#ahhh to be a rich white man

[overleftdown]

saltburn and privilege; an investigative tangent

god, where to begin.

i've seen a lot of people discussing this moving and specifically using the word "privilege," along with power, dominance, desire, control, greed, etc. me included. these are all very essential aspects of this movie. what i want to focus on is emerald fennell's nuanced portrayal of how different types of privilege interact. which one trumps the other? which types of privilege are more visible, while others are more subtle? what differentiates different levels and layers of privilege?

when emerald fennell describes the core of this movie, her inspiration for this script, she talks about desire versus untouchability. she chose the most absurd type of wealth to represent untouchability: the british aristocracy. old wealth, generational wealth, so far removed from the majority of their ancestors' sins that they can arguably ignore that the money they're standing on is dirty. and they live in fucking castles. this is one of the most unbelievable, gaudy, visible types of privilege you can imagine. everyone is entirely aware and feels entirely justified to call attention to this type of privilege.

oliver, being the main character, might be considered the least privileged within this movie. i'd like to take a critical look at this. this movie is not a straightforward class commentary; there is no traditional "the poor eat the rich" dynamic. because although some people perceive oliver as the least privileged character in this movie, he is incredibly privileged. oliver comes from a comfortable upper-middle-class home in the suburbs. oliver has two loving parents and two sisters. oliver is white. oliver is a man. interestingly, from oliver's perspective, he's not privileged at all. he hates the cattons because they are more wealthy, more comfortable, more untouchable. this extends to venetia and farleigh, even though oliver has applicable layers of privilege stacked above even them. he knows he has a certain type of power over them... yet he still hates them because they have one type of power he doesn't have.

that brings me to my next point. the existence of one type of privilege does not negate the effects of another, entirely different, type of privilege (or marginalization) [quote]. this is what venetia and farleigh's characters draw attention to. venetia experiences some of the same struggles as many women; she is ignored in her own household, perpetually existing within her brother's shadow (rosamund pike once lovingly pointed out that venetia does not have a single conversation with elspeth in this movie). she's insecure about her body and her worth, so she takes what little opportunity she has to use felix's friends as a form of self-fulfillment. farleigh is not only half black, but he's also queer, non-immediate family, and unaccustomed to english culture (specifically this type of english culture). farleigh is, in some ways, more financially unstable than oliver's family because his mom was too sheltered to understand money and his dad is, apparently, "a lunatic." (that's not to say farleigh isn't economically privileged because oh boy, he absolutely is).

this movie doesn't intend to incite pity from the viewers for any of these characters, and it generally doesn't. oliver is pathetically greedy, ungrateful, and desperate for a chance to lick the boots (or bathtubs) of those above him. venetia is pathetically bored of the privilege she does have yet is still so entrenched in emotional turmoil due to other areas in which she is marginalized. farleigh is pathetically attached to uninterrupted comfort and arbitrary white-centric expectations, constantly running from or attacking any threat of struggle. none of these people understand, comparatively, what the less fortunate experience. they are so ignorant to the bubble they exist in and just how grateful they should be for what monumental privileges they do have. but... felix.

felix is the epitome of privilege. oliver is specifically obsessed with felix. just like oliver, felix is a white man. but felix is more wealthy, more comfortable, more untouchable than oliver. oliver isn't as infatuated with farleigh and venetia because he's fully aware of the privilege they lack. he's fully aware of the privilege he holds above them, and he enthusiastically uses this power he has against them. to be in the position of oliver is to be consumed by jealousy and greed so bottomless that you will assert your dominance over any group that you're able to. felix doesn't need to do this. he's been handed every privilege under the sun and therefor welcomes the less fortunate with childlike interest and an equally childlike attention span. there's an aspect of farleigh and venetia's marginalization that is so invisible, so quiet and unassuming, that felix doesn't even notice it. he can't possibly be confronted by it. to be in the position of oliver is to understand what power you hold over others, because there is always more power to have.

racism, sexism, wealth, power, control, desire. there are so many facets of this movie that come into play. it may seem overwhelming, but this is... how things work. commentary on wealth is, and should be, equally a commentary on other areas of privilege. to be black and wealthy means different things than to be white and wealthy. to be a wealthy woman means different things than to be a wealthy man. to be rich to some also means you're much less rich than others, unless you're the richest person in the world. and, as this movie so beautifully portrays, to be richer than most doesn't make you less messy. the catton family is an ugly one, but also a complexly human one. each catton (or start) is jealous of someone else for another reason. each catton is emotionally damaged or incompetent for another reason. each catton has a different layer of privilege over the other. and each catton loves everyone in saltburn, because this is still a family, albeit a terrible one.

[takenbypeter]

Hey! Jumped on the Wonka train since yesterday and had two thumbs up! Can I request a Wonka x single mom reader where during the course of the movie they’ve built up a bit of a flirtation/relationship and he bonds with her kid (s) bc of course they love the magician with chocolate who makes their mama smile. Specifically I��m looking for like a scene towards the end of the movie or post-canon where he expresses interest in adopting her kid (or kids) and of course marriage so they can all be one real happy family together. Sorry if that description’s a lot

Beginnings of a New Dream

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1780

Ahhh this one is so bad 🙈 I tried with this one but honestly I hate it, Idk I think it's cause I can't relate to parent fics so I just suck at them but still I wanna thank you for requesting

“Where is he?” You said to yourself, as you turned around in search of the young child. You’ve left him alone only for one second and now, poof, he’s nowhere in sight. 

Your eyes scanned your surroundings quickly until it spotted a familiar tiny figure standing upright among the white snow and you wasted no time to catch up. 

“There you are,” you breathed out, worried tone evident in your voice, “I told you to stay put,” you reminded, before noticing the stranger who was with him. 

The unknown man was wearing a tattered overcoat, along with a worn out top hat. His outfit was very…unusual, to say the least. And he was quite handsome.

But what concerned you the most, was his outstretched hand which held a small piece of wrapped candy. 

You glanced at your son who was already chewing on what you could assume was a different piece, then back at the stranger who instantly understands how bad this looks. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Willy Wonka and I’m a chocolatier hoping to open my own shop very soon.”

“Mommy he can do magic!” Shouted your son.

“Oh he can now, can he?”

Willy Wonka. You’ve heard that name around town a few times, but this is the first you’ve seen of the man. 

He held out a hand to which you firmly shook, “well Willy Wonka, surely you, being a stranger and all, understand why I find it odd you’re giving candy to my son, knowing how dangerous it is for children to talk to, no less take candy from a stranger.”

“Ahem,” he let out an awkward cough as he retracted his hand. “I do apologize. It wasn’t my intention to cause fret. The little guy looked lost so my only intent was to keep him safe and occupied, honest.”

