last of your resolve crumble when he took your hand to feel him through the denim of his jeans. “it’s so hard for you, baby,” he nearly moaned, lowering his tone, “and i’m still so hungry..”

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Some batfamily headcanon

They all have auditory processing disorder at this point, except for Damian and Duke

Damian is the youngest and Bruce and the others protect him most and Duke uses armor plus his powers makes him a little difficult to get hurt

Dick is partially deaf in his left ear and Tim is partially deaf in his right ear

Bruce and Jason suffer from chronic pain

If Steph or Damian just stopped and went into some blank state for more than two minutes call the most responsible adult near immediately, they are having an anxiety attack (they just freeze and stare at nothing, this is their anxiety attack)

Tim has narcolepsy actually this is why he has the worst sleeping schedule of them all

(Tim's narcolepsy may be undiagnosed, diagnosed but his parents hid the result, Tim refuses to take his medication because he believes he can "handle" it, it's up to you)

Jason, Cass and Damian have PTSD

(all of them have it actually, but these three have the worst attacks)

Dick emergency contact is Donna Troy

and it doesn't matter what the batfamily do or say, Dick is always puts Donna as his emergency contact

Damian emergency contact is Maya Ducard

Damian had a lot of nightmares in him early years, the family takes turns to take care of it

Jason and Damian have intrusive thoughts (hurt the others and hurt themselves, Jason villain era was basically 'I let my intrusive thoughts win' ) - today Damian handled it better than Jason did in the past (Jason I love you, but I will never forgive you for what you did to Mia Dearden)

Bruce created a lot of personas for his work and because of it Dick created the "hamburger theory"

If he accepts the hamburger and eats it with both hands it's Batman; if he starts eating his hamburger with fork and knife it's Bruce Wayne; if he's holding the burger with a napkin and smile it's Brucie; but if he rejected the hamburger just run, it's not safe near him in that moment

Dick made this theory when he still was a Robin and this is some 'don't tell dad' information between all of the kids

They usually share information with Cass in audio to help her understand, Babs still helps her with how to read but she prefers to use emojis or audio messages

Cass may or may not respond to their audio, but she will view it

Bruce and the others have no clue about Dick real health status because the only person who has legal rights to it is Donna and she doesn't share with them

One time Tim tried to steal Damian medical records to put in their data, he found out that Maya already did that and now she is the only person in the world legally allowed to have that information

Both Dick and Damian don't regret their decision because they really trust in their sisters more than the bats

(and yes, Bruce feels breyated because of this)

14!Damian is still a little afraid of sleeping, because he doesn't know what kind of dream he might have (he doesn't have nightmares like he used to, but the anxiety is still there)

Duke and Damian usually hang out more than the others; one time Steph asks why in the common channel and Duke only answers "you know that me and him are basically immortals, right? When everyone leaves, we'll still be here" (Duke is immortal because of his powers and Damian... Do you really think his family would allow him die?)

No one knows exactly the kind of shit Damian was submitted in the league and as Tim falls in get his medical records they'll never knows

The same applicants for Cass trying, what exactly Cain did with her is something she'll never tell

Jason actually has amnesia from his league days or some kinda of weird and very selective amnesia, everything just looks like a blur to him

Jason believes that he was hypnotized to forget everything or some weird magic stuff. But on some nights, in the silence of his room, Jason still seems like a fat baby lying near him, he wonders who is the baby and ho they are now...

Some days, because of his chronic pain, Bruce uses a cane to walk around the house, but only inside

[seiwas]

hihi sel! for your trope mashup game: bedsharing + teacher au featuring satosugu! (or any ship of your choice, really bahaha)

bitti!! thanks for playing with me 🥹 u need to know. this took me tf out 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thanks for bouncing around these ideas w me babie @mieiri

"looks like we'll have to cuddle tonight," gojo plops down on the foot of the bed, hands outstretched behind him.

you drop your bag to the floor, scanning the rest of the room.

there's a decently sized window at the far end, with a small desk and its own chair. to your immediate right is the bathroom, with a single sink, a small shower space, and a toilet. the space is okay, not too big and not too small considering the two giants you’re rooming with.

except, there’s one problem. when your eyes pan to the left, right up against the wall—

there's only one bed.

you can hear geto chuckling behind you, his leather jacket crinkling as he walks around the room.

there was supposed to be a couch at least. that's what your faculty had promised you. it's why you agreed to room with geto and gojo in the first place.

"dibs not middle," geto settles into the seat right at the end of the room.

they both look at you.

oh god.

this professor's retreat was initiated by your college in an effort to mingle with your colleagues from the other departments. not that you needed it to get to interact with gojo and geto, you know each other enough from the weekend martial arts classes you attend together.

that being said, though, knowing them from a shared class is a far different relationship from being comfortable enough to sleep beside them.

between coinciding schedules with the physics department and later time slots of the molecular biology classes, the chemistry classes you teach leave almost no opportunity for you to pass them in the hallways.

which, is honestly kind of a good thing.

you don't think you can handle seeing them even more than you already do on the weekends; gojo dressed in tight compression shirts and geto in those sickeningly fitted vests. how sweaty they both end up after sparring with one another—

"i'll take the floor," you announce, heat firing your cheeks as you immediately rifle through the cabinets in the bathroom for extra towels.

granted, the outfits they wear to work are a lot more modest. gojo always opts for pressed dress shirts, neat and sleek as if he’s busy (which he is, you think. he’s always somehow invited to meetings with the university’s higher-ups). geto, on the other hand, swears by his leather jackets. if it weren’t for the ‘lecturer’ id clipped to his jacket pocket, he’d easily be mistaken as a student. you’re pretty sure he has, especially by his own students on the first day of class.

still, you cannot handle sleeping in between the two of them.

in your panic, you don't notice the sound of footsteps approaching the bathroom door, a broad figure leaning over its frame.

"hey,"

you’re going to kill gojo.

between the two of them, gojo’s always the one who tries to convince you to join in on their antics. but as long as he doesn’t touch you, you think you’ve built up a pretty good immunity to all his tricks.

this, however, is a completely different tactic.

if one of them can persuade you by voice alone, it’s geto suguru—and it seems like gojo knows it too.

“you know there'll be plenty of space on the bed, right?"

it was a mistake for you to look up, because now you've caught his eyes, an impossibly hypnotizing brown that drips warmth into his honeyed speech.

you breathe out, keeping your cool, “it's okay, suguru, i don't mind.”

he crosses his arms, leaning more of his weight on the doorframe as he peers down at you. a strand of his hair falls from the bun he usually keeps it in; it’s tip lands right where his smirk ends.

well, fuck.

"satoru's a stick," he comments, and from within the room you can hear gojo start to whine, “hey—!”, but suguru continues, ignoring him, “i can squeeze closer to the wall."

he tilts his head, dipping it lower.

you sigh, closing your eyes. the towels you’ve managed to scavenge now slipping from your hands.

when you step outside in evident defeat, gojo sits up from the bed, tapping the space beside him as he crosses his legs. gojo runs his mouth a lot of the time, but it’s in this moment that you truly believe pretty boys shouldn’t be allowed to speak. because when he says—

"c'mon, it'll be fun."

—you think the next three days will simultaneously be the best and worst days of your life.

some additional things i didn’t include:

gojo’s pedagogy is terrible but students love to take his class because they think he’s hot + he doesn’t require attendance. his assessments are either extremely easy (aka nothing) or fucking hard and students are willing to take this gamble 🥲 he also sucks at teaching because he can’t explain for shit!!! but he grades high 😃

geto on the other hand!! good all around except his assessments are always fucking HARD. but students also love to take his class because they actually learn something 😃 (and also bc his students crush on him hard lmao)

the sleeping situation happens as follows: gojo takes up most of the bed space and geto does in fact squeeze to the wall, with you squished to his side too 😃 on one of the nights, gojo clings onto you and geto scoots closer because the empty space freaks him out a lil 😃 at some point, both of them squish you in the middle too 😃 you start to think maybe they wanted this all along…

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay so I saw this post about dark percy (really him reaching his Limit and fighting full strength with everything he had) and I was imagining the potential fallout of that. Pretty bad, as you can guess.

The thing is a lot of percys strongest moments happen out of view of the olympians, especially in hoo. The hurricane atop the glacier in alaska, the poison scene in tartarus, bending the depression river and the one in the palace of nyx.

Stuff like the St Helens eruption got him washed up on an inescapable island literally removed from reality until calypso gave him the OK, the achillies curse he got tricked into losing by hera. Smaller moments, the minotaur, fighting ares, the stolen pirate ship, walking on water vs hyperion, freshwater sources, him knowing both Latin and Greek, they're more easily brushed off or at least mostly due to cunning, sword skills and sheer luck and grit.

But basically the olympians don't actually know the full extent of percys strength and divine power. They have hints - percy standing on the throne, winning against ares, his many victories - but what they aren't willing to brush aside in the heat of (an important) battle there have been pretty strong consequences for.

Heck, just look at Frank, he's no prodigy with weapons, he's polite and respectful, but his distant relation to two olympians letting him inherit shapeshifting earned him direct divine meddling and his life force tied to a hunk of half toasted firewood. Man is a honey bear with lactose intolerance and he was punished with a mythical death curse for being too strong.

If Percy's true strength came out, he would risk losing everything. His freedom, most certainly. If he wasn't straight up executed he might wind up in a Greek myth style imprisonment, the way of atlas, prometheus, calypso, or something like the myriad of ways Greek heroes met their end. Good scenario he survives a dozen curses and gets on with life with a dozen new disabilities, best case scenario he's stripped of every inch of divine power and dropped back to the mortal world, not even clear sighted. Total separation from the Greeks and Romans. Oh, annabeth would marry him either way, and his friends would hardly abandon him despite the gods wishes, but they'd hardly be able to see him, and no long range contact without the ability to IM him or vice versa.

All of that to say Percy is hiding his true strength from the gods themselves - maybe not consciously, and it's not even power he particularly wants - but if they ever find out?

It's game over.

But why is he so strong? I don't know. What I do know is that the half bloods of the books are so much stronger than the ones of myth. Used to be that divine blood would get you divine favour and a great fate whether you liked it or not. Maybe some cunning and bow skills. A spot of spell casting if you were really lucky. Achillies got his curse after he was born, Perseus had a dozen magic artifacts, orpheus had something going on but hercules is to my knowledge an outlier. Now? Everyone in camp has some special power. Flight, fire, necromancy, hypnotism, dream walking etc. However it's happening, half bloods are slowly but surely getting a lot, lot stronger every century that passes. Meta? I mean I guess. But.

What no one has done before is something that their godly parent couldn't.

Except.

Except Percy.

