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whatswrongwithblue · 3 months ago

Note

Reader does actually try to walk off a cliff and Alastor catches them and gets furious and sexy about it and pounds Vexi... I mean reader into the mattress so hard she can't walk anymore and he ends up laughing saying 'let's see you try to do that again now your legs won't work'

Beta'd by @inuhalfdemon

For my darling @redvexillum, I know you're Overtime Vexi right now; working hard on the Discord server, keeping up with daily Kinktober posts, and also literally working an IRL job. This is a no pressure gift to you. Read when you have time and need a little pick me up. I even based Reader off of your avatar on your blog and used language specifically from my favorite fic of yours . . . you know the one *wink wink*.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: suicide ideation, suicide attempt, depression, mental illness, dissociation, possesive Alastor, Alastor owns Reader's soul, sex as punishment, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p/v sex, shadow tendrils/tentacles, bondage, use of a gag, overstimulation, lack of aftercare, begging, dom/sub dynamic.

Falling

The warm night breeze ghosted through your hair; a gentle lover’s caress across the back of your neck. It calmed your nerves as you looked down at the drop below and you closed your eyes, thinking you could almost hear the wind telling you to take that final step.

Just one little step.

A few seconds of falling.

Then darkness. Nothing. Peace.

The wind kicked up a little harder, fanning out your wings, and nearly making you lose your balance. You gasped and flailed your arms, catching your balance before you fell.

A stupid lingering human instinct to save yourself. Your body’s nervous system fighting against what your mind desperately wanted.

You took a deep, steadying breath in, and tucked your wings in. They were tiny; pink and membranous things that seemed more for aesthetic than any kind of purpose. It’s not like you could fly with them. They were no more useful than your asymmetrical horns when it came to that skill only very few Sinners were lucky enough to have. And they weren’t even very demonic looking, as far as demon appendages went. Both your horns and your wings were pink, slightly darker shades than the pastel of your skin and hair. Even your fucking irises were pink.

While you quite loved pink as a human, it just felt insulting down in Hell. Like every other aspect of your demon visage. Useless. Infantile. Boring.

Nearly making you fall to your death by being caught in a sudden gust of hot air was the only favor your wings had ever done for you.

Not that you would permanently die, you lamented. Eventually you would re-spawn somewhere within the city. But re-spawning took hours, sometimes even days. And in that time would be nothing. When you were alive you always joked about wishing that you could just take your brain out of your skull, like a temporary death, just to quiet the awful thoughts and feelings your malfunctioning organ plagued you with day and night.

Here in Hell, you could actually do that. Again and again, if you so chose to.

All you had to do was jump.

Maybe it wasn’t worth it. When you came back, Alastor would certainly hunt you down and find you. And you could just see the disappointment in his face. Hear the disgust in his voice. How lowly he would think of his darling then, that she would perform such an empty and pathetic act.

But then again, he was going to find out who you were at your core eventually. Better to rip the bandage off and make him face just how truly damaged you were before you continued to waste his time further. He was bound to get tired of pulling you out of your depressed funks after enough time had gone by. And what good did you bring to his life anyway?

You were a distraction.

He had snapped that to you earlier that evening when you had interrupted his work at the hotel. Those last stinging words echoed through your mind, branding themselves into your grey matter so that you never forgot them.

Well, you wouldn’t be distracting him anymore after this stunt. He wouldn’t bother with you afterwards.

And if you found you really did enjoy the nothingness that came between death and re-spawning, the extermination wasn’t far away. All you had to do was stand in front of an exorcist and simply not move as they brought their blade down on you. Then it would truly be an eternity of peace and quiet for you.

No more distractions.

The thought came to you bitterly as you considered that Alastor was the one who had been distracting you. All these months of his attention, of him making you his darling, of him making you fall in love with him, had just distracted you for a while. But now the pain was back, worse than ever, with one small argument between you two and you realized if it wasn’t for him, you likely would have jumped off this roof months ago.

You could have let it all go during the last extermination, while everyone else was huddled safely inside the hotel.

What a waste of time. A useless, boring, distracting life.

A deep breath. A single tear sliding down your cheek. A last thought of warmth and safety whispering through your mind . . .

“Alastor.”

His name left your lips like a prayer and an apology.

You took a step over the ledge.

The street below became your entire field of view as you lost your footing entirely.

And then the world glitched.

Colors blended in choppy formation and static screamed in your ears, threatening to burst your ears drums. Everything was fuzzy and going dark and a strange tingling filled your body, like your very blood had turned to static.

And then you were back on your own two feet, standing face to chest with the red and black pinstriped suit you knew so well.

Unnaturally large claws had you by the shoulders and you tilted your head up, taking in the full view of a very angry Radio Demon.

Alastor towered over you, his antlers spread wide, his eyes turning like radio dials, and he lifted you up like you weighed nothing until you were face to face and your feet were dangling several feet in the air.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, his voice even more full of static than you were used to.

Your eyes went wide at the use of vulgarity from him. You could count with your two useless wings how many times you had heard him swear before and never had it been directed at you.

When you didn’t answer right away, he shook you, calling you by your real name rather than darling, which he never did. He demanded an answer but all you could manage was a little whimper before you broke.

Your chin quivered and you felt the swell of tears in your eyes as a sob squeezed your chest and erupted out.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and then slowly, ever so gently, you felt yourself being lowered to the ground and then your face was pressed against the soft fabric of Alastor’s suit. His bow tie tickled the side of your face and his scent, heady with Spanish moss and cypress, and some other uniquely Earthy smell that was entirely him, filled your senses.

“Darling,” he said quietly, “my darling . . . why?”

You could barely breath through your sobs, let alone speak, so it took you a moment to gather the strength to answer. Clutching at the back of his jacket, you pressed your face into him harder, trying to hide your reasoning, bury your shame, pretend like every pathetic part of you didn’t exist.

But he had seen, hadn’t he? He had watched you take that step, had come up here to find you and seen that final microsecond when there was nothing but air between you and the ground below.

And he had altered reality to bring you back to him. To save you.

Half of you hoped that meant he really did love you like you loved him. Like he promised every day that he did, even though you never quite believed it.

The other half of you whispered an insipid little lie that was too tempting to not consider . . . that this whole stunt of yours was just another distraction.

“I don’t want to be a bother anymore,” you finally whispered, hiccupping and choking as you struggled to speak.

Alastor went stiff around you, and you thought then that he would finally push you away. Agree that you really were just a bother. That if he were to ever shackle himself to another soul, it certainly wouldn’t be to such a weak little wretch as yourself.

Instead, his long, clawed fingers grasped you by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. And though his expression was often hard to read, the strain in his smile showed anger while the burning in his ruby eyes showed pain.

“What gave you the idea that you could do such a thing? That I would allow it?”

“Wha . . . what?”

“You’re mine now, darling.” He pulled on your chin, forcing you on tip toe as he brought your face closer to him. “You belong to me and I don’t let what belongs to me just fly away. It seems you have forgotten that.”

His claws were digging into your cheeks and along your jaw line, stinging and threatening, even as he brought his lips down and gave you the gentlest kiss on the forehead.

“Perhaps I need to remind you of that,” he whispered to you, his voice low and tender, crackling with a passion you couldn’t misplace. He was angry, you realized, oh yes he was furious with you. But as the world went fuzzy once again, and you felt the familiar sensation of melting into shadow, and your soul blended with his, you could literally feel that burning rage inside of him being twisted and morphed into more direct emotions. Lust and desire filled what was left of your identity as Alastor transported you through the ceiling and walls of the hotel and into your room.

Now this was flying.

Alastor had sat you at the foot of your bed, making quick work of removing your underwear, lifting your pleated skirt above your hips, and kneeling before you, all before you had come down from the bizarre and disorienting high of being nothing but shadow with him.

Now you were reduced to a shell of a person, thoughtless and detached from your feelings and in the best of ways, as Alastor’s tongue made your nervous system aware of nothing else but the bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your knees were resting on his shoulders and already shaking as his tongue twisted and lapped at your clit, occasionally giving the swollen pearl a hard suck, as two fingers pumped into your core, working to pull a second climax from you.

Distantly you were aware of the flutter of your wings; a helpless reflex, along with the tremble of your legs. Tears streamed down your cheeks, though you paid that no mind either. Even if you had noticed them, you wouldn’t be able to place which emotion was drawing them from your eyes.

You only knew that this feeling; the intense physical sensation of Alastor turning you into a whimpering, wanton mess, allowed you to dissociate in the best of ways and everything that had tormented you to the point of standing on that cliff’s edge was completely forgotten.

The fingers of one of your hands wrapped themselves in a white-knuckled grip around his antler while your other hand found purchase in his red locks and you sobbed out his name as you came again.

Just as your walls began to clench, Alastor pulled himself from your clutches, leaving your cunt to clench needfully onto nothing. The abrupt lack of touch right at the beginning of your orgasm was torture and in his absence you pressed your legs together, searching for any friction that would allow for a fraction of the satisfaction his tongue and fingers should be giving you.

“Now, now, dear,” Alastor tutted, and you felt your legs forced back apart. “Remember, I’m here to make a point. And that point is . . .” You looked down to see tendrils of shadows spreading your legs farther open, tangling themselves around your thighs and hips. “. . . You’re mine.” He began undoing the top of his trousers. “And any rash decisions,” he pushed his trousers down below his waist, “like trying to jump off buildings,” he pulled his cock free and you salivated at the sight of its red and swollen tip already weeping pre-cum for you, “or pleasuring yourself without permission,” he leaned over you, his tense and wicked smile inches away from your lips as his took a painful fistful of your hair, “will be met with severe punishments.”

You swallowed, daring to meet his eyes with your own submissive, watery ones, and nodded.

“There’s my darling I know and cherish,” he said sweetly. His fingers left your hair and traced along your jaw until they came to your lips.

“And now that we’re at an understanding,” he snapped his fingers and your clothes vanished, “let’s see how well you can take your punishment.”

His cock thrust into you as black tendrils slithered their way up the rest of your nude body, pinning you in place. They teased and stroked every erogenous zone with lovely tenderness, their touch soothing and affectionate even as they forced you to near absolute stillness. In stark contrast, Alastor pounded into you, stretching you to the point of burning and igniting the still burning embers of your last orgasm that Alastor had left unfinished.

You came within seconds, your walls spasming hard against the fat width of his cock. Alastor drove on as if he hadn’t noticed, deep enough to hit the blind end of your depths with every forward thrust. The bruising combination left a dull cramp in your belly as your climax went on for several more moments, an intense combination of pleasure and pressure.