You squinted slightly unsure of the man. He stood arms up and opened in an innocent manner. His eyes were big with his thick eyebrows angled upwards at the middle before curving down. He did seem to be of no harm, and he did keep your son safe. 

You let out a relaxed sigh, “it’s alright, it’s my fault anyway, I should’ve kept an eye on my son. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Wonka’s shoulders dropped and his facial muscles relaxed at your pardon. 

You reached down holding your child close, “we’ll leave you be. Thanks again.” 

“Wait,” his voice rang out, catching you before you departed. “Would you like to try a piece?” He held out the same small piece of chocolate from earlier in his palm upwards towards you. 

You’re just about ready to decline the offer but again he speaks out, “it would really be helpful to have a mature opinion on this chocolate.”

You nodded caving in because honestly, who were you to deny free chocolate, your mind thought showing you to be just as gullible as a child. Taking the sweet treat, you pop it past your lips.

 Immediately a rich flavor overtakes your mouth and as you bite into it, a milky chocolate filling spreads around. 

It was quite good. 

“Mmm,” you nodded towards the man, “oh you are going to go far with this chocolate Mr.Wonka.”

“Thank you. Your words mean much to me,” he said genuinely, and you let out a chuckle, “you’re welcome Mr.Wonka,” you say, as you turn around, hand in hand with your son.

Willy watches you fade from view with a prominent smile on his lips, because although he knew his business would do well, with the justification of your words he felt he was on the right path. 

And honestly he hoped to meet you on this path again. 

Days passed until you met the self proclaimed chocolatier again. 

You had been traveling, hand clasped with your sons, when you spotted Mr.Wonka’s pop up store in the center of town. Initially wanting to pass the store along with the small crowd surrounding it, your plans are thwarted when your son pulls you towards it.

“It’s Mr.Wonka!” Shouted your son as he pointed towards the herd, “alright, alright we’ll just stop by.” He runs, his little feet taking him as fast as he can while dragging your body along.

“Mr.Wonka! Mr.Wonka!” Shouts your son as he rushes to the front with you following close behind. 

Willy’s eyes widened in recognition, “well hey there, little guy, back so soon?” He asks, prompting your son.

You watch, looking on as the chocolatier chats with your child. They go back and forth creating small talk, before Wonka pulls out one tiny piece of chocolate, He waves his hands around and the crowd watches as he turns one piece into two right in front of their eyes. 

“Woah, do it again!” Clapped your boy in amazement, and truthfully you felt the same way. 

He performs the trick once more and again your son laughs as Wonka gives him one of the pieces before turning to you and handing you the other piece. 

“You are surprisingly well with children.”

He shrugs, at the comment, “it helps when you have such a sweet child…who has such a pleasant mother.”

He tips his hat while all you can do is chuckle trying not to look too moved by the man’s remark. 

“Thank you Mr.Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy,” he adds and you nod while he returns his attention to other customers.

That Willy Wonka, what a charmer he was.

The week goes by before you run into the young man again, however, this time you were alone. 

“Willy!” You announced, trying not to sound too excited when you saw the chocolatier, who was walking along the street with a young lady. (You soon learned her name to be Noodle.)

You exchange greetings while Noodle makes her exit leaving you be. 

“What are you doing all alone? Where is the little one?” He asks, glancing around. “Oh I had to run some errands today so I had a friend watch him for me.”

Willy shares a soft smile, “he really is a brilliant kid, with a brilliant mother of course.”

“You flatter me Mr.Wonka.”

“Willy,” he reminds.

“Willy,” you repeat, sharing a look together before he blinks readjusting his focus. 

“Oh!” His eyes enlarge as he reaches behind him into his battered briefcase, “I had something made for the little guy, and for, ahem, the mister back home,” he holds out a small jar of candies to which you take grateful. 

“Please, there’s nothing of the sort, just me and the kiddo.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. It’s been that way for a while, it’s sort of the only way we know.” 

Willy shares a look with you, one unlike the look of pity most give when they hear your story, it was more of admiration? Respect? Either way, you thank him for thinking of you and as you do so, you hear a siren noise nearing before the chief of police arrives. 

He steps out of his vehicle and Willy turns to you, “I think you should go. Now. I’ll talk to you soon,” he says and you nod in understanding leaving the scene as the chief of police nears. 

That’s how your time gets spent whenever you spot the man; your son talks with him, you talk with him, Willy performs a magic trick. You try to buy some candy, Willy refuses and instead gives it to you for free and then you’re on your way. 

“Willy! Willy! Look, my tooth is missing!” Your son yelled running up to Willy. 

“Oh wow, that is outstanding! But you know what I heard?” Willy lowers himself to your son’s level, hushing his voice. 

“I heard this year, the tooth fairy started leaving candy underneath the pillows, for all the good boys and girls.”

“Really?!”

Willy looks up in your direction shooting you a quick wink. 

“Really.”

Your son turns to you with a smile from ear to ear present on his face as you nod confirming his curiosities. 

Mirroring his grin you watch on as Willy and your son continue in conversation. You’ve grown to the sight of them both, chatting and laughing. It was a very lovable sight. 

 That’s how it went, your meetings together.

And with each meeting you found yourself drawing closer and closer to the man, staying longer and longer on your visits.

The last time you saw Willy was at his opening for the factory, when everything went south. People rioted and burned his shop down and in the craziness you grabbed your son and ran putting his safety first. 

After that you didn’t hear from Willy. 

That is until today. You weren’t there when all the mess went down. When Willy and his team practically outsmarted the Chocolate Cartel, having them arrested. 

But you made sure to be there for Willy Wonka’s new opening of his shop. 

You stood in the crowd, your hand clutching your sons as the people gathered around trying the various sweets and treats. 

Walking around taking in all the beautiful colors and lights you stop at a wall full of jellybeans and gumdrops. And giving your son permission to collect some, you stand a short distance keeping an eye on him. 

“You made it,” said a voice as a figure emerged beside you. You smiled at Willy who was positioned just as you were towards the colorful wall. 

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

You watch for a moment as your son collects snacks, putting them into a bag that was provided. You were so occupied with him that you hadn't realized Willy was holding out one of his own creations for you.

“A chocolate flower for the lady.”

“It doesn’t have any yeti sweat does it?” You asked, eyebrow raised. You were lucky enough that you hadn’t managed to eat any of the poisoned chocolate last time.

“No, no yeti sweat.”

Beaming you take it and happily munch on it. 

“So this place…is it everything you’ve dreamed of.”

He glances around taking it all in. The smiles on peoples faces, the way they’re in full enjoyment, but then his gaze returns to yours, “yes it is. But it’s strange.”