Except Percy, in tartarus, at his mental, emotional and physical limit, controlling poison with his mind, overpowering the goddess of poison in her home, making misery choke on misery. Feeling something in his chest crack. Doing something poseidon could not, and doing it better than the person who could.

Down there, hidden away from the gods, he evolved. For that brief moment, he did something, was something new.

And that was how the gods overthrew the titans.

And that's why they must never find out.

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: Choosing Enthralment

Male's point of view - Hypnosis - Brainwashing - Conditioning

“That’s it… Just sink deeper and deeper into trance… Deeper and deeper into blissful surrender … Deeper and deeper into thoughtless obedience…”

I’m not completely convinced, even though I explained it to her multiple times, that she fully understood what she was agreeing to when we negotiated the terms and limits of her hypnotic submission to me. There was no intent to trick her on my part because I was very clear about what I wished to achieve with her if she wished to dive into my control.

“Deeper and deeper… Reaching a place with no will of your own… No thoughts of your own… Sinking into blissful nothingness… Open and obedient… Letting go of everything inside your mind except the will of your Master.”

Saying she understood everything we talked about, she agreed to let me use hypnosis to conquer her mind and bend her to my will. She agreed that I could use any means available to make me her Master in her eyes. She was so eager… Excited and aroused by the idea of being brainwashed like one of those cartoon characters that ignited her kink when she saw them helplessly mind controlled as a teen.

“Feel my words reach into your mind… Expertly soothing you as they take hold of the mental collar that completely controls you… Completely commands you… That makes your mind… And your body… My property…”

Did she think hypnosis would be 100% effective with such an eager mind as hers? Did she believe that deep down, she wouldn’t truly be claimed and would simply play along to experience her kink? She was adamant that she knew it was real and that if I was good enough, she would truly be brainwashed.

I guess I still can’t quite believe that a young perky girl like her would so eagerly give up her freedom to become brainwashed and enslaved.

“Sinking deeper still… Sinking into the depths of your true self… Sinking to a place where my words can reshape your mind… Your thoughts… Your beliefs… You understand and embrace that deep down… At the core of your being… You are no longer a real person… You are the organic object I own and completely control… You exist to serve and obey…”

I took things slow of course…

Allowing her many opportunities to speak up and change her mind… Test her limits….

But with every session, she grew more and more excited by the results and the pleasure it gave her to let go and surrender to my will. So with every session, I accepted her submission by sinking my control ever deeper within her mind until one day, she realized that she no longer saw herself as an independent person, but as my helpless thrall.

It was so fascinating to watch her get so intensely aroused by the notion that when it came to my dominance and use of her, she no longer felt like she had a choice.

And by then, with the exception of her safe word, she really didn’t have a choice…

“Everything you are is mine to command and enjoy… Your mind is utterly open to my will… Easily changed and programmed for your Masters’s pleasure… Your body is a helpless tool that exists entirely to serve and please your Master…”

Up until a few weeks ago, she had been my thrall only when we met up or did online calls, but then she surprised me by asking, out of the blue, if I would consider letting her move in with me so she could be mine full time. I initially refused and told her to take the time to truly understand what she was asking. Which she supposedly did…

Her request didn’t waver one bit so I agreed to let her live with me for one week so she could really experience what it would mean to live with me. To be sure she understood, I was a lot harsher than usual with her and constantly tranced her or ordered her to do the most menial things that were clearly not erotic. I truly treated her like an object and to my surprise, the more I did the hornier she got.

“You are my hypnotic thrall… My obedient slave… You have no choice but to obey your Master… You cannot resist the words of your Owner… You are an object of pleasure… A warm enthralled sleeve for your Master’s cock… You exist to serve his pleasure whenever and however he wishes…”

I’d be lying if I said that our whole situation didn’t make me as excited and eager as her. Especially after that ‘trial week’ where I got to enjoy my very own live-in hypno-thrall and sex slave. It was clear we both wanted this so I felt bad for sticking to the high road by constantly telling her that she needed to take it slow and think about it.

As much as I insisted though, she insisted even more that she was eager to fully give herself to me and decided to prove it to me by offering me a special week living with her. Like the week before, she would live with me but unlike the previous week, I couldn’t hypnotize her or use any triggers on her. She wanted to prove to me that she was just as willing to serve me even if there was no hypnotic compulsion to force her to do so.

I obviously agreed and was just as commanding and harsh with her as I was the week before. I treated her like the slave she wanted to be and enjoyed her as much as I could without once feeling her resist or hearing her complain.

After such a wonderful show of devotion, I couldn’t keep denying her so I finally agreed to let her move in with me full time.

“Good… Very good… Now my dear… When I say the words ‘Awaken to your purpose’… Your mind will shift from deep trance to a state of waking trance… Your awareness will awaken, but you will not have the ability to think… You will stay perfectly mindless… Perfectly docile and kneel before me… You will have no other thought except your desire to serve my pleasure…”

Admittedly, her hypnotic subjugation reached new heights after that and if it wasn’t for the safe word I buried deep in her psyche, I’m pretty sure there’s no longer any tangible way for her to escape my control. I’ve given her exactly what she wished for and now, she truly believes, with all her aroused little heart, that she is nothing more than my property.

She’s allowed me to own every single inch of her and in so doing, gave me free rein on how I use her for my pleasure and service. Thanks to her daily files, she’s constantly compelled to perform her daily chores, keeping herself healthy and alluring. She has edged herself until her body could keep itself constantly aroused so that I may enjoy her pussy at a moment’s notice. She’s trained her mouth and throat every day so that she can properly suck my cock and fully deep-throat my modest girth.

Her whole life has become a carefully constructed series of trances and compelled tasks that effectively prevents her mind from thinking about anything except the moment she is in. No confusing or worrisome memories of the past to cause her stress… No anxious thoughts about what the future may or may not hold…

And since every moment of her life is filled with constant arousal and pleasure, her mind has zero desire to do anything except dive deeper into her present life of mind controlled service.

I still make a point to check in with her after she’s spent a few days free of trances or compulsion, but by now her new life has been so thoroughly conditioned into her mind by now that even awake and free from suggestions, she doesn’t want to be anything else. She’s as happy as a girl like her could possibly be and no one is able to convince otherwise.

I’m still convinced she didn’t quite understand what she was asking me to do to her, but since I gave her every opportunity and warning so she could keep her freedom, I’ve decided that I’m going to keep enjoying her until the day her safe word triggers. I’ll trust in her deep self to know when she’s had her fill of mindless servitude even though part of me thinks she never will and I’ll be able to keep this wonderful girl in a constant state of enthrallment and sexual servitude.

Or is that my own selfish hope?

[tokoyamisstuff]

lmaoo tasteful was the last thing I would've ever imagined to hear about my work. This humble writer is absolutely flattered by your words, thank you! 🫶

gn! Reader I general NSFW warning

Considering the literal centuries of experience this guy has ahead of you, this sure is gonna be an otherworldly experience...in more than one way.

Don't be nervous, though. He's a patient lover and eager to teach you new things. Will start slow and vanilla, taking all the time to look what works out for both of you.

In general the nights you spend with him are very carefree, filled with laughter and pleasant conversation in between or even during the act(s).

This man plays your body like an instrument. His heightened senses make it an easy task to observe every little reaction your body presents him, especially if he's able to give you an immediate gratification through it. Probably knows you better than you do (at least in that sense). Think you can only come once? Think again.

Definetly hypersexual. He'll use literally any opportunity to get it on with you: Sparring, arguments, even during missions he'll find an opportunity for his favourite pastime. Never leaves you unsatisfied, no matter the circumstance or how little time you have.

Prefers long and intimate rendezvous over quickies however, since he takes great pride in indulging you. He's quite the romantic, enjoys preparing the whole package: An amazing date, the perfect atmosphere, and of course a cozy bedroom. Nothing's too much effort if it comes to see your eyes light with wonder...and lust, later on.

Loves variety. I think there's nothing too freaky you could ask of him, he'd at least be willing to try it out. There's nothing really off table, but also nothing he absolutely wants you to do. You'll find a lot of common ground.

I mean did you see his tongue?? His oral game is gonna be insane.

He's not really fond of toys. Being rather possessive in general, he wants to be the direct cause for your pleasure. The only exception are remote controlled ones. It's so fun being able to tease you like that, observing how you try to keep it together during a meeting of the roundtable or similar.

The vampire is obsessed with imperfections. Scars, beauty marks, even extending to dacryphilia. Anything that makes you human is just so fascinating and desireable to him.

He's a biter wow what a surprise. The taste of your blood gives him an intense feeling of ecstasy, but he'd never go overboard with his cravings. In return I figure his abilities have a hypnotizing reaction on your body as well, giving you an overwhelming sensitivity in return.

Sometimes he's unable to keep his form, especially when deep in pleasure. Suddenly you're enveloped by black mist or stared at by a little too many eyes. At first he was very concerned to disgust or scare you away, but once he sees you react with a surprising acceptance - or even affection - he's over the moon.

Those shapeshifting skills could be used to your advantage in more than one way. He can easily adjust his size according to your wish or even fuck you from several directions at once. Really, there's no limits to your fantasies, let them run wild.

To be honest I think he's got a praise kink and is a sub at least in a certain way. Maybe because in every other aspect of his existence he's the peak of evolution, an almost omnipotent eldritch horror, always dominating. So being able to let himself fall like this, showing himself bare and vulnerable and giving himself to you body and soul, is just the greatest thrill he's ever felt.

Alucard's whole motivation is to serve his lover over anything, devoting himself to your worship.

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: ISSUE #4

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel O'Hara saves you from falling off the Chrysler building for a second time, and he's not very happy about it.

Word count: 4,400 words.

Content: Slow burn so slow we're getting a reverse speeding ticket, Spidey-boy has a lot of emotions and really needs therapy, he also swears a lot, tiny speck of angst.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

It's shocking how fast the ground approaches from a height of 72 stories. You always imagined it would take longer given the distance. In movies, the freefall is always captured in a hypnotizing slow motion, but real gravity is brutal and unforgiving.

This time, as you fall through the sky, you don’t see the New York concrete grow wider or nearer. All you see is the vast gap between you and the crystal blue sky rapidly pulling away from you. The buildings looming higher with every second. The blinding sun reflected in the thousands and thousands of glaring windows towering above.

You can't feel your heartbeat or the wind beating against your face. There should be panic. But at the sight of familiar inky-blue piercing through your view, an eerie calm takes over until a comforting numb spreads through your limbs.

Call it misguided naivety. No one should ever place this much trust with their life on a stranger they don't even know to come and save them.

But misguided or not, there's no fear in you this time around. You don't think about how you are plummeting down to your death. Not when you see him speeding after you. Diving head-first into the vast empty space as he closes the distance between you, hand outstretched, reaching for you.