After the quaking within your core subsided, you went limp within the clutches of the shadows. Three orgasms as intense as the ones you had just experienced were more than enough to placate your mind and body and your teary eyes now began to droop with sleepiness.

And yet Alastor was clearly not finished with you.

“Alastor,” you pleaded, knowing he still hadn’t come but you intended to beg for him to be a little gentler with you until he had. Instead of letting you speak, however; a tendril that had been near your throat laced itself through your open mouth and synched itself around your head, effectively gagging you.

The only response you got from your lover was an angry red glow of his eyes as they narrowed onto you, before he gripped your thighs with his claws and continued on with his brutal pace.

Too much, too much, too much, you internally screamed, a fresh torrent of hot tears burning down your cheeks. Your teeth sunk into the meat of the tentacle between your lips and you strained against the ones holding your wrists down to the bed.

The brutal pace of your punishment went on for several more minutes; an eternity for your overstimulated sex. Everything between your ribs and your thighs burned and ached from the ceaseless, intrusive rhythm of Alastor’s body against yours. Inside and out, he continued to savagely ravish you, until there was nothing else for you to do but begin to silently cry and take the punishment he was dolling out.

Alastor pulled out of you with a suddenness that both relieved and confused you. Your throbbing cunt ached from what it had just been through but as your eyes met his, you felt an emptiness within you. Still wrapped in tentacles, you glanced down at his glistening cock before you looked back up at the sharp tooth smile on the face of the man that you feared and loved above all else.

He still looked as pissed off as ever but there was a softness at the corner of his eyes that hinted at concern and you knew him well enough to know he was worried he might have taken things to far.

As you felt the shadow tentacles begin to loosen around you, you felt a emotion so long-forgotten you almost didn’t recognize it.

Confidence.

And with that thought, you wordlessly turned yourself around until your lay on your belly, exposing your backside and the tiny pink wings you knew Alastor loved to play with whenever he was angry.

A moment came and went and you were just beginning to wonder if you had misread the owner of your soul. You opened your mouth to speak his name once more but before you could utter a syllable, you felt your arms yanked back by the wrists and a powerful tendril wrap around your throat, holding you face down into the mattress.

The shadows that were still around your hips tightened and forcefully lifted your ass into the air and you braced yourself a second before Alastor’s cock slammed back into you, filling you back up to completion and eviscerating that feeling of emptiness.

Tired and spent as you were, you moaned aloud and squeezed his member with every last bit of strength you had within your spongey walls.

You felt the long, slow drag of his retreating cock sliding against every sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you before another snap of Alastor’s hips had it rocketing back into you.

“Say it,” he commanded and you shuddered with your whole body, knowing what he wanted to hear.

“I’m your darling,” you replied, breathless and yet moaning again as he rewarded you with another thrust.

“And?”

“I belong to you.” He matched this thrust with a gentle stroke of a shadow across the membrane of one of your wings. “Mmmmmm, more,” you begged, as your wings gave a tiny, involuntary flap at the feather light touch.

But he had stilled behind you, waiting for your needfulness to build until you were begging.

“Please,” you sobbed out, feeling your chin quiver as all the emotions of the night came rushing back to you. “I’m sorry, Al’. I’m so sorry.”

As you spoke, the touching of your wings and the powerful movement of his cock began anew. You blabbered on, afraid if you stopped talking, the pleasant sensation of his touch within you and above you would end.

“I love you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never even think about leaving you ever again. Not in anyway. Not even when your angry with me. Not even when I hate myself. Because I’m yours and I’ll always be yours. I’m so sorry, Alastor. Please don’t stop. Please, you feel so good. Fill me up, love. Because I’m your darling and I’ll be good from now on, please just fill me up. I’m your good girl and I love you and I want to feel you inside me. Please, please, oh God Al’, you feel so good, I’m – I’m – I-”

With a painful pull on your wrists you felt all the way into your shoulders, you felt him spill his seed within you as his body tense and every shadow of his went impossibly taut around you. The heat of his cum burned your walls and spilled down your inner thighs, coating you and marking you as his, and you came along with him, screaming into the sheets. Every tendril bruised into your skin, leaving marks around your throat, breasts, wings, hips, and thighs, as Alastor lost all control, even as he continued to pound into you with an uneven and desperate pace.

Everything blurred as you came down from the high together. You felt your muscles turn to jelly and give out in the final moments of your climax, just in time to feel Alastor finally still and begin to soften before he pulled out.

After several serene moments had gone by, the sheets beneath you began to move and pull away. As if in a dream, you felt your body being moved up the bed and then Alastor’s weight joined next to you as you were tucked into bed. Without being cleaned and without a word of praise or love, which he usually included in an aftercare routine for you.

But you knew, deep within the fog of your exhausted mind, that you deserved this. You would wake up in the morning marked by the bruises and the sticky mess between your legs, and only then would you be allowed to shower and heal yourself.

“Thank you,” you murmured with closed eyes as he finished tucking you in. “I don’t think I can move after that, let alone walk.”

An amused, deep chuckle came from Alastor before he pinched your cheek hard enough to make your eyes snap back open.

He got up from the bed, now fully dressed, and straightened his bow tie and monocle before marching towards the door with a pleased and arrogant look on his face.

“Good, my darling. That’s good. Let’s see you try to pull that nonsense again now that your legs don’t work. Sweet dreams,” he added as he opened the bedroom door and gave you one last warning smile before he slammed the door behind him, hard enough to knock a few decorations off the walls.

You sighed as you heard a lock clicking into place, knowing his point was made, and that he was still very much angry with you. But the storm had passed, for both of you. You relaxed into the soft pillow and closed your eyes, the first smile in days touching your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

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writingroom21 · 7 months ago

Note

Seeing the ghost face reader just inspired me with something. Imagine shy introverted reader (she's like fluttershy if you watched my little pony) nerdy pouge reader where she is sarah’s bestie who has a massive crush on rafe but doesn't show it but when he starts saying something really bad to Sarah (I don't know what) reader loses it inside since she can't show it so later that night she secretly goes to race room quietly while he's asleep wakes him up by slapping his face hard (he wont mind since he's always found reader hot) reader is secretly a dom as they have hardcore sex

Like A Virgin

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(wrap it up), cream pie, overstimulation, chocking, oral (m receiving), (let me know if I missed any)

Wc: 3.2K

A/N: I'm loving all the requests I've been getting! Keep them coming! I'm getting through them as fast as I can, so sorry if it take a while. I also just started my new job so I have to figure out a writing schedule. So please bare with me, I will get to them

“What the fuck Rafe! Why do you always have to start something? He’s my boyfriend, he can be here.” Sarah’s voice echoes through the halls.You had just walked through the back door to get a drink. She had invited the pogues over for a pool day, you’ve all been outside all day. From the moment you had gotten there you could tell something was off.

Sarah was tense and a little short, apologizing straight after and blaming it on being tired. You would believe her if it wasn’t for the dark looming shadow that was Rafe Cameron. He was lurking around, making sly comments, objectifying your’s and Kie’s body. He knew better than to try with Cleo, she would kill him in his sleep in a heartbeat. There was definitely something going on because even if he normally is a dick, he would have quit by now.

You’ve been Sarah’s friend for ages, the only person she never actually tried to push away. It was shocking for everyone because she’s always been out going while you kept to yourself. Instead of making friends you were reading not wanting to be bothered by the other kids. Then one day Sarah came up to you and forced you out of your shell.From then on the two of you were attached by the hip, always together. She never onced judged you for being a pogue even when all her kook friends made fun of you.

They saw you as an easy target. The shy, poor, bookworm pogue who hangs off the kook princess with a vice grip. She would always defend you, telling them off. Even going as far as getting into an argument with Rafe about you. He wasn’t always a dick to you, at first he was even nice? If you could even use that word but when he started to do drugs he became a different person.

You’ve spent countless hours in this house and viewing how the family dynamic works. They sometimes tend to forget that you are there, your quietness hiding you from their view. You’ve seen how Rafe can get, yelling and making a mess of things. How Ward neglects his eldest and youngest for Sarah and so on. The family has a complicated relationship that’s for sure, but you knew something was wrong.

Now you can see what was wrong, it was all of you. “No, I don't want filthy pogues in my house. They are nothing but low lives Sarah. If you want to ruin your life fine but don’t drag the rest of us down.” Rafe’s voice booms over hers. “Ahhhh you are so crazy. You are literally the worst. I just wanted to have a good time with my friends. Why can’t you just be a normal brother for once?” Sarah storms off running into you on her way back outside.

“Hey did you?” She points behind her and you just nod. “I’m sorry.” You give her a quick hug and she goes back outside. Entering the kitchen you see Rafe texting on his phone leaning on the counter. He looks up at you and rolls his eyes. “What do you want, pogue?” You ignore the venom that was laced in his words. Doing what you always do, biting your tongue afraid of the confrontation's consequences. “Fucking spit it out, stop being such a baby.” With a deep breath you do.

“Maybe you should try being nicer to people. Sarah’s your sister and you treat her like shit.” Rafe scoffs as you get water from the fridge. “If I wanted advice I wouldn’t go to someone who’s poor. You and your criminal friends are just a waste of space.” He watches as you walk away, looking back to say one last thing today. “Don’t you find it funny how Sarah actually has friends. You’re still hanging out with high schoolers because everyone hates you. Maybe it's time to change and grow up.”

He left you alone after that. The rest of the afternoon was peaceful and filled with fun. At first you were scared of what he would say or do. You expected him to actually run out after you and start yelling. But nothing happened. Sarah had ordered you all pizzas and set up the movies in the living room. Everyone ate and walked as the movies played in the background. As it got later, the sun died, sleeping until it is brought to life once again in the morning. Mostly everyone was asleep, Kie and Sarah chatted and you chimed in time for time. But soon the sounds of Kie’s voice faded and became nothing.

“Sarah?” The sound of blankets indicates that someone is moving around.”Yeah?” There’s so much you want to say, tell her so she knows you are there for you. But none of them seem good enough. “Are you okay?” You hear a sigh and more shuffling. Sarah plops her pillow and blanket next to you, laying down, she finally answers. “I guess.”