You tilt your head silently, allowing him to continue his thought as he turns his attention back to your son then you again. “I think…I think I have a new dream now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your new dream?”

Willy’s eyes lock onto yours. 

There are no words shared between you two but somehow you seem to understand what he means.

[periprose]

Okay I gotta request something JUST HEAR ME OUT

Black Cat!Reader trying to tell Tasm!Peter she's Black Cat while he tries to tell her that he's Spider-Man at the same time. Queue up Peter being baffled, while reader just doesn't believe him lol

Also I am loving Florence, it's so good and rich, I'm still only on chapter three but I want to kiss your Peter senseless- he's such a sweetheart🫶 Also I love youuu���

AHHH bby i love this idea and I love you!! (also thanks for the support on florence)

/

Secrets are difficult to reveal.

They're especially terrible when you're telling something so tumultuous to your best friend, something that could either make him judge you severely or run away from you.

How do you confess that you're a thief? An villain turned anti-hero?

Even worse, Peter is someone you really love. Someone you know is too good for you- he would never feel the same way. But that's why you have Spider-Man, right?

You always knew it wasn't always going to be fun and games to be Black Cat. To be the very symbol of bad luck- it's a bad premonition.

You stare in the mirror. Peter will be here any second- he always climbs up the fire escape into your apartment's bedroom, and you told him you had something important to say.

There's a knock at your window, and you turn a little too abruptly.

Peter watches from the outside. He has a tentative smile, but he can see that you're worried, and you make the conscious effort to relax your face.

Peter himself is worried. He's about to confess something very important to someone very near and dear to him- he's Spider-Man, and not just that- he's having a sort-of affair with Black Cat.

He doesn't even know how it happened. First she was stealing wealth from banks, then a few months later she came with him with the notion to be good, and Peter always believes in someone redeeming themselves... but that doesn't mean she had to be so goddamn hot, all black leather and white fur, and Peter's just a horny dude who could not help but kiss back when she made a move on him yesterday.

And it was hot, it was good for him to take out some very human emotions by making out with her, but it wasn't everything. It wasn't you, and now he feels incredibly guilty. So he wants to come clean. Peter wants to let you know the whole truth, and even if that means you'll never like him again- Peter will never act on his unspoken feelings for you- he knows you deserve to know.

"Hey." You let Peter in, and he immediately walks in with an air of anxiety, hands already shaking as he paces around. "You good?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." Peter shakes his head immediately. "No, not really. We need to talk."

"Oh." You give him a look as you sit on your bed. "You have something to say, too?"

Peter nods, and you think it can't be nearly as bad as what you're going to tell him.

"Okay. Let me go first- I've been hiding something from you." He starts, but you shake your head. "I haven't been around."

"I haven't been around, Peter." You tilt your head at him. "I... I haven't been telling you the truth."

"Just wait. I'm trying to tell you something important." Peter insists, wanting you to know the truth but you keep going.

"I'm a bad person, Peter." You murmur, and Peter stops, interest piqued. "I've been misusing our friendship- you wouldn't want to be friends if you knew my past."

"No. That's not true." Peter sits down next to you on your bed, feeling that he should comfort you before potentially breaking your heart. "I'll always be your friend. Tell me what's going on."

"Don't sound so sure." You grimace at him. "I... I'm Black Cat."

"Huh?"

"I know, it's so terrible. I stopped with all the stealing and killing, but... I'm still not sure if my so-called good deeds are enough to forgive me." You lean over your legs. "I don't... I work with Spider-Man every now and then, too."

"But-" Peter tries to interject, and you keep going anyways. He's incredibly baffled- it's not that you don't match the size of Black Cat, it's just that he's sure he would've recognized your mouth under her mask. He's fantasized about your lips long enough.

"He kissed me yesterday." You admit, and for some reason it feels like a slap in the face to say, even if you know that Peter doesn't actually like you like that. "And I've always liked you, Peter, so I just have to get this off my chest, because I feel so terrible. I'm sorry."

Peter is snickering.

"What?" You shove him. "I'm trying to tell you about my actual, serious pain, Peter, and you're just laughing-"

He loves this. He can actually be with you, no questions asked, and you have to be Black Cat- who else would know that Spider-Man kissed you? Peter feels a little bad that you're clearly agonized about it still, and he is laughing, but he can't help it.

"I was trying to tell you the same thing." Peter shrugs, as you hang onto his every word. "Okay, not the same thing. But that I'm Spider-Man."

You raise your eyebrows. "Really?"

"What do you mean, really? What's so shocking?" Peter asks, somewhat affronted, still finding it funny. "Do I not look like I have Spider-Man's build?"

"No, no. It just... feels a little too convenient." You give him a pitiful glance. "Maybe you could prove it?"

"Wow." Peter shakes his head, stifling a small smile. "Why would I lie?"

"No, Peter, it's not that you would lie. It's just... it's too obvious of a happy ending for me, and I-" You wince. "I don't normally have those."

"Oh." Peter knows about your past, your unhappy origin story, and he doesn't want to say anything to negate that truth.

So he simply thwips out a web towards your desk, planting your water bottle against the wall, and you don't look too surprised, although you do inhale.

"So that means- I was working with- and you-" You try to make a coherent sentence. "We... we kissed?"

"Tell me if this feels the same." Peter murmurs, half jokingly, mostly serious, and he pulls your face up in the same way you remember he did yesterday.

Knowing that you were the one in that leather black suit with the white trimming stirs something more inside him- yeah, he loves you and he's so glad to have you here now- but it makes yesterday even hotter in hindsight.

No mask this time. Nothing to get in the way of you dragging your fingers through Peter's hair as he presses his lips against yours, not hesitant at all. His lips are firm, plying against yours, and he inhales in a way that screams that he's wanted to do this for a while- even if he kissed you a few days ago, it wasn't like this- and it has you understanding he doesn't want to be gentle. He wants to finish what he started.