His hand catches around your wrist in mid-air. It's a firm grip like he never means to let go. He reels you in until you're defying gravity, gliding up through the air to meet him until he can wrap his arms around you.

Everything decelerates. The reflection of the rows and rows of windows no longer flashing by. It's a gentle descent as the breeze flows pleasantly through your hair, and if you don't think too hard about how you can't control the direction of movement, you can almost believe you’re flying.

The landing is gentle. He sets you on your feet with such great care that it takes you a second to adjust to the feeling of firm concrete beneath your soles.

Once again, you find yourself standing face to face with the masked superhero who has saved your life more times than you can count on both hands.

You crane your neck to meet his gaze, head tilting upwards until your neck strains, and it strikes you that you've forgotten how tall he was. His head tips down, the dark outline of his masked eyes staring down at you, and it makes the hair on the nape of your neck prickle.

Say something. 

You rack your brain, trying to remember all the questions you had meticulously written down in the notepad hidden in your desk as you planned for this very moment. But they’re missing, wiped cleanly from your mind now that he's here in front of you. Your mouth parts, trying to remember how to use your vocal cords again.

Before you find it, the blue fabric recedes until it reveals his face again. You're met with cutting eyes that glow an otherworldly crimson and the bared sharp canine teeth of a predator as he growls at you. 

"What the hell were you thinking?!" 

The low rumble of his words scrapes down your spine and locks you in a fight or flight response. Except you're doing neither. Fixed in place, unable to move.

One of his hands reaches up to pull at his hair in frustration, as he starts to mumble to himself. He's tugging it so hard you think he's going to yank them out by the roots.

"I can’t believe you! Me estás matando. Casi me da un ataque cardíaco–"

You blink up at him dimly, confused until you realize that he's broken into Spanish. But he's speaking too low and too fast. You can only make out about half of it.

"–No puedo más! I am dying of stress. You're impossible! I turn away for one second…” 

One sentence flows directly into the next without stopping for a single breath, and you're surprised he doesn't go lightheaded from lack of oxygen with how long he goes on.

You raise your hand slightly, reminiscent of a gesture you used to pull in school when you wanted to get the teacher's attention to ask a question. But he doesn't notice. Doesn’t even throw a glance in your direction.

“... and you go Anna Karenina on me. I can't with you, I can't, I can't–"

You try to follow along, looking for an appropriate break in his rant to get a word in edgewise. But like the line of tourists lining up for the Statue of liberty, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. As rude as it is, the only thing you can think of is clearing your throat, loudly, trying to draw attention to yourself, but that's soundly ignored as well.

"Me vas a sacar canas verdes–-"

One broad hand covers his face as if he's trying to scrub away the beginnings of a migraine, and he keeps going.

Listening to him makes you feel like a child on the receiving end of a scolding by an exasperated parent. Any lingering thread of fear or intimidation gives way to irritation at this man who is so subsumed by his tirade that he doesn't even seem to be aware of your presence, not three feet away from him.

"–Siempre haces esto, una y otra y otra vez–"

You don't know exactly how long he’s been going on for by now, but you know that it's long. You could even swear the shadow by your feet has shifted to the opposite end of the patch of concrete at your feet in the time he’s been talking.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" he asks, apparently finally done. He stands there, arms crossed, with a condescending set to his jaw as he looks down on you.

And god, where to even start with this man? You have enough material about his difficult and avoidant behavior to make a powerpoint presentation out of it. You should block out the boardroom for three whole hours and hold a Q&A after.

How, if he had just spoken to you after you left him not one, not two, but several requests to meet with him, then things could have ended up a lot more civilized.

How, if he hadn't been hiding from you this whole time—gaslighting you— you wouldn't have had to spend over $200 on budget DIY spy crap (in this economy!) on an utterly wasted attempt to catch him. And, to add insult to injury, you’re sure you are never going to use any of that stuff ever again!

How, if he hadn't been talking non-stop and had the self-awareness to take a second to observe others, he'd have realized that you had plenty of things to say to him, if only he had paused long enough to let you.

But somehow in the face of his expectant expression, all that comes out of your mouth is, "I don't know what you want me to say."

His face falls. There's a split second of disappointment, raw and anguished, that flitters across his face. Then it's gone as quickly as it appeared, and he turns away from you. Whatever he was expecting from you, that was obviously not it.

When he speaks again, his voice has turned calm and quiet. He almost sounds resigned.

"Yeah. I don't know either." 

There's a sluggish, awkward silence that lingers on the three feet of concrete stretched between the two of you. The echo of traffic below, the cab horns and chatter swarms the space. After everything that’s happened, it all feels very anti-climatic somehow.

"Can you take me back to my apartment and we can talk? I have coffee. Cake too," you say, trying to break the silence.

"I don't drink coffee." His tone is curt, severing the olive branch you were trying to extend with a sharp snap, and your shoulders sag in defeat and disappointment. But then his face tips back in your direction and meets your eyes. The line of his mouth twitches as if he’s war with himself. 

"But I'll have some cake," he concedes. 

Had you known that a superhero was coming over for a visit, you'd probably have done a better job of cleaning up and making the place presentable.

You would have put away the heap of unfolded, wrinkly laundry that's piled up on your bed, granny panties in full sight. Would have washed the dirty dishes stacked up in your sink like a dangerous game of porcelain Jenga. Or at least cleared out the sad looking take out box where your half-eaten pizza is still resting in a greased up spot on the table.

Still, you're not sure how impressed he would be even if you had. Your studio apartment is a standard size for NYC, meaning in most other places it would be classified as a closet. With his height, he has to duck to make it through the threshold of your door and can barely stand upright without banging his head against the ceiling. It’s ironic that the window entrance is probably less hazardous for him.

You get him a plate of cake and set it on the table in front of him, delicately placing the dessert fork on the side.

"Sorry, I don't have any cookies for you today, just coffee cake."

The sight of him sitting hunched over your Ingatorp IKEA dining table is slightly comical. The table looks like a miniature doll set against his broad frame, and as he picks up the small dessert fork in his large hand, that only adds to the absurdity of the situation. He looks like he’s playing at having a tea party with a child’s play tea set. 

You sit down across from him, watching him intently, trying to gather the nerve to ask the questions you've been dying to ask since this all started. But you're hesitant and fumbling, stumbling on your words like an idiot, "Uhm, so I wanted to ask if you– if you knew why all of this is happening to–"

"No."

You frown at his interruption. "You didn't let me finish," you protest.

He leans back against his chair, waving away your protests dismissively into the air. "I didn't need you to. The answer is no. Next question."

You bite down on your lip to stave off the curse stuck in your throat, trying to force its way out. You hold it. Stemming the tide, as you focus on the task at hand.

"Who are you?"

His head tilts to the side at your question, as his hand draws up and gestures vaguely over the spider emblem of his costume draped over his chest. "Isn't it obvious?" he snarkily responds, "I'm Spiderman"

Great, he's a rude and sassy superhero. You narrow your eyes at him

"You're not the Spiderman I know of."

He doesn't respond to that. Just glares down at the cake as he pierces it with a sharp stab of the fork, making the porcelain underneath clank. Then he scoops a large spoonful and shovels it into his mouth.

God, who eats cake so angrily?

"Why did you save–" you start, but he holds up one finger, motioning for you to pause. 

He cleaves off another piece of cake and shoves it into his mouth, chewing slowly. You watch as he beats the Guinness record of slowest chewer across the table from you, before you finally get to repeat your question.

"Why do you keep saving me?"

"I'm a superhero. I save people. It's what I do."

Bright irritation pings through you at his sarcastic attitude. 

This is like playing the world's shittiest game of 20 Questions, except here the whole goal of the game is to see whose sanity cracks first.

Naively, you had thought that being able to sit down with him in person would mean you could finally start getting some answers. You hadn't been expecting the need to deploy strategic maneuvers, and you pause, taking your time before you speak. 

You need to pick a question he won't be able to evade. You think back at the footage of the nanny-cam, that time he carried you to bed. The worry when you weren't where he expected you to be. The over-familiarity that seeps out of his every action with you as if he already knows you and that the last thing you heard as you fell off the ledge was his voice calling out your name.

"How did you know my name?" you finally ask him.

His back stiffens at the question, jaw grinding down until the small muscle there flexes with irritation.

"I don't."

Liar.

"You called my name when I fell," you remind him.

This time instead of answering, he slides the now empty plate at you across the table.

"Can I have another slice?"

You frown. It's an obvious ploy to buy himself some time to avoid answering your question. But you can't deny his request either.

With a sigh, you push away your chair to bring the plate to the counter. You cut up an obscenely big slice so that he won't be able to use this as an excuse a second time.

Turning back around, you find that the gluttonous self-proclaimed Spiderman is pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks a little worse for wear, a pained expression etched into those tightly knitted brows.

"Are you okay?" you ask, concerned.

"No. I–" He breaks off, his broad palm gripping the back of the chair, and you notice a slight tremor in his fingers. "Something’s wrong." 

He pushes the chair back, trying to get to his feet, but to your surprise, he stumbles and sways. 

He seems just as surprised as you are at his newfound lack of coordination. 

"What the–" He looks down on his feet with concentrated effort. Then he takes another step. It's wobblier than the one before, his knee giving way, and his arm shoots out to grip at the edge of your table for balance.

Alarm bells start to go off in your head. You don't understand what's happening, but he's definitely right, something is wrong. A man that can gracefully scale down the Chrysler building from 72 floors down shouldn't be struggling this much just to take two steps back in your living room.

"Maybe you should sit back down," you suggest, looking up at him. There’s a slight sheen of perspiration that's settled on his forehead. The beginnings of a rosy flush tinting his cheeks. "Do you have any food allergies?"

"No. I don't. No. Super metabolism kind of cuts down on that sort of–” he’s stumbling over his words, each syllable slurred on his tongue, as he shakes his head at you. “No, no allergies. No food sensitivities of any kind except...."

He glares around wildly and his eyes land on the remaining slice of cake perched on your kitchen counter. 

"Did you put fucking coffee in that cake?!?!"

“"Yes?” You whip around, and look at the cake on your counter, not understanding the relevance of his question. “I mean... It's a coffee cake? I told you that!" 

You push aside your growing panic as you try to remember if the EpiPen stored away in your kitchen cupboard is past its expiration.

"You didn't tell me there was coffee in it!"

Is he serious?

"I said ‘coffee cake���! What else would be in there? It's in the name," you snap. 

And god, you can't believe this is what you're arguing with him about at this moment.

"Okay, yeah," he concedes testily, "but coffee cake is its own thing too! Isn’t coffee cake just… cake... that you, like... serve with coffee? It doesn't have coffee in it! Why the fuck does it have coffee in it?"