“It must be tough when he acts like that. I’m sorry you don’t deserve this.” Usually you don’t really comment on these things. Rafe is an iffy topic for Sarah. After he tried to kill her, she finds it hard to even look at him. She wants to help him because he’s her brother but at the same time she doesn’t recognize him. You don’t like to pick at the sore wound so you tend to just lend a comforting hand. “It’s always kinda been like this, the drugs just make it worse.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I still remember when we were little and I was so scared of a thunderstorm that he held me the whole night. Told me that he would always be there to protect me because he was my big brother, he loved me. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that, I don’t know who he is.”

You hand finds hers over the blankets, squeezing her fingers. “Sometimes people get lost. Some get help and find their way while the others continue on the never ending path. It sucks that you can’t do anything, he won’t let you. If it makes you feel better I think that part of him is still in there somewhere, he just hasn’t had the chance to show it.”

Her fingers squeeze yours back. “I hope so.” Sarah fell asleep shortly after that conversation, leaving you to lay there and think. You think back to when you were young, Rafe seemed normal then. Sure he had some quirks but what child doesn’t. He would always hold the door for you everywhere you went. Ward would have you tag along on outings since he felt bad seeing your face after Sarah would tell you about something cool they did. There were also moments when he would try to make you smile, the little boy just wanted to make you happy.

At that time Rafe was okay with having you around, if you twisted it out of him he might even say excited. That didn’t last long because their mother died and with her she took the last last bit of hope he ever had. He never truly felt safe again knowing that the person he loved the most was just gone. The outburst was the first sign he wasn’t okay, yet Ward ignored it. Then it was the violence, once again ignored. Finally the drugs got him the attention he was looking for. All for him to hear what he always knew. “You’re a fucking disappointment Rafe. Knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you.” From then on out the world was dead to him, he only needed to focus on himself. Everyone else is the enemy.

Sarah’s words keep replaying in your head. Why can’t Rafe see he’s hurting people? You get why he shut you out, even when you were crushed and cried, you understood. But he can’t do it anymore to his own sister. Without thinking your body makes a mistake. It carries you up the stairs and straight into his room. The sounds of the door shutting wakes him up, he rubs his eyes trying to process what woke him. He opens his eyes just in time to see your hand in the air and strikes his cheek with your palm.

“What the fuck.” He had to take a second to fully realize that you just slapped him. “What is your problem? Can’t you just be nice to people.” He sits up on the bed and you try to push him back down but he catches your hands. “Me be nice? You just walked into my room while I was sleeping just so you could fucking slap me. How about you be nice.” You struggle to get his grip off of you to no avail, he was holding on tight.

“I’ve been nice since the first time I met you. Kept my mouth shut when you did fucked up shit. Stop ruining your life and the life of others.” His eyes are piercing yours, his hold somehow tighter. “Maybe you should keep it shut, I like it better when you aren’t talking.” He pulls you closer, your knee catching you on the bed so you don’t fall.

He’s staring at your lips, licking his to wet them. You go to argue with him but he cuts you off. “Come on. I bet a filthy pogue like you could think of ways to put it to better use.” One of his hands that was holding yours lowers. He stops once he feels your fingers brush against the bulge that’s forming in his boxers. The ignorant smirk that always bestows his face makes its way back.

Yanking your hand back, you slap him again, the smirk falling. Once again without thinking your body makes mistake two of the night. You kiss him. Pulling on the chain that lays around his neck, smashing your lips to his. Your other arms wrap around his neck, the hand holding the chain twists, closing it slightly. If this was a mistake then you can beg for forgiveness later, absolving your sins can wait.

He just tasted too good to stop.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “I knew you had a thing for me.” If this was your childhood you then there would be no room for arguing. The person you are in this moment doesn’t want to admit how true it is. You have seen how bad of a person he’s become and you know you would lose Sarah if she ever found out. “Do you even know how to keep your mouth shut? For once shut the fuck up.”

From the corner of your eye you see his belt laying on the floor in a pile of his clothes from earlier. Leaning over the side of the bed, you grab it and return to your previous position. “What are you doin” You kiss him to stop him from talking further, hands slowly pulling him over his head. The motion of you grinding down on him was enough to distract him from the feeling of the belt wrapping around his wrists and headboard.

When you pull back and sit on his lap he goes to chase your lips just to be blocked by the fact his hands are tied. “What the fuck. Get these off.” The headboard rattles against the wall as he struggles to break loose. “Take these off right now or else.” Rafe’s tone is threatening but you can’t help but to laugh at the sight in front of you. The guy who’s been terrorizing your friend group is all vulnerable underneath you. “Or else, what? I’ll just leave you like this, maybe even take off the boxers so whoever finds you will realize you got played.” You scoot back to sit on his thighs.

“What do you think about that, huh Rafe? Personally, the idea of Ward finding you like that is hilarious. Better yet I’ll take a picture of you and post it everywhere, let everyone see the mean old Rafe Cameron as nothing else than a pussy.” Your teasing is accompanied by your fingers grazing over the bulge in his boxers. Rafe wants nothing more than to cuss you out right now. Make you regret even thinking that you could get one over on him.

The twitching in his boxers gives him away. He’s enjoying it. The big scary man that has a whole island afraid of him is enjoying the way you talk down on him. “You like that don’t you? You are a pussy, you know that right?” Your hand grips him tight, a whimper forced out of him. “Stop.” The words are weak and a contrast to how his hips are bucking up into your hand. Feeling generous you lower the boxers, taking his dick in your mouth without warning.

Rafe lets out a sigh when he feels the warmth of your mouth wrap around him. He goes to thrust into your mouth and you pull back, hands pushing his hips back down. “Do that again and I’ll leave you here to be found. I’m not kidding Rafe.” He nods at you, wincing as your nails dig into his skin. “Words.”

He looks down at you and can’t recognize who you are. Where has this side of you been hiding? He’s only ever known you as Sarah’s shy best friend. Yet the person in front of him looks like you but doesn’t act like you. “I get it. Fuck when were you like this?” From this view he looks so pretty.

His cheeks are a shade of pink from blushing, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He looks good enough to fuck. If he took time to see what you were reading he would see that you’ve always been like this. You just never advertised it like he does. “Always have been. Maybe if you were nicer to people you would know that.” His eyes close when you go back to sucking him off. They scrunch up when he isn’t getting the satisfaction he’s looking for. You are barely even sucking.

It’s more as if he’s in your mouth and you are moving up and down on it. There’s no suction or hand to facilitate your movements. Not enough pressure for him to feel good, in fact he just feels frustrated. Your ears perk up when you hear his little groans and whimpers. “What’s wrong? Is it not good?” The words yes are on the tip of his tongue, they died as soon as his eyes met yours. There’s this defiant look in them, as if you want him to tell you somethings wrong. “No no it’s okay. Great”

You give him a smile. “Good boy.” The moans he lets out to your words are chocked on when you actually start to blow him. Rafe is no virgin that’s for sure, but god damn he feels like one right now. This has got to be one of the best blowjobs he’s ever received, scratch that it is the best. “Please.” He sounds pathetic and it makes you speed up. Rafe physically chokes on air from the sudden change, his body convulsing.

He keeps letting out these moans that sound whiny and a mix of pain. The way that he twitches in your mouth just confirms he’s close. Crystal blue eyes open to see why you stopped. Even in the dark his eyes are still beautiful, it’s not fair. Rafe watches as you slip out of your sleep shorts and panties, then you shirt. Leaving you fully exposed since you didn’t wear a bra.

Taking your panties, you crawl up to hover over his lap. He looks up at you ready to ask you to finally fuck him but you took him by surprise by shoving your panties in his mouth. “Hold this for me baby. Maybe that will finally shut you up.” The two of you stare into the others eyes as you sink down on him. Just from sucking him off you were soaked so he easily slid in. It was a good thing you muffled him. The moan he let out was so loud that it could still be heard, you had to cover his mouth just to stop the sound.

“God you act like a fucking virgin. Thought you were the kook king who could get anyone he wanted.” Rafe’s head was pinning, everything you are doing is making him so confused. He’s usually the one fucking, even when the girls on top he controls everything. Having you come in here and just fuck him as if he’s there for you is mind fucking. When he’s pictured this exact moment it was with you under him, screaming and clawing at his back as he fucked the shit out of you.

This is not how your first time should have gone. It’s the wrong way around yet it felt amazing.

Sweat is forming on your skin, the moonlight reflecting off of it. Your body is on overdrive, bouncing up and down. There is a tingle in your lower abdomen, a sign of your impending orgasim. As the feeling slowly crocendos, your body leans forward. You place the hand that was covering his mouth on his throat. The squeeze of your hand has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s so close to cumming, can feel it running from his fingertips to his arms that you have tied. He practically cries when you finally cum, your walls pulsating around him, triggering his own orgasim. You let go of his throat, wiping the tears from his eyes and shushing him. “It’s okay. You did so good.” He sobs around your panties, sucking the fabric lightly to ground himself. The way you keep slowly bouncing is killing him, he’s ready to pass out from the sensation.

Looking down to see where the two of you were connected was his first mistake of the night. The sight alone sent him into another smaller orgasim, his body thrashing from the overstimulation. You pull yourself up and fall down next to him. After a few minutes of not talking to catch your breaths, Rafe tries to speak. Looking over at him you can see he’s staring at you, leaning up you take your panties out of his mouth and slip them back on.

“Are you going to untie me now?” You smile at him and give him a short kiss. Getting up you gather your clothes and put them on. “This isn’t funny untie me or I’ll tell everyone you fucked me.” You walk over to the side of the bed he occupied, leaning to grab the belt holding his arms. Dipping your head to his ears you whisper to him. “Really think anyone would believe you?”

You move back watching his face drop when you walk further towards the door. “Think of this as payback for all my years of silence.” You shrug and open the door. “I’ll get you back for this.” With one last look at him you smirked.

“I hope so.”