[kingsmoot]

ahhh i sent this ask to wormlips accidentally i got confused by the wams pfps >_<. still i want to hear your opinion on this -- what do you think the ramsay's mom miller's wife was like as a person, have you any thoughts? and what do you think theon's lover miller's wife was like? also, on the horrible miller's wife multiverse, what's your opinion on the theory that the younger miller's boy was theon's bastard --- some reckon it adds an ironic what qualifies as kinslaying tragedy, others find it excessive and that it takes away from theon organically thinking about smallfolk and feeling regret unbefitting of his once-place on the social ladder.

ah what an honor to be mixed up w my friend @wormlips 🪳🩷🪱 who did btw answer this question here:

ok i will give you my first headcanon which is that ramsay's mom and the miller's wife of acorn water are the same woman. this is directly refuted by canon because theon's part time lover lives in acorn water while the woman roose rapes lives next to the weeping water stream. but genuinely idc. maybe she moved!! i think this being the same miller's wife adds a perfect layer of abject horror onto a very tall layer cake of abject horror after abject horror so this is a part of my belief system.

also sorry i think the theory that the miller's wife's children are theon's is ridiculous. maybe george can't do math but i can. and in this particular instance so can george, actually.

the boys theon killed were of an age with bran and rickon in acok. that would make them around 9 and 4, respectively. theon in acok is 19, so for both of them to have been his that means that he would have impregnated the miller's wife at age NINE and sixteen. that's bananas. this man was not banging the neighborhood milf at NINE. he would have JUST gotten to winterfell and more importantly he would have been NINE YEARS OLD.

i also don't think it's really implied at all. in fact in adwd theon even says that he's no kinslayer because he didn't really kill his baby brothers, bran and rickon, just some miller's sons...

and does this underscore the class divide in westeros? yes. but ALSO: ramsay was actually the one to kill them and cut off their faces otis driftwood style. and who is actually a kinslayer and has murdered one half brother already? wams. so i think it makes narrative sense if those kiddos that theon passed off as the corpses of bran and rickon were wams' half brothers. which he also would have known.

because like. i know "the cycles are cycling" is this website's full time greek choir chant but it's truuuuue. that's like rams' whole... thing. he is the culmination of roose's scorched earth cruelty. he will be the end of house bolton. he was made by the man he is destined to destroy. he will devour every last trace of this once great house. every prodigal son. every swaddling babe. every new bastard and every new heir. utter desolation. and he serves as the same kind of mirror to theon as he does to roose!! reflecting theon's cruelty, sexual violence, and lack of self back at him x1000. he is a reflection of the father and of his fellow rejected/abandoned son. he is the culmination of both of their mounting cruelty it's SO GOOD it's such a rich vein in the narrative 🥰

AND ADDITIONALLY it feels in character that wams-disguised-as-reek could have seen his mom when she sold ser rodrick hay on their way from the dreadfort to winterfell and she would not have said anything about wams being her child, roose bolton's bastard, for TWO reasons:

1. canonically, everyone and their dog and their dog's cousin and their dog's cousin's third aunt saw ramsay with his PIERCING WHITE SCLERA LENS EYES and BOTTLE BLACK HAIR after he was captured from THE FOREST SURROUNDING THE DREADFORT and thought "ok well that could mean anything" (can i just say. theon gets a lot of shit for this. which he deserves. but NO ONE ELSE GETS ANY SHIT AND I THINK THEY SHOULD. COME ON, GUYS. FUCK YOU IN PARTICULAR SER RODRICK.)

2. if she did recognize him (i think she would have) and she was his mama (i think she is) she would never ever ever ever give him up. she would have stayed silent.

why would i say so? because i really only have one thing to say about wamsay's mama which i've said before and which i'm never not thinking about. ramsay's mom, like cersei, has had everything taken from her. and the only way she can indirectly reclaim agency in this world is through what is given to her son.

she knew exactly what kind of man roose bolton was. she probably knew better and more intimately than most!! but she did not protect her son from him. just the opposite, she insisted that he claim him as his child. that he recognize his own. IT'S SO ROSEMARY'S BABY, LIKE.... BEAR WITNESS UNTO THAT WHICH YE HAVE WROUGHT, ROOSE!!!!! and then roose knows, of course. roose knows as soon as he sees that little boy that the child is his and he also knows exactly WHAT ramsay is. he knows that child will be the death of his house. but he also cannot refuse him!!! no man is so hated by the gods as the kinslayer!!! roose is bound to ramsay by blood!! chained to his own undoing by nature of being its creator!!

and then what does roose do?? puts a known murderer + serial rapist in charge of raising his own flesh and blood child. another thing that ramsay's mama does not protect him from. another thing she encourages, actually, because molding ramsay into a monster means he is more likely to get his due. her due. what is owed to him as the son of a great house. what is owed to her as a woman who had everything taken from her and no way to get any of it back. ANNIHILATION!!!

this got a little more word-vomity than i intended but i get too excited when i talk about this. it's like. good and interesting and important to me that ramsay's mama is not a blameless innocent victim who was brutalized and then did her best. she was brutalized and then she did everything in her power to make sure roose bolton got exactly what was coming to him. and she sacrificed her rape-baby to do it.

tysm for your question!

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Burn Bright White - Chapter Two.

Previous Chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments. DM to be added/removed

Words - 2,464

Warnings - 18+ content, minors DNI! Also, while I have tried to remain as true to how Niklas is in reality as I can, I have to have a little creative freedom of my own with him in this. If you don’t like it, simply scroll on by. Bitching isn’t tolerated here. At all. Remember, it’s fiction, not a documentary ;) It’s also worth mentioning that while Taissa has qualities of being quite charming at times, she is not, by any means, a good person.

A quick Google search between her drops had alluded to just enough information on the man she’d dealt an eighth to earlier that evening in order to be armed appropriately. He had a nylon fetish, and liked it when women wore high heels. Two things she just so happened to be very fond of herself, too. Whether wearing them or seducing another woman in them. Often both.  

Make yourself prey, but always, without deviation, remain the hunter.  

Pulling her sleek, black BMW into the overnight carpark, she grabbed her bag and shoes (six-inch heels were not practical for driving) slipping her feet into them and buckling the straps, exiting her car. She paused, checking her reflection. Perfection, as always. Then again, prolific, well-connected drug dealers were never anything other than immaculate. They could afford to be. 

She’d chosen a tight, black dress short enough to show the lace tops of her nylons, the type that adhered to her long, toned legs without the need for a garter belt, her PVC pin heels echoing upon the concrete as she walked to the elevator. Once inside, she quickly re-glossed her lips, giving her long, loose curls a quick ruffle.  

“Lady, you look like walking sex,” she purred to her reflection, snapping her Chanel compact shut. “He doesn’t stand a chance.” 

And god, how he wouldn’t.  

The Roadhouse was a little low brow for her tastes, but at least the music would be decent, she reasoned. The doormen knew her well, too, let her deal in there for a very generous cut of the profits. In her world, everyone could be bought. Plus, wherever she went, there’d be a likely throng of people waiting to party with her.  

Hell, Taissa was the party. Young, rich and beautiful. Everyone wanted to gravitate in her orbit.  

“Hey sexy! Can I take you home?” a man hollered at her as soon as she was out on the street, her lip curling immediately. 

Spinning on a heel, she looked him up and down, smirking. “Stay in your lane, little boy. I’m too much woman for you.” 