Does the man even hear himself? You're trying to figure out if you need to call an ambulance, and he is arguing with you on the technicalities of what constitutes coffee cake.

"Okay, wait, but are you dying?" you ask, trying to stay calm despite the pandemonium of panic ringing in your head. 

"No! I'm just intoxitac– intocita– intoshica– I'm just fucking drunk okay!?" he spits out.

Your brain stalls at his statement. Intoxicated!? When did he have time to drink? He seemed fine just a few minutes ago, but now he's slurring and about to topple over.

"You're drunk? How–"

"Spiders get drunk on coffee," he interrupts, and the flush on his cheek deepens to a deep alarming red. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think he was blushing.

"Okay, let's sit you down." You rush over, rounding your dining table as you reach for him.

At the sight of your extended hands, his eyes widen in alarm, He steps back from you, eyeing you like you're something dangerous.

"No. No, I'm–" he takes another step backwards, flinging himself away from your touch, but loses his footing in the process. He tilts over, hand grappling for the edge of the table as he goes, but instead of the edge he manages to take the cake plate with him on the way down.

There's a clank of shattered porcelain, followed by the loud thud of his body hitting the ground.

With the large size of him in your tiny studio apartment and the breaking of porcelain left and right, this feels like the idiom of a bull running wild in a China shop, come to life.

You reach out your hand to help him get up, but he doesn't acknowledge it, anchoring his elbow to the floor for leverage, only to wobble and fall flat against his back again with an angry curse.

Why is he so goddamned stubborn? 

You glance down at him, this gigantic man that is lying sprawled out on the floor with the gravitas of a turtle trapped on its back. He's so huge that he's eating up half of the floor space of your entire home. If he doesn’t get up, you won't be able to take two steps without accidentally stepping on him.

Shaking your head in disbelief at the ridiculousness of the situation, you hunch down on your knees beside him.

There's hesitation etched in those otherworldly crimson eyes as you come near. But as much as he's scowling at you, baring his fangs and trying to look scary, there isn't much he can do from the floor.

"Let me help you," you insist, "let's get you in bed until it wears off. I can't have you passed out on my floor like this."

He takes your outstretched hand, and you pull backwards, trying to bring him up with you. Between the two of you, you manage to get him on his feet again. Barely. 

Whoa.

You crane your head up, up, up til you meet his eyes. Yup, the man is still huge. Must be damn near 7 feet tall and heavy, and you quickly realize there's not much you can do but try to steer so that he falls in the direction of your bed.

Somehow you manage to shepherd him in the right direction, until his knees hit the edges of your bed. He lands with a dramatic thud and you hear your bed frame groan in protest. 

“Do you need anything?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer you. His broad arm drapes over his eyes, blocking you out. 

You sigh, turning on your heels to clean up the mess of coffee cake and broken plates off your floor.

You barely manage to finish sweeping up the floor before you hear soft snoring filling your home.

Knock-off Spiderman is sound asleep, his large shape curled up on your mattress, entirely still.

You settle yourself back at the dining table, eating the leftover coffee cake as you pull up a book on your phone and wait for him to wake.

This was not how you had imagined your first extended interaction would turn out.

Honestly, you can't make sense of any of your interactions with him. How he's constantly avoiding you, yet can't seem to stay away and routinely checks in on you.

How he acts overly familiar in one instance and excessively rude and put off by you the next.

Maybe you remind him of someone else... Maybe even an ex? It feels weird to speculate, but it would explain a lot of things. His belligerent attitude towards you. The way he looks at you with eyes full of resentment, even as he's saving you from certain death. That look in his eyes like he knows you, even though you've never met him.

It doesn't explain how he knows your name though.

From the bed, you can hear him stir, shifting against the mattress with a quiet groan muffled into your pillow. He's softly murmuring something that you can't quite make out, and then he turns in his sleep again, making a pained noise that makes worry squeeze tight in your chest.

Maybe letting him sleep it off wasn't the brightest idea you've had. You probably should've called for the ambulance as soon as he showed physical signs of distress.

You're not a biologist. You don't know how a hybrid spider-human’s physiology works.

What if he's not just drunk? Whoever heard of coffee making someone drunk! And how could it affect him so quickly? There was barely a minute between him stuffing his face and falling all over the place. Some quick, panicked googling confirms that coffee makes spiders a kind of drunk, but it doesn’t say if it’s outright toxic to them.

Oh fuck, what if he's dying!? Oh god, what if a superhero dies in your bed? How will you explain this to your landlord? Or the police! “I fed him coffee cake, and it killed him, officer.” Right, that’s going to go over like a lead balloon! It’ll probably look like you poisoned him. TMZ will be swarming the place. You'll be classified as a supervillain.

Setting down the book, you make your way over to sit on the edge of your bed. You lean over his sleeping form and peer down at him, checking for any signs of physical distress.

That red flush from earlier is still riding high on his cheeks, looking like the beginnings of a fever. You reach out your hand to rest it on his forehead to check his temperature.

Warm.

He stirs at the touch, turning his face and practically nuzzles into your palm. It’s almost endearing as he buries his sharp nose into your wrist.

You hold your breath, worried that exhaling would be loud enough to wake him as you gaze down on him. Up close like this, when he's not being rude, and stubborn and defensive, he's... quite attractive.

He has the kind of sculpted face that Hollywood dreams are made of, angular jaw and a prominent nose that makes him look regal. Not to mention those chiselled cheeks of his are a fucking marvel to look at. But more than that, curled up asleep in your bed, there’s a gentle softness to his features that hadn’t been noticeable when he was awake.  

Now that  he’s not frowning down at you and the line of his mouth isn’t pulled into an angry snarl, you can see that his lips are full and luscious, delicate even. His heavy brows look less intimidating now that his face has relaxed from its perpetual scowl. 

He looks... soft, somehow.

There's a spark of something heated in your veins that has you feeling flushed and warm. You have to turn your eyes, shaking your head and tutting at yourself, because you’re creeping on the drunk guy passed out on your bed, and it’s not a good look on you. 

The commotion makes him stir, his eyes blink softly open. He looks up at you, with half-lidded eyes, and it's different from how he's looked at you up until now. His gaze is still so…. soft.

"Nena," he says quietly.

Your cheeks warm at the warmth in his voice , and you gently pull your hand away from his forehead.

"Sorry, I was just checking if you were okay," you explain awkwardly as you start to back away from him, sliding your knee along the mattress to climb off the bed.

At your movement, he darts upright into a seated position and pulls you to him, clinging onto every inch of you as he buries his face to your side. 

“Don't go,” he murmurs into your neck. His voice is trembling, and you can feel the panic radiating from him as the grip he has on you tightens until it’s bruising.  

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says, keeps repeating it. You don’t know what he’s apologizing for but the guilt and sadness in his voice tugs at something deep inside your chest. 

Nena, he said, and you realize that even though you're the one he's holding in this moment, he's not talking to you. He thinks you're someone else.

"Please don't leave me again. I-I can't–" he chokes out the words into the hollow of your throat where he's pressed his face tight into your skin. You can't help but notice the damp wetness that gathers there. "I'm trying, but I can't– I don't know how to do this without you."

The words are raw in his throat, and despite your confusion, your chest squeezes tight with a sympathetic ache at the man's obvious heartbreak.

You don't know what's going on here or who he thinks you are. The only thing you know is that you want to make him feel better. To make his hurt a little less painful. To make the consuming guilt you can hear in his voice a little bit smaller. 

"It's okay," you say. 

What the it refers to, you have no idea. But the least you can do is to give the man who has saved your life over and over, a tiny crumb of comfort.

You return his embrace, circling an arm around his shoulder, matching the tightness with which he’s holding you. Your other hand slides into his hair and he shivers at the touch, face burying deeper into your neck.

"I'll protect you,” he murmurs into your skin, “I can do better this time. Keep you safe. I promise.”

"It's okay. It’s okay. I’m already safe," you reassure him, giving him the only truth you know for sure in this moment, "You saved me."

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: as always to my collaborator on this series, who helps me brainstorm, write, edit and beta-read and everything in between and over with this series. This exists because of her, and I am so grateful to her. The hours I spend shouting into her DMs and bother her on the daily since this series infected my mind. You guys don't know what I put poor @thirstworldproblemss through.

Also to @guruan who was kind enough to read through this and steer me in the right way with the spanish, but also for giving me porn that has kept my brain buzzing for days!!!

Please follow both of these insanely lovely, kind and talented people.

Author's note: the Spanish in this chapter has been left untranslated on purpose, so that it's left ambiguous whether reader speak/understand Spanish. The idea is that if you as a reader understand it, then so does the reader, and vice versa 🥰

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Hypnotic

a/n: This one is based on a request one of you lovelies sent in! Absolutely ate down with this, baby, I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y’all like what I did with it. This did take me way longer than expected, exams on top of work and everything else is a lot babes. I didn't put any of the other boys in this one because I didn't really see how to put them in. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy it, love you babies 😜

pairing: fratboy!dom!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, oral (m receiving), piv unprotected (wrap it up!), dom Niall, reader gets really fucked out and cockdrunk because it’s Niall obviously, degrading (not much, slut is only used like three times I think), praise (we can have both, shut up), Niall is COCKY and we love it

word count: 4.3k

You hated this fucking bar.

You came here for a drink. One. Singular. Drink. Not an endless barrage of insecure members of the male species unleashing their arrogance on you.

It was exasperating, to say the least. Really, how difficult could it possibly be for a man to simply ask you out? Must they, instead, employ foul innuendos and caress you with their grubby hands, as if that would make you more inclined to their advances? If they did believe that, they were so painfully incorrect.

A couple of them had, admittedly, caught your eye, but the moment they opened their mouths the mirage had been spoiled. The story of your life, frankly. When wasn’t a perfect vision ruined by reality?

Most of the men had kept their attempts relatively tame, with one or two drunken exceptions. That was to be expected, of course, but not tolerated in the least. What woman would find an absolutely plastered stranger fumbling for the zipper of her dress in the middle of a bar even remotely attractive, or wanted for that matter? No one you knew of.

You hadn’t even come here in search of a one-night stand. You hadn’t even worn your sexiest dress, for fuck’s sake. It seemed only the seediest of patrons had chosen this location tonight. To be fair, you had chosen it in a rushed reverie to achieve some semblance of rest after the day you’d had. Rest, unfortunately, is that last thing you were finding.

“Two Guinnesses,” A voice sounded from beside you, the thick Irish accent slicing through the din to reach your appreciative ears. It was nice to listen to. Furtively, you shot a glance at the stranger, catching a few blonde tips in your peripheral. As you threw back a swig of your now embarrassedly watered down drink (the ice melted, okay?), you felt the stranger’s eyes on you. He didn’t stare for long before fully turning his body toward you, leaning on the bar like some character out of an 80s romcom. Someone call John Hughes, you thought; I sense a new leading man.