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #obx

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mecachrome · 1 month ago

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#i wish it weren't taboo to talk about how 814 are literally just an audhd couple... could discuss this for days. does anyone want to

actually yes i would like nothing more this is lowkey all i think about sometimes

HLSDKFHLH i was about to publish my own post but now i feel enabled to write a Longer Response 🧡 thank u guys

2 me 814 is Girl who is so classically adhd it's comical (overt hyperfixations + poor executive function + basically arfid + time blindness) coexists beautifully with Misunderstood autistic girl (too straightforward for other people + pretended to be a car as a child + sensory issues through the roof + consciously masking in every interview) while everyone loses their minds because they should Hate Each Other and be at each other's throats??! and yet they don't because their neurodivergent swag transcends petty team politics 💗

like honestly i think they interact easily because they're both weird & particular in their own ways but their priorities are ultimately the same so why would any of that matter you know? and they try to accommodate each other when they're able to even if it's little things like oscar not eating salmon around lando anymore lol 😭 (i say this as audhd guy with extreme sensory issues and many other Problems and Issues... that is in fact romanze to me. also little stuff like the No Name Drop? moment because yes it's small in the grand scheme of things but to me it's special because it's like... THEIR inside joke and oscar is proving he does enjoy it and cares about maintaining it :') and then when lando was feeling down post-race in brazil he pulled out landinho all on his own <3)

like this is so random but i was just rewatching the logan sexed bit earlier and it's so funny how oscar is just like ??? WHAT. and somewhat annoyed at being grilled about it because in his head he's thinking "it's literally just a show title why are you Willfully Misunderstanding me idg why that's so funny to you are you 5." but with lando there's so much less... idk laughing At each other as if there's some big joke one person is missing out on and more just giggling together because oscar thinks every little thing lando says is funny and because they're equally charmed by each other's particularities. like oscar doesn't mind that lando is super fidgety and respects that he has Depths (saying that lando is a mix of sarcastic/dry, excitable, and serious) while lando has joked that oscar is somewhat robotic before but obviously still revels in wheedling genuine reactions out of him :') like you can see from how they get caught up in their little world while in parc fermé or doing their f1 media duties that they're capable of just focusing on Each Other without a care in the world for other people and they aren't talking just to have content for the cameras...

and like again the whole point of f1 is that it's a media circuit that needs overextended drama to survive as a consumable product but in the end neither of them care to sustain these artificial demands because it's just antithetical to their personalities and how their brains operate... their job is literally just car 🏎

also another thing is how people talk about 814 always twinning but what adds even more dimension to it is basically oscar admitting and being conscious of his mirroring lando's expressions 😭 and the fact that he's always choosing him for interview questions/copying his answers during games! like i think it's sooo compelling that oscar unintentionally latched onto lando as a young teenager in the uk and never really strayed from that because you have a very expressive, larger-than-life lando who is prone to being misrepresented because people don't really understand the manifestation of adhd and then level-headed oscar who is also poorly read because he doesn't express himself "conventionally" taking one look at lando and being like Hmmm yes. i'll mold myself after that. and lando being so happy and open to that dynamic 🧡 does it not move u

#ask #op meta #814 meta #ANYWAY.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 8 months ago

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Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first.

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind.

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first.

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you.

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say.

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways.

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume.

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be.

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say.

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother says.

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter.

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky.

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding.

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by.

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say.

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says.

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.”

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently.

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up.

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality.

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized.

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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hard-core-super-star · 1 year ago

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bare your soul 'til it's naked [C.Danvers]

pairing: sub!carol danvers x dom!reader

summary: you and carol experiment with switching up your usual roles and accidentally discover something new.

warnings: SMUT -> minors, don't look [porn with feelings; bondage; strap-on sex; an exploration of carol's submissive side; strapwarming; a dash of denial; carol's praise kink goes brr; captain kink because duh]

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: no, i didn't disappear for like all of november, what are you talking about?? anywho, this happened and...i have no reason or explanation for it lmao. also, i'm not even going to pretend to be an expert on dom/sub dynamics but just labeling carol as a bottom felt wrong considering the more...intense route this took. ANYWAY, usual,"this is my first time writing for this character, please give me validation if you liked it," warning applies.

* * * * * * *

It had started as a joke.

You had told Carol how unfair it was that her superhuman abilities always led to her overpowering you after she had effortlessly picked you up and plopped you down onto the couch to stop you from washing the dishes. It had been an almost nonsensical joke that the blonde took a little too seriously.

It’s not something that genuinely bothers you, in fact, you love how quick Carol always is to pick you up and carry you everywhere. However, you had mentioned how much you’d love to have a turn at being in charge for once and your girlfriend took it upon herself to give you exactly what you wanted. (Like usual)

You weren’t sure why she was so dead set on doing this, especially considering how much she loves having the upper hand all the time, and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her to change her mind. Mainly because you’d have to be an actual fool to deny her anything but also because there’s been a look in her eyes that you can’t quite decipher that was born from the mere thought of switching roles for once.

So, your one meaningless joke had earned you a sight you’d never thought you’d see: Carol Danvers naked and bound on your bed.

It should be ridiculous. She’s a goddamn superhero, for crying out loud, she could easily rip apart those ropes like nothing. And yet…she remains motionless. You’d go far enough to call her stoic if it weren’t for the smirk she hasn’t yet wiped off of her face.

You both know the massive amounts of power she holds inside herself and she still chooses to pretend. To give in to the fantasy. To act like you truly hold all the cards when she’s the one with literal superpowers.

Your girlfriend huffs as she watches you admire her toned body and the intricate knots that hold her in place. She’s been sitting in the same position for what feels like hours, with her hands tied around her back and her legs spread open, showing off the strap attached to her hips.

“You gonna do something or just stare?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” you reply, shamelessly staring at her jawline while she throws her head back and groans.

“I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t touch me right now.”

You’re tempted to just walk away like she’s done to you countless times but you have other, more important, ideas on your mind.

You approach her in two quick steps, smiling at the way her eyes literally light up before tangling your fingers in her blonde hair and gently pulling. You’re rewarded with the sound of her gasp and you can practically see the way her veins pop out as she clenches her fists.

“I think you’re forgetting our deal, Captain,” you whisper. “I’m in charge, you just have to sit there and behave.”

She lets out a soft groan, her eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of seconds. You don't know if it's the hair-pulling or the use of the title that affects her so much but it’s obvious her reluctance melts away in an instant…which means your need to have her begging for you increases tenfold in that same instant.

“Are you going to need a reminder, baby?”

A long second of silence goes by before your girlfriend gives in. You’re more than willing to wait for her, especially once her eyes open again and you’re able to make out the specks of bliss that make her eyes sparkle more than usual. “No…I’ll behave.”

“Good girl,” you hum.

The whine that escapes her doesn’t reach your ears but the way her hips buck is more than noticeable and you can’t stop yourself from reaching out and wrapping your hand around the large toy. The fact that it’s fake doesn’t stop Carol from thrusting into your hand and she looks far too good for you to even think about making her stop.

That doesn’t mean you’re not going to tease her, though.

“Are you needy already, babe? I haven’t even done anything.”

“Maybe that’s why,” she replies, attempting to hold on to some of her usual snarkiness.

Something that would be more effective if she wasn’t bucking her hips in search of some friction.

The calm and controlled persona she so easily wears out on the field starts to slip and with it comes the barrage of thoughts that never allow her to give up control. It’s subtle but the sparkle in her eyes can’t erase the furrowing of her eyebrows or the tension in her muscles.

That desperation that makes her thrust up into your hand isn’t unfamiliar. Her need to give in to it is.

So, you do the only thing you know will help her focus on the moment instead of on her unspoken fears.

“Carol.” Her name leaves your lips as a mere whisper, the grip you have on her hair loosening just enough for the change to register in her unfocused mind.

She takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes up to look at you. You expect her to pull the plug on this whole thing, to put her walls back up and call it a day, but she doesn't. She does the exact opposite and leaves your mind spinning in the process.

“I need you.” The hushed tone she speaks in does nothing to hide her desperation. It’s not the kind you’re used to, though. It’s less about the physical and more about the emotional. It’s about the stability she’s always looked for but has never found in all the countless planets she’s visited.

The only place she’s found it in all her life is with you.

The second the thought enters your mind, you climb onto her lap, momentarily forgetting about the new dynamic you're forging and merely focusing on your vulnerable girlfriend. Despite your urge to help ground her, you can’t help but notice the way her hips instantly buck once again.

You still decide to wait, though, much to the blonde’s dismay.

“What do you need from me, Captain?”

“Need you…” She trails off and you half expect that to be the end of it until she continues a second later. “Need you to own me…use me…please.”

There’s no doubt in your mind of the strength it took for her to get the words out which only adds fuel to the fire burning in your core. A fire made up of desire, trust, and so much lust it could fill a small planet.

“As you wish,” you mumble before finally giving both of you what you really want.

Carol’s eyes watch you closely while you grip the toy attached to her hips and slowly tease your entrance with it. She technically can’t feel anything yet but she still takes every second in, rotating her hips in an attempt to bring you as much pleasure as she can.

You leave the dildo soaked in less than a minute and the sight of your girlfriend’s abs contracting with every movement does nothing to satisfy your growing desire. Your body shifts until you’re hovering over Carol’s dark blue strap, pretending like you can’t see the way she attempts to slam herself inside your already fluttering walls.

“You wanna fill me up, Captain? Is that what my good girl wants?”

It’s like a switch is instantly flipped inside her brain. Like everything else disappears until she’s left hanging onto your every word. She’s never been like this with someone else, much less felt like this. Felt such an intense devotion that she genuinely longs to submit to every one of your wishes and commands.

You could tell her to jump and she’d leap into the air without a second thought, ropes be damned.

She nods rapidly. “Yes! Yes, I want to fill you up so bad. Please, y/n.”

“If only your little Avengers friends could see you now, all tied up and desperate for me…” You trail off as you sink down onto her, relishing in the unashamed moans she can’t hold back.

You know how much she loves fucking you in this position and you also know how crazy it’s making her that she can’t control your speed. She can’t control anything in this moment. Not the speed of your movements, not the sounds she makes, not the unrelenting bucking of her hips.

The power rests in your hands despite how much of it runs through her veins.

“Fuck-” Your groan brings her back to reality. “You’re so good for me.”

Carol stares at you with wide eyes, plump lips parted just enough to allow all her sinful sounds to slip out unrestricted. Her entire world revolves around you, around the pleasure only she can give you…even when she's not allowed to touch you.

It would be so easy for her to break free, you both know that, and yet somehow, her choosing to remain trapped beneath you makes everything feel ten times stronger than usual.

Maybe that's what makes the coil in your stomach tighten faster than usual or maybe it's the way the blonde can't stop herself from messily thrusting up into your drenched cunt and burying her strap inside of you.

You’re both lost in each other, your nails digging into her shoulder in search of some stability while she works tirelessly to bring you to new heights. Heights she couldn’t even dream of reaching despite her love for flying.

“y/n,” she mumbles. “Please, I want- I need you.”

“Yeah? You wanna cum already, Captain?”

She shakes her head, the thinnest layer of tears gathering in her stormy eyes. “No, I want to make you cum. Please, can I?”