His friends howled like wolves at her audacity, the man throwing a barrage of abuse she didn’t have the inkling or the time to give any kind of witty retort to, continuing her walk.  

“Evening, princess,” Oliver, one of said doormen welcomed her with, making a point to check her bag, of course ignoring the two ounces of cocaine in small wraps concealed within the middle pocket, and her ever present knuckle dusters. “Looking gorgeous, as ever. Have a good night.” 

Smiling, she pressed two fifties into his hand with a wink. “You too, Oli.” He held the door open for her, Taissa sauntering in with her usual feline glide, the music absolutely deafening. Ahhh, old school night. The pounding of Feed the Gods by nineties metal band White Zombie erupted in her ears as she strode for the bar, a few familiar faces turning to welcome her.  

She didn’t really have friends, more hangers on, but she liked the group who all greeted her enthusiastically.  

“Tai! Get over here!” Pieter, a very good-looking man who she knew well roared, kissing her cheek, Taissa beaming, reaching for his girlfriend and planting a kiss on her lips.  

“I’m stealing your girl. Look after my bag,” she began, clicking her fingers at the barman and pointing to the smooth, black wooden surface dividing them. “Jim Beam, two bottles.” 

Whatever the lady wanted, the lady got, two bottles of the aforementioned bourbon produced, the barman knowing of course she was good for it. As well as a very generous tip. Off she and Pieter’s girlfriend – a good-looking girl whose name she nearly always forgot – went, dancefloor bound. If she didn’t have almost every pair of male eyes upon her from the moment she’d strode in, she definitely did once she began to gyrate against the pretty redhead. A certain pair in particular. 

“Man, you need to turn around. Free show on the dancefloor. Fuck!” 

Sinking another shot of San Jose, Niklas turned to see what Bjorn and his elbow digging were alluding to, feeling his heart quicken in an instant. There she was, the blonde.  

“Hey, so are you gonna buy me a drink, or what?” 

Those words, cooed in his ear by a girl who’d attached herself to him as soon as he’d arrived at the bar barely registered in significance, not now he’d spotted the object of his extremely aroused desire a mere twenty feet away from him.  

“No.” 

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re an asshole.” 

“I am, now fuck off. You bore me.” He didn’t even look back at her to watch her storm away in a cloud of her own chagrin, his eyes locked onto the blonde, entranced, reaching for another of the many shots lined up and sinking it without tearing his gaze away. “You’re too attractive for your own good.” he muttered, feeling Bjorn nudging him again. 

“She’s fucking hot, huh?” 

His mouth twitched into a half-smile. “She’s definitely something.” 

“That's a very reserved statement for you, my friend,” he observed, taking a shot and knocking it back. 

“Trust me, what’s on my mind is not.” His words roused a booming laugh from his friend, Bjorn slapping him on the back, pulling him near to kiss his head.  

“Go get her, man! Because you don’t take a ride on that tonight, I sure as fuck will!” 

Niklas continued to watch, leaning closer to him. “She can come to me.”  

His stance flew in the face of what Taissa had told him, that he’d have to work for it, but he didn’t care. He had his ways. Besides, he knew what she was doing. He could see her making sure he was watching her dance wildly out of the corner of her eye, so simply turned his back and continued talking with his friend. 

He never said he wasn’t hard work, too. Her game was something he knew very, very well how to play. However, Taissa knew how to play it better, going about her night without giving him a second look, ensuring that as soon as he realised she was no longer actively seeking his attention, that was the exact thing she received.  

Being ignored did not sit well with him.  

“Tai, here,” the barman spoke, sliding over a tall shot glass across the bar a while later, jerking his head in the opposite direction. “From Kvarforth. On one condition; you have to drink it without using your hands.”  

Her eyebrows fluttered, her group making an array of interested noises at such a proposition, Taissa looking over at the man who’d bought it for her. She knew he’d find some way to get her attention, eventually. Holding her hair back, she leaned to the bar, wrapping her lips around the glass and straightening, the golden liquid tingling her throat as she swallowed it neatly.  

Niklas clapped casually, his mouth curling upward. He’d enjoyed watching that more than he thought he would, observing as she poured a shot of bourbon into the glass, picked up her bag and made her way over to him. Two could play his game, but she’d play it better.  

Arriving in front of him, she lifted the glass, sticking it between her tits, looking back up at him with a little smirk. “Now you drink it without using your hands.”  

Standing a little taller, his eyebrow rose a tad, a grin of mirth spreading across his face before he bent to her level, retrieved the glass with his mouth and swallowed back the contents. God, she had skin like a peach, sweet scented and smooth. He ignored the approving howling of Bjorn at the display of flirting, becoming lost in the pale blue of her eyes, his heartbeat jacking up with every thud. 

She held him there in a trance, reaching for him, her long nails curling at the sides of his neck as she leaned into to him, pressed her body against his, and promptly licked his cheek. 

“Mmm, you taste as good as you smell.”  

He leaned to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “I’m sure I could say the same about you, too.” 

“Would you like that?” she teased, leaning back, reining in his stare once more, watching him nod, about to speak. Any words he had were stolen from his throat as he observed her hand sliding down her body and under her dress, the noise of Bjorn going wild at his side, the thundering roar of music all fading as he watched in semi-disbelief as she pushed her hand into her underwear momentarily, and then her fingers into his mouth.  

If Taissa knew one thing well, if was how to make a man’s brain short circuit completely.  

Letting him suck on her fingers, a look of bliss spread across his face at the taste of her dancing over his tongue. Oh, she’d hooked him. Grasping his jaw, she yanked him to her level, pushing her tits against his chest, her teeth nipping his earlobe. “Now you know what you have to work for, so work for it.”  

Every girl in that club could have learned from her in the lesson ‘how to get Niklas Kvarforth’s attention in one easy move’, the man himself so aroused, he almost bit her fingers off.  

Yanking them from his mouth, she scowled, her hand striking his cheek in a hard slap that took him by surprise, but delighted him in equal measures. He enjoyed when women stood up to him, showed a little fire, weren’t as boring and predictable as the rest.  

“Work for it, big guy. Then you get to bite me.” Puckering her lips at him, she ran her fingernail along the curve of his jaw, turning and walking in that alluring glide towards the door. Pulling her cigarettes from her bag, she placed one between her lips, counting in her head. Five, four, three, two... 

A tattooed hand came into her line of vision, flicking his lighter for her. Sparks preceded the flame, lighting her cigarette before doing the same with his own, staring down at her. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue, acting like a drug, luring strongly, pulling him in.  

“Let's cut out all of this bullshit, huh? I want you, you want me, blah, blah blah. Let me take you home and trust me, that hard work you want? I’ll put it into making you come so many times, you can’t shut your legs.” 