“Hey there, princess.” Princess? Christ. You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as he shot out that nickname right off the bat, instead politely shifting your gaze to him.

“Can I help you?” You truly had meant the words to sound more kind, but fuck if you weren’t tiring of endless pick up lines and bad jokes. You had endured them for the better part of two hours, after all. 

The smirk on his face almost made you blow your top then and there. What the fuck did he think he was accomplishing? This was practically harassment already, in your eyes. He looked like the typical frat guy: backwards snapback, loose white shirt with cutoff sleeves, and surprisingly acceptable-looking jeans. Tufts of blonde hair (likely bleached) peeked out from under the hat, concealing what were surely fading roots. You had always regarded men who dyed their hair to be walking red flags; you were sure this one would be no different. His eyes were striking, truthfully. You didn’t recall ever seeing such an intense blue, before. They were bright, ocean-like. Manipulative. Woah, there’s that feminism creeping in again. You realized you probably shouldn’t judge him so quickly, with such little basis, but at this point you had learned to trust your instincts.

“Actually, I think the question is how I can help you.” And there it is. You huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes as you spun in the stool back towards the bar. His hand flew out to catch the seat, preventing you from escaping his hungry gaze. “Not so fast, love.”

“I’m not interested.” You shot back, avoiding his tempting eyes at all costs. You were strong, but not that strong.

“Not yet.” He corrected with a grin, craning his neck in an attempt to catch your gaze. “You’re quite pretty, you know that?” You shut your eyes for a moment, setting your drink on the bar before crossing your legs and allowing yourself to face him.

“How sweet.” Your words were not sincere, and he clearly understood that. He also clearly didn’t care in the slightest. He must’ve been quite confident in his “wooing” capabilities. He merely chuckled at your dismissive response, gripping the bottom of your stool and tugging you closer. Now, your knees clashed with his at the proximity, and you couldn’t easily look anywhere but his eyes.

God, his eyes. They were actually fucking hypnotic. You didn’t like that, not one bit. You felt attacked, cornered, and he hadn’t even touched you. Not that you wanted him to, it was just bizarre. You weren’t even conflicted, only acutely aware of the dilemma you might be facing had you not been blessed with such an iron-clad will. You were stubborn, and you liked it. Unfortunately, it was starting to seem like he did too.

“I’m Niall.” He tilted his head as he waited for you to reply, searching your features almost respectively.

“How nice for you.” You mumbled, scooting as far back on the stool as the uncomfortable seat would allow. Whoever owned this bar desperately needed to invest in better furniture; your ass was practically numb. He chuckled again, releasing his grip on your seat now that you didn’t have anywhere to go.

“It’s nice to meet ya’. What’s your name?” You couldn’t deny he had a lovely voice. Speaking voice, that is. His accent lilted through the air like a melody, one you wouldn’t mind hearing over and over. You muttered your name reluctantly, crossing your arms with a huff. What was wrong with you tonight? Usually your resolve was infinitely stronger, but perhaps you had met your match. Perhaps he was just as stubborn as you, if not more. Perhaps…no. No. You would not give in. You couldn’t. You were better than this.

He tested out your name in his tongue, smiling to himself at the sound of it. He liked it.

“Pretty name.” He complimented simply, leaning in so that his breath fanned over your ear. The warm sensation sent a tingle down your spine, and you tensed your muscles to hide the shiver that threatened to dance over your body. “I wouldn’t mind moanin’ that tonight.” He had to ruin it.

“Freak.” You insulted, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted expression.

“Hardly.” He laughed. Like, a genuine laugh. And you hated that you loved the sound. It was so real, so childlike. 

“Look, Niall.” I began firmly. “I have a boyfriend, s-” “No you don’t.” He interrupted, shaking his head knowingly. I cocked an eyebrow, sending him an incredulous expression.

“Excuse me?” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing, whatever he was so defiant about.

“You do not have a boyfriend.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be halted by his finger on your lips. You could feel the calluses on his fingers scratch against your lips as you closed them; maybe he played an instrument of some sort, you thought. “I know this because if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of this perfect little body for a single second. We wouldn’t leave the fucking house.” This was starting to get a little intense. He sensed the tension on your muscles, dropping his hand to rest on your arm and rub soothing circles into your soft, lotioned skin. For some reason, you didn’t even feel uneasy. You were…intrigued.

“Why so persistent?” You cocked your head to the side, knitting your brow together in curiosity. A playful smirk spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with the expression.

“Why so resistant?” He retorted, seeming to hold back a chuckle of amusement at his own reply. I rolled my eyes, the cycle of becoming intrigued, then frustrated, then intrigued, was quickly becoming annoying on its own. He faked a pout at your poor reaction, hooking a finger under your chin and turning your gaze to his. He leaned in close (too close for a stranger, perhaps), his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Why don’t you come home with me, princess, hm?” He hummed, his hand slowly dropping to your thigh, giving you plenty of time to reject his touch if you so desired. But he was finding that you weren’t seeming to be so averse to it; he didn’t understand the switch up, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. His calloused fingers traced absent little shapes into your plush thighs, staying only just a respectful distance from the hem of your dress.

“I don’t go home with anyone.” You whispered back, allowing him to continue touching your leg. Why were you allowing this? You had absolutely no clue. It had to be those fucking eyes.

He smirked slowly (his signature expression, it seemed), as if he’d just gotten the most genius idea of his young-adult life.

“You ever been fucked in a bar bathroom, love?” His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine that ran straight to your core, which you were just now realizing felt a little warmer than usual. You fought the urge to clench your thighs together, knowing he would immediately give you shit for doing so.

“Can’t say I have.” You replied vaguely, leaning back slightly to look in his eyes again. Big mistake.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” He slid out of his stool, holding a hand out for you as if he hadn’t just suggested thoroughly ravaging you in a public bathroom. You somewhat hesitantly looked him over before taking his hand, trying to decide if your morals would weigh into this decision. The only response you could come up with is what morals? 

You placed your hand in his delicately, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom situated at the back of the bar. God, it’s going to be fucking disgusting in there, you thought. Upon walking into the women’s bathroom, Niall locked the door behind you, and the scrunched look on his face told you that you had thought correctly.

“You’re not a germaphobe, are you?” He asked, wrinkling his nose as he glanced around the dingy space.

“I just agreed to fuck you, a complete stranger, in not so many words. I think I’ll be okay.” He rolled his eyes at your attitude, unable to keep a slight smirk from creeping back onto his lips. 

“Don’t be a brat, princess. I don’t appreciate the unwarranted attitude.” His tone held a hint of warning as he stalked closer to you, tossing his snapback onto the counter (that would need to be disinfected) and running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.” You shot back dumbly. Maybe not the best idea. One calloused hand flew to tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly before he tugged your head back. You yelped at the aggressiveness, allowing yourself to be cornered against the cold bathroom tiles. The sudden coolness sent a shiver down your spine, raising goose bumps along your back and neck.

“What do I have to do to shut you up, hm? Such a pretty mouth, you should use it more wisely.” He chided patronizingly, not loosening his hold in your hair. It stung a little, but you were oddly turned on. You didn’t like that.

“How would you suggest I do that?” I really need to shut up. One of his hands slid down to your hip, and he shoved you against the wall again, rather roughly.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Oh? Niall didn’t miss the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth, or the subtle clench of your thighs at his words. “Oh yeah? You like that, princess? Want me to shut you up nice and good?” He mocked in your ear, pulling back just slightly to observe changes in your expression. You didn’t respond, a little shell-shocked. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so dominant. 

“On your knees.” What?

“What?” Why the hell am I asking questions? He tugged harder against your hair, the stinging in your roots returning. “Shit.” You muttered.

“On your fucking knees.” He hissed, stepping back to give you more room. Despite your pride shouting at you to disobey him yet again, you sunk to your knees, peering up at him in wait. “Good girl.” He muttered, combing his fingers through your hair. You lost his touch for only a moment while he tugged down his shorts and boxers, his throbbing length slapping up against his stomach. He let the useless clothing pool around his ankles, his hand cupping your cheek with a surprising tenderness. Just as you were reaching out to wrap your small hand around him, he caught your wrist.

“Not so fast. You haven’t earned it yet.” You furrowed your brow, momentarily confused, before realization dawned on you.

He wanted you to beg.

You parted your lips to speak, your breath catching with hesitation. He looked expectant, arrogant, staring down at you in such a pompous manner. You desperately tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the dampness trickling out of your poor, neglected little pussy. It had been a long time, and as much as you usually hated begging, you found yourself continually entranced by those ocean eyes, those pretty blue stars that glittered with excitement at what he knew you were about to do. He knew how fucking good he was; maybe for once, a man’s arrogance wasn’t completely unfounded.

“Please, can I…” You stopped yourself, your voice meek with the unfamiliar words spewing out of them. This dynamic was so foreign to you, but so delicious. You swallowed thickly, taking in a breath before trying again.

“Please let me touch you.” You could’ve sworn you heard a low rumble echo from his chest at your plea, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Not good enough.” He rasped, and you could tell the denial was forced. He had wanted to accept then and there, but he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He wanted this to last, and he was already sure that once your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock he would come like a fucking high school virgin jerking off in the middle of the night.

“Let me, fuck…please let me suck your cock.” You tried to hide the whimper that shook your tone, but it couldn’t be hidden from him. God, every fucking noise out of your mouth made his dick twitch in anticipation, his tip already angry red and leaking with precum. He sucked in a sharp breath, composing himself.

“Give me one more, princess.” He breathed, wrapping his fingers around your hair to pull it out of your face. How gentlemanly of him.

“Please…sir.” That was fucking it for him. That was the last word he expected to come out of your mouth, but fuck did it sound pretty as it did. He couldn’t hold back a groan, turning so that he could lean against the wall as you sat up on your knees to get closer.

“Go ahead, baby, use those pretty lips for something good.” You let out a sigh, using one hand to brace yourself on his thigh and the other to wrap around his length. You twisted your small hand around him once or twice, earning a couple of gasps from him. Maybe it was the risque nature of it all, perhaps even the way he could see straight down your dress from his current angle. He was a little bit of a perv, but let’s be honest. Who isn’t?

The moment your moist lips encircled his tip, he was forced to bite his tongue to stay quiet. Your tongue swirled around his little slit, collecting the salty liquid and filling your mouth with the taste of him. He tasted good, and you were almost embarrassed at the way a little whine escaped your lips, your pussy currently ruining your panties.

God, I’m a slut.