The mere question has you clenching around the toy but it’s the devoted look that’s plastered onto her face that makes you fall apart. For that brief moment, she’s not Captain Marvel, she’s not an Avenger, she’s just the woman you love more than anything else in the universe, the woman who loves you enough to trust you like this.

You fall over the edge without warning which triggers an avalanche of feelings inside Carol. The two of you slump into each other in a mess of shaking limbs and hoarse voices that cry out the other’s name.

It’s messy and loud and perfect.

It’s unclear how much time you both spend in the throes of your powerful orgasms but when you finally come back to yourself, you find your girlfriend’s face buried into the crook of your neck, trails of salty tears staining her warm cheeks. It takes you another second to realize what she’s mumbling but the second the words register, all your worry melts away.

“I love you-” It comes out more like a broken sob than a beautiful confession but you don’t mind.

You gently run your fingers through her messy hair, silently watching the shudders that your affection creates. “I love you too. You’re perfect, Carol.”

She doesn’t reply but she also doesn’t argue. She just stays in your arms, basking in the feeling of being loved.

Of finally being home.

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darksturnz · 9 days ago

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“You better get on your knees and eat this pussy right,”

small blurb cause i can’t get this verse out of my head.. ib any boxer!matt + dealer! triplet au and any dancer!readers! ( @sturnioz fb!chris + shy!reader for the mean x shy dynamic!). contents: smut smut smut smut smut, little plot, no actual p in v, fingering, matt’s a little mean?

The video starts with you up close, dark cherry-red nails brushing against your bottom lip, your mouth quirking into that teasing little smirk Matt both loves and hates. Megan Thee Stallion’s Plan B is blaring, and when you mouth the words, “You better get on your knees and eat this pussy right,” before pulling back to show off the tight little outfit you’re wearing—a cropped black corset that’s barely containing you, paired with a leather mini skirt so short it’s sinful—it’s game over for him.

The camera pans down slowly, your nails running along your hips like you know exactly what you’re doing. You’re wearing knee-high boots that make your legs look endless, and the glint of gold rings on your fingers as they trace your exposed skin is the final fucking straw. Matt doesn’t even hear the second line of the song because the anger is already boiling under his skin.

He hadn’t seen you before you left. He was at the gym, and by the time he got to yours, you were already gone, out with Jean and Oliver, leaving him to deal with a shitty phone call from his supplier. It wasn’t until hours later, when the apartment was quiet and he was mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, that he saw the video. And fuck, it had him spiraling.

15k likes in under three hours. Men and woman in the comments losing their goddamn minds. “She’s so fine, raw no question.”“Whoever she’s with ain’t doing enough i can promise you that.”

The phone nearly cracks in his grip.

By the time you stumble through the front door, laughing with Jean and smelling like tequila, Matt is sitting in the dimly lit living room, jaw tight and leg bouncing. The second he hears your boots click against the floor, he’s on you, gripping your wrist in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Matt—”

“Nah, Shut the fuck up,” he literally growls, dragging you past a startled Jean and into your bedroom. The door slams shut, and the lock clicks before you even process what’s happening.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” you ask, yanking at your wrist, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“Oh, m’way past mad, kid,” he spits, shoving you down onto your bed. His hands are on you immediately, yanking your skirt up to your hips and exposing your lace panties. “The fuck were you thinkin’, postin’ that shit?”

“It’s just a video,” you say, rolling your eyes even as your body betrays you, thighs clenching under his heated glare. “Relax.”

“‘Relax,’” he mocks, dragging your panties down your legs and tossing them aside. His fingers press against your slick folds, and his jaw tightens. “Yeah, you’re real fuckin’ relaxed, huh? Out there lettin’—…lettin’ random dudes see you like this while you’re already drippin’ for me. Don’t play dumb, baby. You knew what you were doin’.”

You bite back a moan, your nails digging into his forearm as he slides two fingers into you, curling them just right. “y’ever thought— that…maybe I wanted to piss you off,” you murmur, the bratty edge in your voice clear.

Matt chuckles darkly, leaning over you, his breath hot against your ear. “Congratulations, kid. Mission fuckin’ accomplished.”

You arch against his hand, but the smirk on your face doesn’t fade. “I dunno, there was a few guys at SINNERS who look capable.”

His movements still for half a second before he’s on you again, faster, harder, his thumb circling your clit in a way that makes your back bow. “Say that shit again,” he growls, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Go on.Tell me how they’d have you like this—already halfway fucked out and cryin’ before a single orgasm.”

You gasp, your head falling back, but he’s relentless, dragging another orgasm out of you before you can catch your breath.

“Answer me, petal” he demands, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers keep moving. “No other dude got you beggin’ like this, not even Mr. Fiancé, huh?”

“N-No,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, your body trembling beneath him.

“Yeah that’s right,” he mutters, his lips brushing over yours in a surprisingly soft kiss. “You’re mine. Wouldn’t want you to forget it.”

But Matt doesn’t stop—not even when your thighs clamp around his wrist, not when your voice cracks as you whimper his name. His fingers are relentless, fucking into you at a pace that has you spiraling, trembling, completely at his mercy. He’s watching you with that smug, arrogant smirk plastered on his face, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Look at this fuckin’ a mess,” he mutters, his free hand pinning your hip down as you squirm. “All that attitude, all that fuckin’ mouth earlier, look at you now. Barely holdin’ on. Kinda pathetic kid don’t you think?” He punctuates the words with a curl of his fingers, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jerk.

You gasp, clutching at the sheets, trying to twist away from the overwhelming sensation. “Matt, I—I can’t,” you stutter, but even you don’t sound convinced.

“Can’t?” he mocks, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’re takin’ it right now, aren’t you?” His thumb presses hard against your clit, and you cry out, the sound desperate and wrecked. “That’s what I thought.”

You’re losing it, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the pleasure builds and builds, your body shaking under his touch. But you’re still clinging to that last shred of defiance, even as you’re coming undone. “Fuck you,” you manage to spit out, though the words lack any real bite.

Matt laughs, low and dark, leaning down until his lips are brushing against your ear. “Such a naughty mouth. You literally asked for this, petal.” His teeth scrape against your earlobe, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Matt, please, s’not funny anymore” you whimper, your nails digging into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin. You’re teetering on the edge, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around his fingers, in the way your voice breaks every time you try to speak.

“Please what?” he taunts, his pace quickening. “Use your words, baby. You’re a smart girl, tell me what you need.”

You’re too far gone to care about your pride anymore. “Please, I need—need to come,” you gasp, your voice barely audible.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his tone softer but still laced with that edge of control. “That’s all you had to say.” His fingers drive into you one last time, and the orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing over you so hard it leaves you trembling and gasping for air.

When you finally come down, Matt finally slows his movements, pulling his fingers out of you with deliberate care. He leans back, watching as you lay there, completely wrecked, your chest heaving and your legs still trembling.

“Don’t wear no dumb shit like this again without me there,” he mutters, his voice quieter now but just as firm. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your face. “Got some fucked up feelings about it, understand?”

You nod your head weakly, your voice hoarse as you whisper, “Understood.”

AUTHORS NOTE: me dropping a teaser at 2am when i work in thirty minutes and haven’t had a lick of sleep in the last 40 hours.. <333 anywho! proper boards n better credits for anything remotely similar will be posted later.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13

#ⓘdarksturnz #𐔌 .⋮petal!reader.ᐟ꒱#𐔌 .⋮dealer!matt.ᐟ꒱#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo drabble #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut #christopher sturniolo #Spotify

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postmortamore · 1 month ago

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guys the ships are great but i need you to understand just how *important* to me the platonic relationships/platonic ships are in pwaa. the fuckig... FAMILY :(

i dont even have the words for it so heres a list of non romantic character relationships (canon or otherwise) that make me lose my mind

- miles and gregory edgeworth: i need more soft content with these two. gregory just being a supportive father and miles feeling safe enough to be himself 😭 i recently read a fic in which miles talks to gregory through maya and theres a lot of potential with that concept... maybe i should add a fic like that in my "to write" list but its already soso long

- phoenix and maya: i am so incredibly soft for them i live for any interaction they have... a hugeee part of it is that their relationship reminds me so much of me and my brother, to the point where my brother literally reads mayas lines with my voice in his head ☹️☹️ theyre so siblings theyre so cute... theyre everything to me. they argue and bicker and make fun of eachother but they cant live without eachother ☹️☹️

- gumshoe and miles: gumshoes heart is soso so big and hes so loyal to miles EVEN though miles is a bitch and everyone says hes evil... gumshoe really does trust him with his life and vice versa, even if miles is emotionally constipated. i just love their dynamic

- pearl and maya and phoenix: 😭😭😭 maya and her smaller and even more clueless self. pearl latching onto maya and phoenix after losing literally every family she had and they just go along with it for her sake. phoenix is SUCH a girldad even before he actually became a father he just cannot stop being so paternal.

- franziska and miles: do i even need to say it. theyre just so ridiculously stuffy and were both raised to not show weakness or emotional but despite having that in common *they still love eachother*. they still help eachother and they still have rivalries and miles will go to her at the airport to try to steer her in the right direction so she doesnt make the mistakes that miles did.

- miles and adrian andrews: they mirror eachother. miles read her like a book because he knows exactly what she felt like. i will forever die with the headcanon that miles really did attempt suicide but it failed and he decided to leave the country. he describes her as dependent and weak willed and played up in court like he didnt care if she killed herself but miles... everyone around him said that was out of character for him. he was truly just trying to get through the case. idk brother in law miles to adrian andrews is a concept i need to explore further.