“A bold statement,” she asserted, drawing on her cigarette languidly. 

His face didn’t flicker at all. "One I can back up. Trust me.” He leaned to her, his gaze predatory, hungry, almost wolf-like. “I would fucking ruin you, honey." 

She chuckled, teasing him by making a show of licking her highly glossed lips, letting him imagine it, how they’d feel all over him, especially sliding over the place her free hand reached to stroke. “Not before I ruin you, Niklas. Because I will, don’t say you weren’t warned.”  

“Doubtful, but I’ll look forward to you trying to prove that.” The tickle of her nails over his crotch had him rapidly hardening, Taissa impressed at what she could feel gaining thickness and heat against her touch.  

“You probably will, but not tonight.” 

“Then when?” he asked, his hand gliding down her bare arm. It sent an instant shiver through her. She wouldn’t be easily swayed, though. No matter how electrifying his touch. If that was how it felt when he stroked her arm... 

Her hand grasped, squeezing his cock, placing a kiss full of syrupy heat at the side of his tattooed throat, a faint, soft little moan of approval at his hardness fluttering against his neck. How he could have mauled the skin from her bones in that very moment.  

“When you work for it.” 

He chuckled deep in his throat, a low, predatory rumble, eyes glinting. “Little girl, unless you like being burned, don’t play with fire.” 

Of course, she had an answer for him, her face nearing his once more, just enough to make him yearn for it, crave the kiss she wouldn’t grant. “Niklas, please. I am the fire.” 

Turning, she left him there feeling like his blood was scorching a rapid trajectory through his veins, heartbeat thundering in his ears as she whistled sharply, holding her hand out to hail a passing taxi. She jumped in without looking back once, gone into the night, leaving her target there exactly how she desired him to be. Frustrated.  

That frustration spurred him into action. Back into the club he went, finding the next most attractive woman in there.  

“Wanna fuck me?” 

“Yes.”  

Easy, willing, boring. But it was what he needed after the thorough stirring he’d received, taking the girl home and fucking her so hard, he was surprised he didn’t break the bed. Or her. All the time, too, it wasn’t the pretty, raven-haired woman he was with that he imagined. In his mind, all he saw was himself fucking the blonde. And he would. Eventually. Maybe sooner than he thought.  

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

Evil Love Blooming In The Dark Part1 Jude Jazza ~ Bitter END

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Man wearing a bowler hat: "I knew you would come. Come this way, please."

The man wearing a bowler hat recognized Mr. Jude.

He puts an arm around my neck, pulling me closers and placing a gun to my temple.

Jude: "To have a gun and a knife pointed in a single day."

Jude: "Gosh, Kate you're so lucky. I'm glad you got to experience such things this quickly."

Kate: *gulps*

The cold, unsympathetic look in Mr. Jude's eyes makes it impossible to guess what his intentions were when he came here.

(The moment Mr. Jude cuts me off, my life is over)

Kate: "Nn...."

Kate: "P-Please....help me."

My voice was shaking from fear as I try to squeeze it out.

Jude: "........"

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Yes, that's right. What else can you do besides comply with your girlfriend's request?"

Man wearing a bowler hat: "So, can you please turn a blind eye to the goods in your warehouse?"

(Goods.....?)

Jude: "Ha. You wanna break your contract with me, huh? You know what that means right?"

Jude: "When I gave you this warehouse, I clearly stated that I don't wanna see 'humans' being bought and sold. didn't I?"

(.....So the goods he mentioned earlier......were humans....?)

(So the 'bad info' Mr. Jude has about this guy, is that he is doing human trafficking business....)

Man wearing a bowler hat: "That's why I'm asking you. Please, I don't want to hurt this girl."

Jude: ".....Let me tell you something."

Jude: "I despise rich people like you who sit on thrones thinking that you're the safest people in the world."

Man wearing a bowler hat: "I'm trying to bargain with you."

(......I hate this)

(I don't wanna get myself killed by some lousy man who buys and sells humans....EVER!)

Frustrated, I bit the man's arm that was around my neck.

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Oww!?"

The restraints loosen for a moment, and as soon as he crouches down holding his arm, I slipped away from him.

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Damn you, woman!"

I heard an angry voice behind me and moved my rambling legs frantically.

Kate: "Nn."

With a thud, I bumped into something.

Jude: "Oww.....if you wanna get out of here, at least look ahead when you run."

Kate: "....Mr. Jude."

The moment I recognised the person who embraced me, I suddenly felt my strength leave my body and sink down to the ground.

(My mind is already a mess.....)

(But, I can't believe how relieved I am to be embraced by this person)

Jude: "Why are you looking like you're about to cry? You idiot."

Kate: "....Don't call me an idiot...."

Jude: "Idiot."

Even though it's an arrogant smile, I am bewildered by the fact that it's healing my heart.

Jude: "Don't do anything rash. You can sit here and tremble."

Mr. Jude leaves me there, slumped over and walks up to the man wearing a bowler hat.

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Don't come closer!"

Just as the man was about to fire a bullet, something flew out of the darkness and pierced the back of his hand.

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Ughh..Ahhh....."

The man screams in pain and drops his gun.

(A knife....? Where did that come from?)

When I looked around, I saw all the guards lying on the ground motionless.

Ellis: "....Sorry, I ran out of bullets, so I used a knife."

Ellis appeared suddenly, shrugged his shoulders as if making small talk.

(E-Ellis...? Were you here the entire time?)

Man wearing a bowler hat: "....I-I-I will do anything you say....Please...Please spare my life......"

Jude: "Ah, I was thinking the same thing. Good for you."

Jude: "Instead of letting you die easily, I'm giving you a life that is worse than death. I'm sure living such a hellish life will only make you beg for an easy death."

Man wearing a bowler hat: "Ha...."

Mr. Jude pokes the man's forehead with his finger.

The next moment, the men fell to the ground on his back with white eyes.

Kate: "W-What did you just...do....?"

Ellis: " 'Putting someone to sleep, by a simple touch on the forehead'....that's Jude's ability."

Ellis: ".....Miss Kate, are you alright?"

Kate: "Y-Yeah...I'm okay..."

Ellis gives me a hand and I manage to get up on my feet.

Kate: "So....you're not going to kill him?"

Ellis: " 'The objective was to destroy the organization and Jude was in charge of whether the target lives or dies'. We accepted the mission on those terms."

(Huh....)

Kate: "Wait, so this was a mission....? I thought I was kidnapped by accident. So you didn't come here just to save me?"

Jude: "I knew these people were trying to reach me."

Jude: "And if 'my woman' is wandering around unguarded, it's only natural that she will be a target, right?"

Kate: "So in other words....you made me a bait?"