You flattened your tongue against the veiny underside of his dick, sliding an inch or two of him into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you wasted no time in bobbing your head up and down, reveling in the slickness of your lips against his spit-moistened cock. 

Niall’s breaths were coming in heavy pants now, his gaze fixed on the way a strap of your dress slipped off of your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast to his hungry eyes. He could just make out the circle of pink surrounding your pert nipples, admiring the way they poked through the thin fabric of your dress. That would be off soon enough.

Without warning, his hips rutted forward, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat and pulling a gag from you. He was fully face-fucking you now, lost in the bounce of your tits with each thrust, pulling your top further down and soon freeing your chest from its pesky confines.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He rasped hoarsely, selfishly chasing his release and ignoring the way tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the depth. “Feel s’fuckin’ good around me.” He slurred, grunting as he felt that knot in his stomach continue to grow. He was almost there. He was so fucking close he could almost imagine it. But shit, he couldn’t imagine that.

He couldn’t imagine the way his orgasm would rip through him as he abused your poor, small mouth, or the way you oh-so-obediently swallowed every drop of his come without being asked. What a good girl you were. Fucking made for him. 

He steeled himself against the bathroom wall to avoid collapsing (God, that would be embarrassing), releasing your hair as he floated down from his high. His jaw nearly dropped as he drank in your appearance, hair severely tousled from his grip on it, lips plump and swollen from their use, tits hanging out of the top of your dress so damned perfectly. You were gorgeous.

Lost in his own admiration, he almost missed the way your hips subtly rocked against the heel of your shoe as you knelt before him, trying to pay some attention to your neglected and dripping pussy.

Almost.

“You need something, princess?” Shit, he still managed to be cocky after that. You nodded pathetically, blown-up irises flickering down to his still-hard dick before meeting his gaze once again. “Stand up, sweetheart.” He coaxed reluctantly, already missing the sight of you on your knees for him. You wiped your mouth off with the back of your hand as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes flitting over your flushed face.

He was enamored.

“Want me to take care of her?” He hummed, cupping your heat underneath your dress as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched as you inhaled sharply, nodding furiously. “Need you to use your words, love.”

“Please, need you.” You whined shamelessly, bending your knees ever so slightly to achieve just the slightest friction. He smirked evilly, very amused and pleased with himself at how cockdrunk you were after a fucking blowjob. He hadn’t even touched you yet.

“What a fuckin’ slut.” He practically growled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you to the counter. He took off his tank top and laid it on the counter, and you realized he did that for you. “Sit.” He ordered deeply, causing another jolt to run straight to your pulsating core. You hopped up onto the counter, appreciative of the thin but sanitary barrier he had placed down for you. He hooked onto your plush thighs, the uppermost parts of them already soaked with your overwhelming arousal. He yanked you forward to the counter’s edge, quickly tugging your dress above your hips.

Just by the look on his face you already knew your panties had become transparent, absolutely ruined by your slick seeping out of you. Without a word, he hooked your panties to the side, breathing out in a way akin to surprise.

“Cute little pussy, huh, princess?” As if you were in your right mind to actually answer him. “Gonna fuck her so good she’ll be ruined for days.” Good fuck. This man knew exactly what in the hell he was doing to you. “Open these pretty legs.” You obeyed embarrassingly quickly, spreading them as wide as your hamstrings would allow. “Good girl.” There it fucking is again.

He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your wetness and spreading it over your puffy folds. You writhed and arched on the counter, mewling softly at how teasing his actions felt. You needed him inside of you this instant. Just before you could plead with him again, the wind was absolutely knocked out of you as he slammed his cock into your delicate pussy. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his hand immediately flying to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds.

“Careful, princess, we’re - fuck - in public.” He panted, allowing you only a second or two to adjust to his size before he fucked into you relentlessly. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoing off the graffitied walls. Your muffled moans punctuated each buck of his hips, greedily pushing your ass back for more, harder.

“Greedy fuckin’ slut.” A low groan escaped from his lips, his grip on your hips becoming almost bruising as he not-so-reluctantly began to oblige your silent plea for harder. You had never been fucked so roughly, or so well, to be frank.

You could feel your walls pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. You could feel that thick vein on the underside of his cock dragging across your insides, his swollen tip punching your cervix every time, filling you up indescribably well.

“Ahh, please - shit - faster.” You moaned, your lips unintentionally kissing his palm as you forced out the words. You could swear he actually growled the moment he heard you, not even having the energy to chide you for your neediness right away.

“Squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, like this pussy was fuckin’ made f’me.” His pants turned into grunts, and you knew he was feeling as good as you. And you were feeling fucking euphoric.

“Please, please, please…” You chanted in desire, your hands gripping onto the edge of the counter for support. If you hadn’t found something to hold onto, your head would have smashed into the sink’s mirror with the intensity at which he was fucking you. Your toes were curled, your eyes slammed shut, your back arching off the counter and wrinkling his shirt that he laid underneath you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Such an overwhelming fullness, so deep at that.

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” He huffed out, his pace not faltering for a moment. But with the way his cock twitched inside of you told you he was close. How you were coherent enough to form that thought, you had no idea.

The knot in your stomach had become unbearable, your walls clenching around his cock so tight you were sure it hurt him. But by the fucked-out look on his face, you decided he was feeling fine. His eyes were locked onto the bounce of your tits, those pretty nipples pink and swollen with arousal.

“M’so close, so close…” You moaned out, your knuckles white against the counter.

“C’mon, baby, want you to come f’me.” His thumb flew down to your clit, pressing harsh yet precise circles against it. “Wanna feel that pussy come all over my cock.” If his hand wasn’t covering your mouth, you were sure everyone in the bar would be able to hear your pornographic moans, or at least the squelching sounds of him fucking into you with how wet you were. The pressure of his thumb abusing your clit, the jolt of his tip slamming into your cervix, just the fucking expression on his pretty face, it was all too much.

“M’coming, m’coming…” Your voice came out in more of a squeal, just barely forcing out the words to begin with. That must have been the final straw for him, because with his thumb still on your clit, he quickly pulled out of you, thick ropes of come shooting out onto your heaving chest. Your orgasm followed half a second behind, ripping through your body with an overwhelming intensity. 

As you were still floating down from you high, Niall cleaned the both of you up with wet paper towels, his gentleness in after-care actually a little shocking considering how he just fucked you. He slipped a hand underneath your back and pulled you to a sitting position, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You okay, princess?” He asked gently, rubbing small circles into your hip and cheek. You nodded with a tired smile, too blissed out to actually respond. He chuckled at your response, admiring the state of you. “What made you change your mind?” He asked genuinely, tilting his head curiously. You huffed out a small laugh through your nose, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Those eyes.” You began, almost reverently. “They fucking hypnotized me.”

[elsa-fogen]

hi ! i have a question, i was wondering something when it comes to your 'breakfast au'. ive read through a lot of this, and ive seen you and multiple other people state velvette "deserves" this? that just confused me in general, because out of all the people in the show, velvette probably has done the least amount of bad things. so how would she deserve this? i saw a few people saying its because of the love potion thing she collaborated with valentino on, but i dont really think thats a valid point. given it states in the wiki that its unconfirmed what that actually was. (ill send an image of where it says this.) it couldve been anything. and given velvettes line of work, (fashion, social media) id assume itd be some sort of perfume made to be taken orally. like perhaps a pheromone perfume which ive seen is commonly promoted by influencers, or just these types of people in general.

the next point i saw was somebody saying shes a narcissist? which, she really isnt. if you do any research on npd you could see that. velvette is shown to be confident, maybe even egotistical. she acts like a confident teenager would. she doesnt have npd.

ive seen people say she deserves this type of thing because shes friends with the vees..? which honestly would make no sense. so far in the show, shes shown to only really speak to vox. (which isnt bad, given vox hasnt exactly done anything big and bad like say alastor or valentino, or hell, even sir pentious' crimes.) everytime shes really talked about valentino, its been in a bad way. shes shown to not like him. so its not like those two are best friends or even anything more than business associates from what ive seen??

anywho, i was just a bit confused. i was also a bit confused on alastors behavior aswell. while yes, hes a horrible person, yes he eats people, YES he would do something like this; he has no reason to with velvette. he gains nothing from this. so whats the point of him doing it?? its not to spite vox, given alastor is shown in the show, not to give too fucks about vox 😭

I personally said that she deserved it only to spite that hater, i should've clarify that 😅

Alastor gets to mess with Vox and to make HIM suffer from screams (Valentino comes as a bonus). He GIVEs fucks about Vox tho, maybe not as much as the said TV man, but still. He spills the tea about Vox asking him to join the Vees, and does so clearly to humiliate him. The way he tells about it implies that. so he WOULD spite Vox if he had a chance that wouldn't take too much effort.

but still, Velvette isn't innocent. she's in hell and it has to be for a reason. she joined the Vees which indicates that she supports their activities. Velvette had no problem with Val killing her models except that it causes troubles to her show.

about Vox, he's also fucked up. And maybe he isn't killing people left ang right, he does many bad things, like hypnotizing people, stalkering and so on. He supports Valentino's attitude too. He knows what Val does to Angel and doesn't give a fuck.

Problem here is that you only count things shown on screen. While characters have life outside of it. And for now we've seen only Val being a horrible person. Bonus points that he's being mean to the chracter we know and love. Other Vees didn't get the time to show their fuckedupness. I know for a fact that in season 2 we'll get at least Vox' fucked up side. and, hopefully, Velvette's too, and people will finally stop thinking that they're poor little meow meows that ended up under bad Valentino's influence.

Also, as i was saying in the first post about this AU - Velvette really shouldn't have said that the can eat other overlords for breakfast (au namedrop!!!) in front if 2 real cannibals. They took that personal.

[vecnuthy]

Day 3 of @steddielovemonth: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special | wc: 722 | G | established relationship, language

"Who....decided...to put....ugh, to put the toilet....so close....TO THE TUB?!"

Steve followed the smell of vinegar and Dawn to the bathroom and looked down at Eddie's form hunched over the side of the tub, obviously was struggling as he tried his absolute best to stretch to the far corner of the tub, even going so far as to brace one gloved hand on the tub's side and throw out his right leg.

"God, this fucking sucks," he seethed to himself, practically punching the sponge into the corner with each strained lunge.

Steve leaned against the door and watched, taking in the view of his partner's butt in the air and the slew of creative curses his other end was rattling off. He bit back a grin, warmth spreading through his chest.

"What are you in here complaining about?" he finally asked between Eddie's grunts a jab that included something about a wart and a garden hoe.

Eddie huffed and straighted up, his hair pushed back by a gloved wrist, then he twisted around to where Steve stood in the door, showing off his very flushed, very annoyed, very cute face. "It's hard to reach that corner because of this thing," he said with a shove of his hands toward the toilet.