#millierambles #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #franziska von karma #phoenix wright #pearl fey #maya fey #current im on the stolen turnabout so if theres any mischaracterization due to me not playing the rest of the series i apologize #but pwaa is gonna make me go insane #silly little lawyer game

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neyafromfrance95 · 20 days ago

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Um hello so I just saw Nosferatu and am losing my mind. I’ve been seeing the Haladriel comparisons but wasn’t really taking it seriously, HOWEVER insane that Ellen literally calls Orlok “you DECEIVER” (!!!!) + goes on about how she abhors him, he’s the bane of her life etc. etc. while almost making out with him lmao… And the way he angrily accuses HER of “afflicting” HIM… delicious. TROP s3 need to take cues from this for future Haladriel interactions for real (including the getting freaky with it part imo, but I will settle for a kiss in the context of Galadriel distracting Sauron from his own nefarious plots — which would be a pure and noble sacrifice on her part no doubt…)

FR FR !!!

before i watched it, i knew i would love it as sauron x galadriel shipper, but i did not expect ellen and orlok's interaction to be giving saurondruel this much!!!

when ellen insists that she loves her husband and orlok says that still her passion is BOUND to him??? when she says she is repulsed by his darkness and he tells her that it's not him, it's her nature that's also dark??? her defeating the darkness with her light by actually accepting and facing it??? it all being a metaphor for her DESIRES, not only sexual desires but desires for more, for much more than she could ever have in the society that confined and humbled her??? and orlok being the only one she connects with bc he represents that part of her own self that is seen as dark by others? when the professor tells her that her "otherness" is special and in some other time she could have been a high priestess, basically telling her that what others see as the darkness is her power??? ellen being repulsed by orlok but still desiring him? orlok hungering for oneness with ellen? them having a mind-connection? the fact that ellen's desire awakes him, that he lives because of her??? ellen warning that he is coming but no one believing her until it's too late? orlok being obsessed with her hair? him wanting her to give in willingly???

this is galadriel/annatar au. thematically, at least, those are very similar dynamics, imo.

and yes, they should take notes for s3 bc it's easy to recreate smtng nosferatu-esque with haladriel. take away ellen saying that orlok took her as a lover and the kiss, their desire could easily be interpreted as "ambiguous" and metaphorical, so same can be done with sauron x galadriel, especially if their mind-bond is now straightened and sauron starts groping to see galadriel and galadriel starts struggling with her new powers!!!

#haladriel #saurondriel #sauron x galadriel #the rings of power #rings of power #sauron #galadriel #trop #rop #galadriel x halbrand #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu

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ofbreathandflame-archive · 1 year ago

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stans are actually very funny bc they often time talk themselves into the weirdest corners.

the whole point of criticizing acosf and its handling of nesta's character is to prove the point that sjm...doesn't like nesta as a character. that's is literally THE point - that sjm often abandons her moral themes (abuse, trauma, assault, etc.,) for character's deemed as undesirable or villainous to a capacity - and its through the handling of those 'vilified' (i.e. main character opposed - not even villianous) that we can gauge the extent to which sjm actually believes the ideals of her story. like - it is alarming that the only tolerable, empathetic parts of the a court of silver flames were the moments you could tell where ripped straight from sjm's own life (the hiking, training, mind-stilling etc.,). any actual characteristics about nesta weren't explored...like at all. her relationship with feyre and elain, with her mother, her trauma from her sexual assault, her conflicted relationship with her grandmother, her life before the cabin, her life during the cabin. in 800 pages - i still don't know mama archeron's name. what was life like in the cabin? what did nesta do all day? what was the dynamic? what was going on between elain and nesta?i don't know anything about her and nesta, we don't know anything about nesta's human life, her conversation with clare bedor, her relationship with clare beddor, moments with her dad - not even touching moments with him (and part of this story is her finding love for her dad). mind you we read 800+ pages and we learned absolutely nothing about her.

we essentially read sjm's emotional journey in one part, and a taming of the shrew narrative in another. i think the only way sjm had genuine interest in exploring nesta's story is through essentially self-inserting herself and avoiding the actual plot-points she set up in the first three books. like did nesta have childhood friends? if losing the wealth so drastically affected her life wouldn't she reminisce about it a lot? would she yearn for her mother? who were her childhood friends, how did she function at court?

and the whole point of saying alll of that is to argue the misuse of these topics - serious discussions abuse are only reserved for certain situation, and others its completely undermined in a way that only reinforces the negative ideals to begin with. (i.e. nesta needs to abused bc..." "the intervention was harsh but" - pair that with discussion around what feyre needed in acomaf - and it makes much more sense).

nesta antis often jump between the fact that nesta is so favored that sjm nerfed feysand to 'redeem her' and arguing that sjm secretly does everything in her power to embarrass and secretly laugh at people who like nesta's character. (1) we've gotta pick one or the other (2) in my humble opinion - sjm would have always given feyre a pregnancy plot like this regardless of whether this was nesta's book or elain. its literally so sjm. im shocked people are surprised she pulled the pregnancy as she did.

as with the tamlin discussion we had under this post - i think the story undermines its discussion of abuse with feyre/tam by essentially insinuating that tamlin (when placed in the same victimized position as feyre) should have sucked it up and braved out his abuse with amarantha (and the same with rhysand as well - esp with the deliberate foil of rhysand's 'willingness' v. tamlin's unwillingness). and when we start to have a real conversation ultilizing our own irl analysis and standards we really see how harmful and rather sisyphean the conversation becomes. instead of engaging with these topics earnestly, they only engage in them to prove a point - which is how the issue began in the first place. the whole issue with rhysand isn't the fact that he engages with harmful, potentially villainous positions. no - its that the book wants to prove that tamlin is wrong by justifying rhysand's actions. so even though rhysand and tamlin almost always have the same written and expressed intentions in their abuse of feyre, the book flocks to justify one, and eschews the other. and thats why we get so much reactionary critcism of rhys that is surface: people only admit the problems because they know antis will, not because they actually believe their are issues in the story.

and perhaps im still speaking into a void here but i can tell there's tension between pro stans wanting to have these serious conversations but understanding they can only really introspect so far until the conversation begin to prod at the validity of the topics being brought forth. so stans have to jump between invalidating the romantasy genre ("its just faeries") and treating this book as a serious topic (cue: "sjm put a hotline in the back of the book"). this is also the exact reason why the racism conversations stall (i.e. why inherent superiority is always passively emphasized - despite cc1 + 2 centering human oppresion there is no human in the ensemble cast. despite the fact that illyrian women are the most oppressed - rhys has no illyrian women - or reg illyrians (not his brothers) in his inner circle. aelin 'sacrificing' her human body).

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti feyre #anti acosf #anti feysand #anti sjm: nesta archeron #anti nessian #queue0118

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randomness-is-my-order · 1 year ago

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from the start, i’ve mainly been praising the show and have spoken against the minor nitpicks but i think some constructive criticism won’t go amiss. i’m always going to advocate for praise + critique but since literally all my posts praise the show (character-work, writing, directing, cinematography, literally all aspects) i’ll focus on the main issues i have with it for this one.

i’m only saying this because i do think there is merit to the conversation: yes, i agree with many other people saying the show has a very real lack of tension. the stakes are established, potential horrific consequences are alluded to, but the instances in which the action needs to take place falls short. i wanted to see percy and annabeth and grover SHOWING their inexperience through stumbling on traps (which would automically raise the tension in both medusa’s lair and the lotus casino), i wanted them to make mistakes and quick-think their way out of it. sure, there’s something to be said about conveying annabeth’s intelligence but aunty em was a great way of highlighting percy & annabeth’s dyslexia by having them be unable to read the signs. the statues could have been removed from the yard–a move that would show medusa’s intelligence instead. similarly, the fun of the lotus casino was about the creepiness that slowly and steadily builds on the backdrop of this harmless kid carival like setting. percy, annabeth and grover’s intelligence and knowledge has already been built in other obstacles so seeing them actually fall for well-set traps seems to me like a much more nuanced portrayal of the kids, their capabilities but also their weaknesses. speaking of, i was waiting for one moment of annabeth making some mistake, showing some flaw. i think it would have been cool if she was the one to lose her drachma given that she was undoubtedly jostled hard while clinging to the cerberus. grover already felt like he messed up after the lotus casino and having percy reassure annabeth after her drachma screwup would really nail in that yeah she’s intelligent and wise but she is also just 12 and she can be a bit reckless too.

honestly, i’m a sucker for flaws. i love my emotional percabeth bits to death but would i have rejoiced just as much had both of them been a little more unempathetic towards each other and been at each other’s throats for a few more episodes? yes.

i love show grover and his earnestness and savagery in manipulating a god but do i love my little coward goat boy who slowly but surely proves himself to be capable and brave? who keeps asking for food at the most inopportune moments but really has percy’s back at the end of the day? who is severely unconfident but slowly learns to trust himself more? yes! i just feel like the grover we have now was my imagining of grover in book 2-3. we never got to see his major flaws so i’m just wondering what kind of upward arc will he have and will it be as impressive as the books.

i really really appreciated that percy’s impertinence was actually something he paid a price for. it will make his continued rebellion against the gods that much more intentional. that said, i would have liked percy’s relative ignorance of the mythic world to still remain. having sally make him so prepared that he sometimes manages to know obscure greek stories sort of blends their roles in the trio. yes, each one of them is layered and there is no one super rigid position they must adhere to but this is storytelling on television at the end of the day, the characters should have unique traits to distinguish themselves. for me, percy’s intelligence was about his presence of mind and deductive reasoning which the lotus casino scene in the book beautifully portrays. similarly, his knowledge was less about facts he knew and more about the street smarts he had acquired. in some way, annabeth and percy have a weird overlap in characteristics (show annabeth feels as sassy as show percy which is not the book dynamic imo).

i don’t see these as minor nitpicks btw – i think show portrayals have changed these characters through small changes and while that is okay, it also leaves room for improvement before it is too late. there are many considerations to be made–percy’s grief, annabeth’s tackling of complex feelings about the gods, grover’s guilt, ofc. but it’s, i think, a valid critique of the show that the main trio’s dialogue and actions could be made more faithful to the books.

also, i think the direction can be more dynamic, especially in exposition-heavy scenes. there are ways to make info-dumping fun and i’m sure the directors are more than capable of exploring these options moving forward.

there are many more smaller things i would point out but i don’t want to make this longer that it already is. many people handwave alot of the critique saying that the show is for children to which i say: children’s media doesn’t mean lesser quality media–the books were literally made for children yet on tv, many scenes are sanitised, very little left not on-the-nose. i have myself mentioned how certain scenes could be impossible to film with 12 yr olds (medusa beheading) without harming them mentally in some way so i appreciate the clever sanitization there. but the action sequences do need much more edge and that’s okay to acknowledge. the show we have now is great but it is absolutely not without flaws and normalising discussion about the flaws is only going to benefit the show moving forward.

and lastly, rick might be the author of the books but there is no rule that once you like an author’s work, you will have to like all of that author’s writing. just because rick made some final decisions does not take away the fandom’s rights to question those decisions and critique the screenwriting. there is seriously no use putting him on a pedestal–and i say this as someone who adores his writing in pjo.

let’s let the fandom breathe a little. let the mild, politely conveyed critique become commonplace as much as the ardent praise because i think that’s the balance we need to ensure that season two delivers on all the fronts that season one was unable to.

that’s all. thanks for reading lol. have a nice day. :))

#pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy pjo #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #walker scobell #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo tv spoilers #pjo tv crit

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anarchy-and-piglins · 3 months ago

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Hey so uh how does one actually go about watching dsmp lore??? I tried watching it in full once from a big ass yt playlist that was meant to have all the important stuff but it was loads of giant long vods that I don't have the attention span for with tiny amounts of relevent lore and I didn't make it very far. I'm assuming ur not supposed to watch it like a show, right??? Like you don't have to watch literally everything that happened???? I could probably just cherrypick some important+interesting plot points and watch them in a vague order????? How do you people do this

Ah yes, DSMP lore, the forever discussion. I'll be honest, it's not easy to get into the DSMP lore because you have a bunch of different POVs that cover a bunch of different plot lines and events, and at least some of this is lost media (streams were not always archived so there are big chunks of people's POVs missing).