Jude: "It's funny how things work out the way they were supposed to."

Mr. Jude lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke in a bored manner.

Kate: ".....That man is the worst....but you're no less."

Jude: "Thanks for the compliment."

Kate: "So then....were you also planning to let me die if the negotiations didn't work out?"

Jude: "Haa? Of course not. Ellis had that guy in his sight and you screwed it up by making a move."

Kate: "Eh.....?"

When I turned to look at Ellis.

Ellis: "But everything is fine now. Don't worry about it, I was thinking of helping you in the end."

(I see...so that's it)

(Nn...No no no no..you used me as your bait first)

(I can't think you're a nice person, just because you helped me.....!)

Ellis: "Jude, where do you want me to take this guy?"

Jude: "To the Lab."

Ellis: "Okay. I'll see you later, Miss Kate."

Ellis easily carried the man and leisurely walked out of the warehouse.

Silence fills the warehouse, and I started trembling slightly.

(.....M-My legs are shaking again.....I can barely stand up)

Jude: "Then, shall we go back to the castle, princess?"

Jude: "Also, you did very well in keeping the promise that you made to me. Good girl."

I am not sure if he is aware of my condition or not.

Mr. Jude took another puff off his cigarette and clapped his hands in a mocking manner.

Jude: "Don't you think such a good girl like you deserve a reward for keeping your promise?"

Kate: ".....R-Reward...."

This person is an arrogant, cold-hearted sadist who has no inclination to extend kindness to others.

I should have learned that well today, and yet....I am still tempted to cling to those sweet words.

Kate: "I-I can't stop shaking after all this time...and I-I don't think I can walk now...."

Kate: "Do you mind giving me a minute to calm myself down....?"

Jude: "......Haa..."

Jude: "You are a real pain in the ass."

A long fingertip reached out and poked my forehead.

(Eh....)

At that moment, my consciousness melted away.

I was sucked into a dream.

Jude lets out a single annoyed sigh and picks Kate's unconscious body.

Jude: "Tch....you owe me one for doing this manual labor."

Jude: "Now you know what happens when you make promises too easily."

............

Outside the warehouse, the white moon shines brightly on the blackened nighttime sea.

Jude stared abjectly at the white moonlight.

Jude: "....Tch."

Jude: "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Story // Premium END // Epilogue

[fxoye2]

In your nuTOS reboot, I would actually really love what you said about getting into Bones head about why his divorce may have happened and why he joined Starfleet. All we ever really get is the line about his wife taking everything in the divorce in AOS and most fics I read have her being kind of terrible (not great) since Bones is the character we know, but I doubt things were as black and white as that. Also gimme Bones Chapel and M’Benga as a mini Sick Bay trio!

As for Jim, it’d be super interesting to reinterpret him as a person who’s constantly playing chess against himself; who’s charismatic and witty, but also lonely, who kind of struggles with being a captain. This Jim probably has been an XO, like TOS, unless he made a massive jump like AOS, and I wonder how he’d adjust to having to make the decisions and leaving the actual doing of said decisions to Spock. And also falling in love with him—I feel like that also really gets to this Jim in a way that he knows it’s there, but compartmentalizes it.

Ahhh, I love everything about this ask!! You’re speaking directly to my soul here with the idea of really digging into Bones’ backstory and exploring Jim as this complex, constantly strategizing character. This is exactly the kind of depth I’d want to tackle in a nuTOS reboot, because these characters have so much going on beneath the surface that we only get glimpses of in the films (and, let’s be real, a lot of fanfic too).

First off, Bones. Yes, we get that one-liner in AOS about his wife taking everything in the divorce, and that’s about it. In so many fics, she’s painted as this terrible person because we’re all Team Bones by default, right? But I think you’re spot on—it’s probably not that black and white. Divorce is complicated, and people are messy. What if Bones’ marriage fell apart not just because of his wife, but because of his own emotional unavailability or his tendency to drown himself in work? Maybe he was so focused on fixing things—people, patients, everything but himself—that he let his relationship deteriorate. And then, Starfleet becomes this place where he can escape and rebuild himself. There’s something so rich about the idea that Bones joined Starfleet because he had nowhere else to go—emotionally and physically. Like, “I’ve lost everything. What else am I supposed to do but run into space and hope I can heal some of the wreckage?”

And YES to the Bones/Chapel/M’Benga Sick Bay trio! Can you imagine the absolute chaotic good energy of those three running things? Chapel’s sharp wit, M’Benga’s steady calm, and Bones’ grumpy but loveable attitude all bouncing off each other? I’d die for more scenes of them working together, saving lives, and probably bickering the whole time like some weird space family. It would add so much depth to Bones’ character to see him not just as the gruff, sarcastic doctor, but as someone who has real connections in Sick Bay, people he trusts and relies on. I want more of that camaraderie!

Now, Jim. Oh man, this is exactly how I’d want to reinterpret him—a man who’s constantly playing chess against himself. He’s this brilliant tactician, always thinking five moves ahead, but that also means he’s stuck in his own head a lot, second-guessing himself, and feeling the weight of command. He can be charming and witty, but underneath all of that, there’s this deep loneliness and this struggle with the responsibility of being captain. In TOS, we see a Kirk who’s been in command for a while and is confident in his role. But in a nuTOS reboot, I’d love to play with the idea that Jim wasn’t always this sure of himself. If he had been an XO first (like TOS), there’s room to explore that transition from being the one who executes orders to the one who gives them. The struggle of suddenly having the lives of hundreds of people in his hands and knowing that every decision he makes could mean life or death for them.

And of course, there’s Spock. I love the idea of Jim compartmentalizing his feelings for Spock, knowing they’re there but pushing them aside because, hey, there are more important things to focus on. He’s got a crew to lead, a ship to keep in one piece, and falling in love with his first officer isn’t exactly part of the plan. But those feelings are there, simmering in the background, and they’re impossible to ignore forever. I think this Jim would really struggle with that—he’s so used to being in control of every aspect of his life, but love? Attraction? That’s something he can’t just out-strategize. And Spock, being Spock, would be so infuriatingly logical about it all, which would just make Jim bury his feelings even deeper. But the tension between them? Ohhhh, it would be electric.

This Jim wouldn’t just fall in love with Spock; he’d overthink falling in love with Spock. He’d see it like a chess game—every move has consequences, every decision could lead to complications. But love isn’t something you can plot out, and that would drive him crazy. Watching Jim navigate his feelings while also trying to be the captain his crew needs would be such an interesting balancing act, and eventually, he’d have to realize that letting himself feel doesn’t make him any less of a leader.