"Get up, I'll get it."

"I mean, I can get it," Eddie scoffed, but already pushing himself up. "It's just hard." He pulled the rubber gloves off and handed them to Steve with a small smile. "Knock yourself out, though."

Steve watched Eddie watching him as he slid the gloves on, gave a cheeky wink that made Eddie shake his head with a smile, then leaned over the side of the tub on his knees. From there, he saw that Eddie had cleaned the walls of the tub except in the far corner, and most of the floor still needed to be scrubbed. He got to work, kind of hating how tricky it really was to reach the corner, but he got it done. It might've given him a bruised sternum, but he got it done.

"You're so much better at that than I am," Eddie complemented as he wiped "his" toothpaste splatter from the mirror. Eddie had seen Steve do those, though.

Steve snorted, his voice a little muffled and strained as it echoed slightly in the cavernous tub when he said, "You're just glad that you're on mirror duty now." He moved on to the floor, scrubbing tight circles over the textured surface.

Eddie couldn't deny it because the mirror was obviously the better of the two, but he was distracted now. His polishing came to a slow halt as he watched Steve scrub away from behind. An overwhelming sense of fondness washed over him and he felt a blush creep up his face. He couldn't help the hooded gaze and grin he cast at his unsuspecting partner, because, yeah, Steve was being an absolute sweetheart and doing a great job of cleaning the tub, but he was also doing great job of cleaning the tub. Really putting his back into it. The tight circular scrubbing rotation of his arm made his whole torso carry the motion like a conduit straight to his plump rear that swayed rhythmically under Steve's loose, short gym shorts.

"I think your ass his hypnotizing me."

Steve stuttered his scrubbing and his body shook as he laughed. "You will do the dishes," he compelled with a low, dramatic voice after he collected himself.

"You dare use your power for evil!" Eddie gasped.

Steve threw a look over his shoulder that would have been a lot more scathing had he not been biting back a grin.

He used to hate doing chores. He still hated doing the dishes and pretty much hated cleaning the tub too, but those typically mundane tasks were so much better when the man he loves was in the throws of it with him. It may be crappy work, and the side of the tub may give them a pair of bruised sternums, but was rarely dull work. He even looked forward to it. Steve even embellished the scrubbing just for Eddie.

"I will do the dishes," Eddie droned behind him, jokingly caught in the hypnotic pull of Steve's swaying butt.

Steve's chuckle earned him a pop from Eddie's mirror rag.

[beethovenus]

TS!UNDERSWAP Dev Diary: Koffin-K Party Member

The area progression for Starlight Isles was much different during the initial concept stages than what was finalized. Originally, you would defeat Crossbones in the village -- and if spared, the two of you would team up against Koffin-K, infiltrating his base of operations.

With this idea, Crossbones would have been a party member -- except he would have been completely useless, and serving purely as comic relief. In battles with Koffin-K's minions, he would have done nothing besides crack jokes.

This would have gone on briefly until the two of you got separated. You would have discovered that Koffin-K (who used to have hypnosis magic) would have "hypnotized" Crossbones, with him becoming the supervillain minion "Mr. S" (inspired by Mr. L from Super Paper Mario.)

(These are the only sprites I could find.)

Some of the finer details are missing -- either you would have "snapped him out of it," or he wasn't actually hypnotized the whole time, just messing with you both.

Eventually, you and the non-hypnotized Crossbones would corner Koffin-K together -- and in a last-ditch effort, Koffin-K would try hypnotizing Crossbones a second time. This time, it'd be complete with a whole transformation into a Darkwing Duck-esque design, with Crossbones wearing Koffin-K. Sadly, I wasn't able to find these sprites.

The Koffin-K battle would have been with a "hypnotized Crossbones" wearing Koffin-K. At the end, Crossbones would reveal that he was never actually hypnotized, and just messing with you both. Koffin-K would have figured that this meant he could only control bats.

Suffice to say, this was a LOT in terms of scope -- an entire major area devoted to Koffin-K with multiple sections, minion battles, and an entire "hypnotized Crossbones" antagonist plot. This just wasn't going to be feasible in the long term, and would be going way too overboard in terms of original content versus the rest of the game.

We ended up making the following simplifications:

"Koffin-K Island" was reworked to "Koffin Keep," and made a smaller, self-contained, nonlinear area -- as opposed to a larger linear area.

Koffin Keep was placed between Stardust Woods and Starstruck Village to better integrate it within the overall area progression, and make it less of an afterthought or something "tacked on."

Koffin-K having hypnosis magic was scrapped, as was "antagonist Crossbones," because it made no sense.

The "useless party member" role was given to Koffin-K -- with Chara wearing him to conceal his presence during the festival, and giving him a great deal of unique interactions and cutscenes / cutscene variants.

It's sad we ended up having to scrap some of these ideas, but ultimately I'm really happy with what we accomplished with Koffin Keep -- laying a lot more into a Saturday morning cartoon villain feeling than a more serious superhero/supervillain conflict.

[bluizu]

*jingles key* oooo you wanna tell me about your centrist headcanons oooo *jingles more keys* maybe even your moderates too

chat i have been hypnotized

Ansyn:

qui does graffiti, and sometimes does commissions for small businesses (im not talking about walmart /ref)

while qui loves cats, ancap is allergic so qui can't have one in the centricide house. qui instead had a tamagotchi

quir room is a constant mess, except for the bed, which is made every morning for whatever reason

autism and ADHD, unsurprisingly. can you really look at quem and not think that quis a little Yippeeeeeee

also dyslexic asf

Commie:

he wears round reading glasses, and they make him look like a nerd (affectionate)

while he'd never admit it, he quite likes starbucks

demisexual king

his room is neatly cleaned, but somehow, something is always broken. be it a chair, a lightbulb, something is constantly on disrepair

autistic. duh

his favorite book is actually not the communist manifesto, it's just the one he has the most interlingual copies of. his favorite is state and revolution

he plays the violin on occasion, but he doesn't know many songs so he just makes them up as he goes

he has an old map of the world in his room dating to 1988, for the sole reason of pretending the ussr is still a thing. germany not being united yet is a bonus to him

Identitarian:

nothing in his room has ever seen sunlight for more than 15 minutes

actually really good at COD. also a really sore loser. he blames the latter on his roommates

he likes playing dnd for self hatred reasons because he gets to play a character that he finds ""pure"" (almost threw up a bit in my mouth writing that)

mommy issues

his room is very clean, but he fucking REFUSES to clean out his trashcan until ancap yells at him to

obviously gay in denial, i mean have you looked at him

Ancap:

the one i think the least of, probably. that's not saying i think of him little because i rotate the extremists like in the Micheal Wave on every occasion

huge swiftie, but if anyone ever pointed out out he'd fucking kill himself

likes to taunt commie whenever his stocks are up. notably shuts up when they're down

invested in ftx and lost a LOT. well, not a lot comparing to his overall wealth, but well over 500 000$ in that account alone

unsurprisingly, packing heat

Centrists:

dead

Moderate Lee:

babygirl

[h-sleepingirl]

Hi sleepingirl! I don't ever use tumblr so this account is totally empty, but I wanted to message anyways. I spent a lot of 2023 coming to terms with having a deeply rooted mind control fetish that's all intertwined with my experience of sex, intimacy and even a sort of weird spirituality I don't yet understand.

I really liked listening to your old podcast and honestly, some of the bits where you talked about dealing with the shame of being wired in this weird way and how it's impacted your life was so relieving to hear - I guess it's knowing that i'm not the only one like this. I felt incredibly seen! I don't understand why this is such a big thing for me but it is.... accepting it is really hard but it's been worth it for me :)

I used to talk to the small handful of people I could find online who Got It about the weird intersection of hypnosis and sexuality and spirituality (I think Spider/chelicerate was one? She said she knows you and recommended I talk to you about this, I believe, but it's been a while and I don't really remember now). This was around the time I was becoming slightly jaded with some aspects of hypnokink and trying to learn from the material that existed and seeing how many people don't seem to care about the sheer depth that there is to all this that I don't even know how to put into words. I guess... I don't know honestly It's hard to talk about this without sounding totally crazy but I remember reading some of your posts about hypnosis being magic, actually and how that's impacted some of your own understandings of spirituality and I really wanted to ask you about what that's been like because I feel like in some way I've had a tiny peek behind the same veil so to speak and it's really crazy feeling like there's nobody else who understands ;;

I definitely can relate with a lot of what you’re saying! I’m glad the podcast has been a comfort for you. There are a lot of us who are this way, although nowadays as hypnokink gets more popular I run into way more people who are not fetishists but instead just picking it up as a fun kink. Which is fine! But it’s definitely different. But if anything, hypnosis as a sex act is more socially acceptable now than it ever has been! It’s heading towards mainstream (and certainly feels that way in queer/trans spaces).

I resisted it for a long time but hypnosis is inseparable from my spirituality at this point. There is just too much overlap. The philosophy I have learned from one innately affects the other. I just wrote a piece about being a living doll at an erotic hypnosis con and I was thinking about a famous Jewish philosopher during it. This week I went to artsy Torah study and wrote a small drash/poem based on my experience being hypnotic/erotic art (not overtly). It’s all connected.

I’m Jewish, but have a lot of history in Earth-based spirituality, witchy stuff, etc that will probably never go away for me. Magical traditions (new and old ones) always seem to include trance practices, but rarely give it anything but surface level attention. And “hypnosis” tries to distance itself from that and put itself into a scientific box. The overlap is painfully obvious, but each discipline wants to deny it, and label their techniques in such a way that they can’t be used in any other context. And like you say, it all sounds crazy -- because hypnosis sounds crazy, and we live in a very rationalist world where if you talk authentically about spirituality you are labeled as crazy too. 

The thing is I don’t think there’s a good way to marry the two except to tailor both to your own views and needs. I have read books that try to make a magical framework out of hypnosis and vice versa and they feel like they are very frustrating to me. I am not comfortable with any single model or framework of esotericism/spirituality nor of hypnosis -- I need freedom to move through multiple perspectives. I am also not comfortable blindly synthesizing things that I don’t understand or learn the background of. So it’s really this big DIY journey of trying to understand what I believe about a) the world/God/etc, and b) human psyche/intimacy/relationships.

I think there’s some very obvious stuff where the two overlap -- I may have talked before about feeling some sort of indescribable divine feeling in deep hypnosis, or encountering difficult-to-explain occurrences during play. I don’t talk about that stuff mostly because it’s very personal and I have no vested interest in convincing other people this stuff is real when I don’t even fully believe it all myself. I also don't think those kinds of experiences are where the real hypnosis/spirituality overlap is. But I think that sanitizing hypnotic experiences and saying they MUST be explainable by rational means is disingenuous and limiting. I don’t think we should go around saying hypnosis is literally spirit possession or something. But we should be open to the idea that people are having experiences that feel like they defy reality, and yes you can use psychology as a model to describe that but it’s just that -- an imprecise model. This is another case where I think it’s critical to be able to hold multiple models.