I agree that trying to watch ALL of it (all POVs, all storylines) is not a good approach. What is a good approach might be subjective, but here's my personal advice for the best way to experience the DSMP canon as a latecomer:

1 - Pick a specific POV and start with that

A lot easier than trying to watch all in one go or even cherry-picking 'important events' is to pick one specific person's POV and try to watch all of that. You can use a CC whose style you mash with. Personally, I would highly recommend Techno's POV not because I'm biased (though I am) but because he's one of the few CC who has a convenient playlist with all his streams, so you get a complete experience. He also was reasonably involved in a lot of 'bigger' events without streaming daily to the point it gets overwhelming to backwatch his POV. The downside of his POV is you'll miss the pre-Pogtopia stuff, but you can use his POV as a starting point to decide what other CC you'd want to see their POVs of, or watch more POVs of a specific event AFTER you've experienced it within the canon timeline. I do not recommend watching them in a vague order to start out though, I do feel you'd significantly lose the impact of the story.

2 - Yes, you have to watch the giant long vods (kinda)

Yes, the dsmp has a lot of random long 'filler' vods in between big events, but that filler often does build characters and makes you attached to them, so I don't really think skipping them completely and only watching compilations of big events is really going to give you a good experience. People also drop surprise background info in the vods sometimes, there's roleplay beyond just the Big Events (tm). At the very least, you should skim the large vods or maybe play them in the background while doing something else. If you pick a CC you really like, their long vods won't feel like a chore (again, Techno is great for this since he's so entertaining imo).

3 - But also you don't HAVE to watch the long vods (or anything)

On the other hand, the upside of the multiple POV thing is that you don't really like, have to experience everybody's POV. It's okay (and part of the true dsmp experience) to miss out on stuff. I never got into Kinoko Kingdom, I never got into Karl's whole time travel thing, I know very little about Puffy or Ponk or even Eret. You can just stick to your chosen POV and even if that's all you ever invest in, you got yourself a lovely little story to follow. Do not feel the pressure of needing to partake in EVERY plot line or character because I don't think there are many dsmp fans wo have done that and had a good time lol.

4 - You can get your lore from other sources

If you do want to know more about specific events, characters, dynamics, etc and don't want to watch a million POVs, there's really no shame in getting your lore from other sources. Fanart, fanfic, animatics, the wiki, transcripts or lore analysis fans wrote, etc. My only advice is to stay mindful that fans are biased and in the dsmp fandom specifically some people get really fanon-y with their interpretations, so keep that in the back of your mind. Try to take everything with a grain of salt or not just listen to the stans of one character, because they might be misrepresenting canon lol.

I'm not a big fan of a lot of the compilation videos that try to condense the entire dsmp because they often seem super biased to one character and you lose all the charm of the multi-pov approach, hence why I don't advise them as, like, the 'main' or 'first' way to get into dsmp. BUT if you already watched your chosen blorbo's POV and you just want to get some more bite-sized content on one specific event or character, some compilation videos can be nice. Just, again, be aware that you're losing at least SOME context and seeing a very condensed version.

If you want to partake in any kind of lore analysis or discussion for the love of god make sure you got your canon facts straight bc I'm so sick of people bringing fanon/heacanons into actual lore posts- -gets shot-

5 - Just find somebody who is mentally ill /j

In the same vein as 'it's okay to get your lore from other sources', other sources can be 'a random dude on tumblr'. There's a ton of people who are still very passionate about specific characters/lore from the dsmp or the dsmp as a whole, and who probably are more than willing to talk about their favs and lay out the lore for you. I know I certainly need only minimal encouragement to yap about c!Techno and his lore and his relationships for HOURS, and I'm knowledgeable about canon dsmp lore in general, so even if it's not about c!Techno I don't mind answering questions. Curious about a specific character/event/lore thing? Just ask somebody. It's free, it's quick, it's going to make a mentally ill person's day /hj

Again with this one I do advise keeping in mind that some people are biased and might confuse fanon with canon (I'm reasonably good at not doing that, I'd say, but I am a little biased towards c!Techno to some degree probably), and I'd only advise doing it after you've already watched your chosen POV at least for a little while and only use it to get extra info or other perspectives. Unless you wanna ask somebody to lay out like, THE ENTIRE LORE of the server which seems kinda silly. But I bet you'd still find somebody who is willing to do that (sombody is me).

Sorry for yapping so much lol

#thoughts #asks #dsmp

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four-unwell-lesbians · 7 months ago

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new favourite character dynamic btw. Groups of four where each character is a stress response fighting for control.... if u even care

My examples are dungeon meshi, mean girls, heathers, rwby, pitch perfect, doki doki literature club. I'm gonna focus on fight/flight characters. I'll do freeze/fawn in another post because those two get DEEP into character psyche

So here's my summary of this character dynamic

They parallel each other as a subplot.

Fight is the most proactive, flight is the most avoidant.

Fight wants to lead but struggles to keep control, while flight is the 'morally pure'/superior one

Fight has anger issues, flight is the group's secret keeper.

Freeze balances them out and disconnects from the plot. Fawn romanticises the narrative's dangers to involve the preoccupied characters in the plot.

So much proof this is like a formula (flight on left, fight on right):

Also notice all of these duos are imo the ones to talk shit in the background. They're all gossip buddies I swear.

Bulleted explanations below the cut:

DUNGEON MESH (Marcille and Chilchuk):

Protecting themselves from dungeon food/change/indivuality (dungeon meshi is about embracing this). eg Marcille wants them to live as long as elves (ambrosia) and Chilchuck is TRYING to die young

Protests and refuses vs implied to secretly skip meals

Tries to call the shots (usually wrong) vs activist. union man.

Explosive emotions (literal) vs living a double life. also he ran from his wife, actual flight response moment

awful quality gif for you i dotn think it works

MEAN GIRLS:

Constant arguments/simultaneous somewhat codependent mental breakdowns are subplots for Cady's advantage

Immediate disproportionate revenge vs 'please don't tell Regina'

Loses her power in like a week vs repeated 'I'm such a good friend!'

Screaming for like two straight minutes vs hair full of secrets

aouughhh save me winona ryder..............

HEATHERS (Heather Duke and Veronica):

Power struggle friendship matches the plot's fight for control of the school. Only two left, only two who didn't attempt suicide

Only one who wants leadership vs refuses to acknowledge abuse

Tries to be a leader but didn't have Chandler's finesse vs EXTREMELY pretentious with 0 accountability

More sadistic than angry (point is she copes with petty revenge) vs themed around a diary and covering up murders

HALF WAY THROUGH! Let me remind you of the summary:

They parallel each other as a subplot.

Fight is the most proactive, flight is the most avoidant.

Fight wants to lead but struggles to keep control, while flight is the 'morally pure' one

Fight has anger issues, flight is the group's secret keeper.

RWBY:

Daughters of good institutions made corrupt by their abusers on opposite sides of the war. Their conflict IS the human vs faunus conflict

Wants to reform her company vs ran away to forget her company

Bosses the group around at first vs literally flees constantly

Canonically described as 'nice but a little bit bitchy' vs mysterious backstory

DDLC (Natsuki and Yuri)

Both have regressive/closed minded views on literature and learn to see past surface level assumptions like the player has to

Pushes for change in the group vs embarassed by everything

Demands control over others vs once again EXTREMELY pretentious

Panicked defensive attacks vs by far the most unhinged but covers it up to an insane degree

Pitch Perfect (Aubrey and Beca)

Pitch Perfect is about empowerment and individuality, they've found different ways to deal with too much pressure

Forces the group to be extremely uniform vs 'rebel with a voice'

Can't cope with leader responsibilities vs reluctant to be a Bella

'Blows under pressure' vs mysterious Beca with hidden talents

So. Yeah i have even more examples of this but I limited myself to 6. this was too muhc

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 9 months ago

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It's weird to expect lb to be able to read cn mind and called her a bad partner for it. But it's even weirder for lb to ignore cn WHEN HES OBVIOUSLY IN DISTRESS and not called her a bad partner for it because I think called her a bad partner for ignoring it is understandable and justified especially since she consider herself as his boss.

Every time I bring up this conflict, I try to make it clear that I don't think Ladybug was blameless, I just think Chat Noir's writing was worse. Let's walk through the problem to show what I mean.

Season four stars with Marinette extremely stressed by her new Guardian status. In Truth and Lies, the first episodes of the season, we get this:

Ladybug: Will you cut it out with the practical jokes? I could have really hurt you! Cat Noir:(answering while hanging by the yo-yo) M'lady, the only thing that really hurts me is when you make me go on patrol by myself. (sighs, relaxing his posture) I even missed your little angry pout. Ladybug: Sorry, Kitty Cat, I'm a bit over my head at the moment. (pulling him up) Cat Noir: I bet! "Guardian of the Miraculous", big name, big responsibility!

This is also the start to Chat Noir communicating poorly. In this episode, he's straight up told that Ladybug is in over her head and he never once asks how he can help. In fact, we even get him saying this when asked how he feels about the change:

Truth: Cat Noir, tell me what- (interupted by Ladybug throwing a present at Truth) Ladybug: (covering her parasol with foil) ...do you think about my new role as guardian! Cat Noir: If it doesn't change things between us, then I'm good with it!

So not a great start to the season. I know people focused on Adrien's terrible treatment of Kagami in these episodes, but this Ladynoir dynamic was actually what rang alarm bells for me. I kept waiting for Chat Noir to offer his support since it was really, really obvious that Ladybug was in over her head since she was late to patrols, the last season literally ended with her losing her mentor figure, and, you know, she straight up told him that was what was going on?