Personally, for me this means I need to release the impulse to find “The Objective Truth” and instead engage in what feels like radically human experience -- hypnosis is deeply human, spirituality is deeply human. Science is human too, and I respect it, but the denial or obsessive rationalizing of subjective experience is not what I want out of my human life. I have been through a lot of spiritual models/spaces in my life and the only constant is that I feel like I am not sure -- and that’s what defines my spirituality. It’s the “not knowing” or curiosity towards the world, rather than trying to explain everything away. We know the mechanics of why the wind blows, but a gust out of nowhere still makes my hair stand on end and makes me think “Wow.” That’s actually an overlap with hypnosis: Erickson hypnotized people by telling them that they didn’t have to know anything in trance -- the opposite of our “normal” lives.

Anyways, I hope any of this is interesting to you or what you were asking about lol

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Max of 🌲 please and thank you :)

Hell yeah!

1k for 🌲:

---

“Because what if that’s why he’s there?” Buck posits. 

This stops Eddie short. Cuts off his panicked assumptions.

“Wait, what?” He asks Buck. “He’s there because of me. Because I fucked up.”

“That’s why he called them,” Buck agrees. “I’m not trying to absolve you, Eddie. I’m just saying… What if she is a Huldra and she’s hypnotizing him?”

Eddie goes pale. “How could you say that? That’s horrible!”

He’s not very fond of his mother at the moment, but that is not what she is. 

“No!” Buck sputters. “No! Not that. God, Eddie. Fuck, that’s not what I mean. I just mean, what if she’s making him stay.”

Eddie frowns. “Making him stay in El Paso?”

Buck nods. “What if it’s just… Plain old hypnotism? He just does what she says?”

Eddie doesn’t… He doesn’t know. He doesn’t like blaming someone who isn’t himself. He doesn’t… Except… Wouldn’t that explain how he and Chris were having a good conversation until she came into that room. Wouldn’t it explain how Chris didn’t really know how long he’d been gone? 

Uh, my head feels a little funny. Five months is a really long time.

“Oh my god, Buck. What if that’s what’s happening?”

“Right? It makes sense. Chris would never just say that to you.”

No. He wouldn’t. Would he? Eddie doesn’t know for certain. He’s been latching onto the thought that he deserved all of it. Does he… Does he not? He’s still the reason Chris called. He still did what he did. 

“Why did she never hypnotize us, then? My sisters and I?” Eddie asks. 

“Do you know she didn’t?” Buck asks.

“I know about a million things I did against her express wishes, so yeah,” Eddie replies. 

“Maybe it doesn’t work on you, then?” Buck tries. “Because you’re the same?”

“Maybe,” Eddie sighs. 

“If we find Adriana, we’ll find out,” Buck says.

“True,” Eddie sighs. “Which would also then mean…”

“Christopher isn’t a Huldra, too,” Buck realizes.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “I guess we’ll find out.”

If this is true? If his mother is controlling Christopher like that? There will be hell to pay. 

🍂

They end up getting a motel outside Scottsdale. It’s nothing special. Side of the road. Kind of dingey. It hardly matters; they just need somewhere quick to rest their eyes until sunset. Buck is pretty tired. He’s been driving for a while. He’s looking forward to sleeping, even on a stiff, too-short mattress. But he finds sleeping a bit more challenging than expected. Namely, because of Eddie. 

They snuggle together like they have the past few nights. That’s not the problem. Buck loves sleeping like this. It makes him feel completely at ease. Eddie is with him. In his arms. Everything is as good as it can be in that moment, as long as Eddie is with him.��

But tonight, Eddie seems to want more than post-roadtrip sleep. Which is a little questionable considering they’re on their way to discover if his sister is a secret serial killer, and if his mom is hypnotizing his child into hating him, and on top of all that, they both kind of smell like they’ve been in a car all day. But there Eddie is, moving to kiss along Buck’s neck. With their bodies twisted together, Buck can feel Eddie’s hardening erection against his leg. Damn. 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers. “Is this a good time?”

Eddie freezes. He pulls his lips from Buck’s neck. 

“Uh, is it not?” Eddie asks. 

“I mean… There’s a lot going on and we drove all day.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “Yeah, you’re probably too tired. I’m sorry.”

Wait, now. No, no, no. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Buck insists. “I just… You know, want to make sure… Because it’s sort of been a lot of revelations, and…”

“And you always make me feel better,” Eddie says quietly. 

Oh. 

Right. 

“But I want you to… So, if you don’t want…” Eddie continues. “That’s obviously…”

The thing is, sometimes Buck isn’t sure. He doesn’t know if Eddie will want him when all this is over. If it’s ever over. They’ve got to find a way to reverse it. Or at least conceal it so Eddie can have a normal life. When that’s come to fruition, will he want to be with Buck? Will he go back to saying he’s straight? Sometimes Buck worries he does just make Eddie feel better. He knows Eddie loves him. But is it the same way Buck loves Eddie? That doesn’t seem likely. 

But Buck still wants him as much as he can have him. He still wants all of him. And there’s not any hypnosis accounting for that. 

“I always want you,” Buck says. A paraphrasing of something he said yesterday, too. He doesn’t know if he wants Eddie to know that he means that beyond just sexually. 

Eddie gives him a long, pensive look. Like he, too, is uncertain of something. Only, Buck can’t tell what. 

“Are you too tired?” Eddie asks finally.

“No,” Buck says. “Not for you.”

iii.

They manage quick, necessary showers before leaving the next morning. The sun is just rising. Sky red and bleary. Eddie can tell that Buck is pretty exhausted. He feels badly about that. Really, he does. It’s just… Despite everything going on, Eddie sort of wants to be doing stuff with Buck all the time now. A switch has flipped and he cannot unflip it. He’s horny, on top of monstrous. A winning combination. Lucky Buck. 

They don’t talk about it. Maybe because Buck is too tired. Or maybe because, for all their talking to each other, they never broach talking about each other. In that sort of way. And if there’s an uncomfortable topic to discuss, it’s usually Buck who forces the discussion. He hasn’t. So Eddie follows suit. 

The closer they get to Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, the more Eddie starts to feel a certain kind of way. At first he blames it on nerves. Anticipation. Worry for Adriana.

[casually-slips-into-coma]

spoilers for iwtv s2e5!!!

initial thoughts throughout:

dubai armand in this ep specifically seems a lot happier than normal. very smiley and kind of excited? like more energy than usual. mans was ready to eat

this fucking turtleneck

loumand library dates

hypnotized security as one does

i like that armand likes to hunt his kills. thought it was a cool detail

made me think of when armand tells daniel to run in the book

daniel was there for gay sex the drugs were just a bonus

he barely registered the coffin. he was like ok ig

the zodiac killer lol

daniel struggling to get the tape out of the plastic lmao

some coke for the gums just in case

you were lonely louis (gagged him)

the extreme change in vibe from daniel shitting himself about louis being a vampire to him laughing along while louis complains about his ex

book quotes!!

daniel validating louis complaining about lestat. theyre just gossiping at this point

BIG time asshole

daniel making A Point and then going sorry and louis saying no,,,,,that🫵was astute🗣🗣

“can u do the fang thing again? i love that, man” hes just like me fr

dangerously unstable psyche ((clocked))

im kinda with her get off that bench brother😭 [about claudia leaving]

jacob the actor you are

ok this whole argument between louis and armand was insane and i replayed it like a million times

kinda love louis coked tf out

being called boring fucking hurts thats a wild argument

he called you a soft beige pillow suffocating him girl u gotta stand up

armand really locked on to the word fascinating

louis said lick my boots😝

gremlin sighting👀

“chop my hands off”👀👀👀👀

picking LINT❓❓off the sofa⁉️ ⁉️

armand mocking him “oh its so hard to be me, its so hard to kill humans, i can feel her feelings as i drain her, louis de point du lac, everyone i know wronged me!”

imitating each others accents

my vampire daddy groomed me into a little bitch holy fuck when they go low i go lower

THE NAME!! the name!! unuttered in our home for 23 years said over and over again until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer!!!!

assad deserves every award my man was actiiiinnggg

she didnt love you/i know

louis :(((

“can u hear her? shes calling me…” ok what if i kms

and then louis runs into the sunlight🙃

hello loml: practical effects

sidestep the big picture get the story straight first daniel said lets lock the fuck in rn we gotta focus

“you said the worst things youve ever said to me” hes just a sopping wet cat

hes fine youre fine this is fine youre all fine

finally seeing unhinged armand ive prayed for times like these

i stand by my cancelled wife btw

small detail of different memories: in louis’ version he apologizes to armand and armand says “meaningless word” and then moves on to talk about the slanted floor. in daniel’s version he remembers the dead guy and the same scene plays out except armand explains he killed the neighbor in between “meaningless word” and how the floor is slanted

vibrating eyes

LOVING how this episode is shot. all the different angles and the camerawork and the fucking MUSIC

canon that louis fucks guys and then kills them fic writers get to it

“128 boys hes brought here—“ “he said it was 5🥺”

daniel basically saying look man ill suck ur dick if u let me go

and then armand making him kneel

armand so unnerving <3

i know its kinda dumb to point out but i love small details of vamp power. specifically how armand picked up that table like it weighed nothing and when he picked up louis

love the idea of louis being like ok just put your feet in the rocks itll help

sopping wet cat armand!!!

but also he really let louis suffer for days instead of just giving him blood to ease the pain😬

lestats voice caught me off guard genuinely

interesting that armand knows where lestat is. i wonder how the show is gonna go about it. is he in the ground??

and refusing to pass along the i love you message……….theres layers here

u left me for death :((

have i atoned for my part of paris👀👀

the armand daniel bite was very do u know what it means to be loved by death

itty bitty armand fangs

need him alive as a testament to our companionship wtf are we even talking about anymore

arun/maitre😵‍💫

the fucking sunglasses im pissing😭😭

he got that shit on tho

welcome back trinity from the matrix

also just the fact that armand came back like yum i had so much fun on that hunt😁 anyway what are you two up to😇☺️

and louis and daniel just had a harrowing 2 hours trying to recover lost memories and coming to the realization that theyve been mega gaslit for decades

armand saying exactly what louis told daniel word for word

a hunch🫢

i love this show

im so excited for next weeks episode this story is unfolding so beautifully. im even more curious now about why and how this second interview is happening. ((also am very confused/curious about what looks like a protest in the promo??))