The next episode is Gang of Secrets in which we see Marinette out her identity to Alya. I get why she did this, she needed support and her partner doesn't seem interested in giving it, but she can't say that for certain because she never asked him directly and she should have. Trusting Chat Noir over Alya would have allowed Ladynette to maintain the security of her secret identity - a thing she claimed was more important than ever - and to honor their partnership. At the very least, she should have told Chat Noir that Rena Rouge was now a full time holder so that he could account for that in battle and to minimize the fallout by owning up to her mistake asap. The longer a lie goes on, the worse the truth will hurt.

To Ladybug's credit, she does eventually acknowledge her mistake after the Scarabella incident:

Ladybug: You... must've been pretty surprised to discover there was another holder! (Silence. She sits beside Cat Noir.) Ladybug: I'm really sorry, Cat Noir. I should've told you. I mean, if I found out that you told someone about your secret identity, I'd... probably be upset, too. I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings.

This is a decent apology. She doesn't try to absolve herself of wrong doing. Instead, she acknowledges that what she did would hurt her, too, if the shoe were on the other foot. The only thing she loses points on is the fact that she doesn't tell him about Rena Furtive.

However, instead of agreeing with her and telling her that she has hurt him, Chat Noir says that she did nothing wrong and never once brings up how their weakened partnership is bothering him:

Cat Noir: You didn't hurt my feelings. You did everything right. Paris will always need a Ladybug superhero to watch over her. It's just... I realized that if one day that hero wasn't you, m'lady, since we don't know each other's identities, that means... I'd never see you again. Ever. And now, I just don't know if I can bear it.

This is the thing that I hate about this arc. The reason why I say Ladybug is blamed for not reading his mind. Especially because, three episodes later, we get Rocketear, which gives us this:

Cat Noir: Everyone has doubts now and then, (looks down) even me... Ladybug: Is everything okay, Cat Noir? Cat Noir: Yeah, yeah. (prepare his fist) Pound it! Ladybug: (fistbumps) Pound it!

Rocketear is the episode where Nino outs that he and Alya know each other's identities while acting like Ladybug said identities weren't a big deal even though that is very much not what happened. You'd think that Chat Noir would want to know the full story, but instead he just lies and says that everything is fine.

So we have two situations where the show allowed Ladybug to give Chat Noir a chance for clear and open communication and both times he turns her down.

What's worse is that he clearly starts making up stories in his head, leading to Kuro Neko, which starts with Adrien avoiding a fight on purpose as some sort of shit test. He then gets upset when Ladybug... doesn't lament his absence on national TV?

Clara: (from TV) By the way, where's Cat Noir? You've saved Paris without him quite a few times recently. Are you two at odds with each other? Carapace, Pegasus, Vesperia and Pigella: (from TV) Pound it! Ladybug: (from TV) Of course not, it's just that... umm, he's a partner like any other! The most important is to pick the best superheroes for each mission, with or without Cat Noir. No matter what, we've got a great team and we'll always be here to save Paris. (Adrien is shocked.) Adrien: (turns off the TV and sighs) "A partner like any other..."

Dude, what did you want her to do here? Complain that you flaked on her? Make Paris feel less safe by saying she doesn't know where you are? Imply that the fight was barely won without you? What are you doing? Plagg, you are completely failing as a mentor right now.

The shit test continues as Chat Noir goes to meet up with Ladybug now that the battle is over, arriving just as Ladybug has finished instructing the team on what to do:

Ladybug: Come on, guys! Hurry up before you all detransform. I'll meet you at rendezvous points. (The heroes jump away in different directions, and Ladybug starts typing something on her Yo-yo.) Cat Noir: Hey! Meow are you, m'lady? Ladybug: Great, thanks, but I gotta go retrieve all these Miraculous. Cat Noir: I could lend you a paw to help save time. Ladybug: Thanks, kitty cat, but it's a guardian's job to do it. Cat Noir: I know who some of them are, remember? I was there when you first gave them their Miraculous! Ladybug: You don't even know where their rendezvous points are, I don't have time to— Cat Noir: Playing cat and mouse is my forte, you know— Ladybug: (yelling) If you wanna save me time, stop wasting it in the first place! (Cat Noir gasps. As Ladybug swings away, Cat Noir clenches his fist.) Cat Noir: And take my Miraculous back when you're done!

So Ladybug doesn't publicly chastise Chat Noir for missing the battle and rejects an offer to help because of very legitimate timing concerns, leading to Chat Noir quitting because she failed his stupid, petty, childish tests. Realistic writing? Yes. Writing that paints Ladybug as the one in the wrong? No.

Going into this episode, Ladybug has no idea that things are messed up between them even though she has actually kept communication lines open. She asks him if things are okay, but he lies. And when he's ready to quit? He plays stupid games and wins a stupid prize. It's really not shocking that the next scene sees Ladybug totally baffled by what just happened:

Plagg: For a while now, you've been neglecting this camembert— I mean Cat Noir, and going on adventures with the all other cheeses! Ladybug: But he should be happy about it, it gives him more time off. Plagg: Cat Noir doesn't wanna have time off, Ladybug! He is in love with you! And your persistent calling on all the other heroes has broken his heart.

And how is she supposed to know that, Plagg? Was she supposed to assume that her partner was lying when he said he was fine? Because she did ask and he said that nothing was wrong. But something was wrong and it lead him to build up a story in his head, reading nonexistent intent into her actions, all of which is toxic and unhealthy communication.

I cannot stress how common this shit is. I've seen it so many times and I will own that I've done it in the past and wound up getting no support when I needed it because I'd directly told people I didn't and they committed the heinous crime of... believing me.

Here's the other thing, there are times when I'm in distress and legitimately don't want or need help. Times when I just need to be alone for a bit. So if someone asks me if I'm okay during those times, I'm probably just going to say, "Yeah, I just need a people break" or something like that. That's why the Scarabella scene is so bad. Ladybug can see that Chat Noir is in distress and he gives her a fully plausible answer: I'm not upset with you, I'm just saddened by the idea of losing you. And she believes him because why wouldn't she?

Same goes for Rocketear. It's reasonable for Ladybug to assume that Chat Noir is just shaken by the fight. She has no idea about the bombshell that Nino dropped right before the fight. She doesn't even know that Nino and Chat Noir are actually close friends, making this fight a lot more devastating than it looks at face value. Her actions here are not objectively wrong. They're only wrong if you know the whole story, including Adrien's needs. Things that she cannot know unless Chat Noir uses his words to tell her things.

I cannot over stress how much season four is a textbook example of denying yourself support because you cannot communicate your own needs. Is it an understandable character flaw for a character with Adrien's background to have? Yes. Absolutely. 100%. But it's still a character flaw. This season desperately needed an arc about Adrien learning to tell people what's wrong. Not because he's the only one in the wrong here, but because things cannot get better when Ladybug has no idea that she's hurting him. (Nino has no idea either, but let's keep our focus on Ladybug.)

One of the most important things you can do for your own mental well being is to dismiss the idea that your needs are the same as everyone else's. Everyone needs different amounts of attention and values different behavior based on things like their upbringing and life events.

I get the feeling that I'm wired pretty similar to Marinette. At least, it influences how I write her because I can go months without talking to my best friends and still call them my best friends, a trait we all share because two of use are artsy introverts and two of us are moms to young kids, which allows for very little free time. Meanwhile, my SO and his best friend spend hours on the phone almost every week. I swear that those two go into withdrawal if they don't talk at least once every seven days. If months went by without them talking? Something would be very wrong, but the exact same time gap isn't even remotely concerning when it comes to my friends. It's something my SO and I had to figure out when we got together because I need a lot less attention than he does. But we communicated and found a balance that we continue to work to communicate about so that he doesn't feel neglected and I don't feel overwhelmed by too little me time.

What I'm trying to say is Marinette wasn't horribly wrong for assuming that Chat Noir was telling her the truth or that he liked having a larger team so he had less responsibility. Those are reasonable assumptions. Especially since he never actually indicated that he wanted more responsibility until he was ready to quit and decided to shit test her by pushing for more to do when she was stressed and on a timer.

I do think that she should have offered it to him before that or - at the very least - the show should have clearly stated why she didn't do that since it apparently had nothing to do with Chat Blanc trauma like we all thought it did. I'm not saying that she's blameless or perfect or that there weren't things she could have done better. It's just really hard for me to look at Chat Noir's behavior in season four and go, "Oh yeah, he's the injured party here. Ladybug holds all the blame and did everything wrong." She did many things wrong, but generally speaking, she owned her faults and tried to keep communication channels open. Chat Noir chose to ignore those chances to talk or otherwise try to express his needs in a clear and understandable manner.

We'll end with one final point to drive this home: You said that she's his boss. Well, if my boss asked me, "is everything okay with the project?" and I said, "yes" while freaking out about the upcoming deadline that I'm probably going to miss because he's given me too much work, the issue is not all on my boss. It's on both of us. Him for overloading me and me for not telling him I'm overloaded. You could even argue that it's mostly on me because I'm the only one who can properly gauge my own ability to do a given workload. As soon as it was too much, I should have said something. And if I don't feel like my boss is approachable? Then I should quit. But that isn't the situation I'm in and it doesn't appear to be the one that Chat Noir was in, either. He wanted to stay part of the team, he just totally failed to tell Ladybug how being on the team was making him feel.

People magically knowing what you need and how you feel is a myth. I promise you, most people in this world do not want to cause you pain, but if you cannot clearly express when someone is causing you pain, then you will continue to get hurt by people who would be very happy to not hurt you if they actually knew that their actions were causing you pain.

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #adrien deserves better #marinette deserves better #I do give Luka a bit of a side eye for not getting involved after Wishmaker though #Dude's supposed to be some sort of empath and he's at his best when he's in a mentor role #He should have been allowed to be Adrien's Alya since Nino is clearly not suited for the role #Season four my belothed #kuro Neko salt #ml season 4 salt #you cannot expect someone to correct their behavior when no one is telling them that they're behaving badly #And no one calls Marinette out so of course she doesn't change her behavior!#She is shown to be willing to change when prompted too #She only knew that something was wrong post Scarabella because Alya told her #Do you really think Marinette was aware that she was hurting Chat Noir and just willfully kept doing it?#Or is it more likely that she just didn't know because no one told her?#Feel free to give Tikki some blame too because she's been a real shitty mentor for a while now #which breaks my heart because I love Tikki and Plagg and want them to be good mentors

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