Anyway, YES to everything you said. I’d want to explore all these layers of Bones and Jim and really get into their heads in a way that fleshes them out even more. (And maybe throw in some spicy Spirk tension while I’m at it, because come on, we all know that’s inevitable.)

[thekinkyleopard]

What’s Up There?

*Fetish Warning*

snzfet

By: Thekinkyleopard

Written for : @aller-geez

Laying calmly in bed on his side, with a larger man fast asleep spooning him, Levi scrolled through his phone. It was a Sunday, and Levi always had a tradition that Sunday was Funday and they had to find something fun to do. As he looked through pages and pages of ads, and uninteresting propositions, he came across something that did, leaving him raising a thin white brow. “Estate sale…?” he whispered out loud, he’d never been to one. Looks like some rich old lady passed away and they’re selling all of her things. “Ooo I like vintage things..” he said aloud again, the sleeping man grumbled, suddenly gripping his partner tighter. “Oof…” A small guff of hair released out of the leopard’s mouth. “Hey..baby?” He said, a little louder than a whisper.

“Mmmf…” not exactly the answer Levi was looking for. The black haired mate pulled tighter and started very slowly and gently, rocking his hips into Levi. The leopard blushed, bright red.

“Remi~ baby wake up…you’re doing it again,” Lee giggled as he rocked himself back and forth trying to wake his very sleepy and apparently, horny boyfriend. He grumbled louder now, followed with a very aggressive but short exhale through his nose. “Stooop Mr Forrest Gumpypants…it’s time to get up and seize the day!” Forcing his way through Remi’s grip to turn around, face to face.

“No…no facing the world…” he buried what amount of his face he could in the pillow from his particular angle. Rolling his cerulean eyes and smiling brightly, mischievously.

“Fine…I guess…imma have to….” Thus began a fit of love bites all along Remi’s arms, shoulders, neck, cheek, anywhere Levi could possibly get his mouth on, munched.

“Ah! Hey! Ahhh! Stop that!” The wolf grumbled pulling his hands out to start swatting at his persistent partner. “Ok! Ok! You win! I’m awake!” Huffing loudly as he opened up his cloudy emerald eyes. “Jesus…” Levi ceased his attack on the older man and flung himself out of bed.

“I’ll make coffee! Do you want breakfast, honey?” He asked already making his way to the kitchen that wasn’t far from the bed by much.

“Nah, just coffee, I’d rather wait til lunch…” Remington yawned as he finally but lazily swung himself to the edge of the bed. Rubbing his eyes in his palms as he tried gathering his thoughts.

“Hmmm at least eat some toast and one of the bananas okay? I’ll make it up for you with some P-B on the bread maybe..~” the cheerful one suggested as he was not about to let his man off the hook without taking care of himself.

“Baby…no, I hate that healthy shit,” looking up now to make eye contact with his boyfriend. “I’d rather have some bacon and eggs if you’re gonna force me to eat,” he sighed standing up to make his way into the bathroom, not before kissing Levi on the top of his head, because as annoyed as he sounded, he was crazy about the way Levi considered him at all times.

“Okay, my love, I’ll make that for us and we can head out, you get dressed, I’ll do that after I finish breakfast,” nodding as he gathered all his produce, and getting two pans hot on his new stove. First up he was working on the bacon, setting the strips down onto the hot pan they started to sizzle and pop.

Remi went into the bathroom, did his morning rituals, and came back out to the astounding scent of breakfast being made. “Well NOW I’m hungry,” he laughed a bit as he began to shuffle through the clothes he would wear that day.

“I knew you would be,” the leopard giggled, continuing now with the eggs as he finished the bacon up. Sunny side for this particular morning to represent a sunny side day! Remington was just getting done throwing a Guardin shirt over his head with some worn ripped black jeans. His boyfriend lovingly fixing him a plate. They both decided to sit at the kitchen table and enjoy a bit of morning song from the birds outside. Levi had opened the window to air out the bus a bit. “This is amazing babe, thanks,” Remi said pulverizing through his morning meal.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After feeding themselves, and getting dressed, Remi and Levi were finally pulling up to the estate. “Holy shit this house, it’s huge,” the wolf said, shocked by how much there was and yet still, so little people about checking things out. “Think we will score big?” He asked with a toothy grin flashed in Levi’s direction.

“I’m hoping so!” Beaming with excitement the leopard bounced in his seat. Finding a place to park, they both got out and began to walk about the front of the property. “There’s some furniture and stuff out here…” Levi said pointing around.

“Doubt we can fit any of this inside Maybelle,” Remi muttered, more so shocked at being somewhere he felt was way out of their tax bracket. They simply LOOKED like they didn’t belong, but knowing damn well they could buy at least a few expensive pieces and still be okay. However, none of these things were interesting to Levi, he wanted to see the good shit. The stuff this old woman was hoarding away from the people…he knew she had a stellar collection of something amazing around that estate. “Let’s go look inside!” Levi grabbed onto his mate’s hand, who’s eyes widened a bit in surprise as he was dragged through this giant house.

It was quite some time before they got to the second floor, on the second floor there was a string hanging not so noticeably to most, but Levi caught sight of it. The irony was not lost to him that, he as a cat, was able to fixate on the practically clear string floating around above them. “Hmm..what’s up there?” He asked curiously, turning to Remi now,“Baby can you reach that?” being just a bit too short to grab it himself.

“The attic string?” He asked looking at his partner quizzically with a raised brow.

“Yes, the attic string, that’s where she’s gonna have the good shit!” Wiggling his own eyebrows now at Remi, who laughed and indulged his partner’s request.

“If you say so..” extending the ladder down from the ceiling as far as it would allow itself, just an inch off the floor. Once secured, Levi took no time racing up and beckoning his mate to follow quickly. Rolling his eyes, Remi went climbing up the stairs after him as they stood up inside a dusty, dimly lit through a tiny window, room. Around them was tons of random objects, more furniture and boxes. “Great…more junk,” Remi scoffed folding his arms. Levi shoved the wolf gently, but even if he used force, the man didn’t budge.

“Don’t be an ass! Look around! We might find something,”he furrowed his brows and stuck a tongue out at the larger. Remi swiped the air pretending to grab it, Levi lurched back with a giggle. “Stop it, you!” Turning around swiftly before the wolf got him any more distracted. For a few minutes, on each end of the attic the two men shuffled through boxes. Remi was starting to get fed up and quite frustrated, ‘What the hell are we looking for? How the hell would I know when I even found it?!’ He screamed internally when suddenly, Levi approached him.

“We…nngg..Hnng..we gotta get out,” he whimpered, eyes watering, a deep red blush spread across his nose and cheeks. Remi raised a brow, he scanned his partner’s face.

“What’s wro-…”

“Hnnnngg…tcch….chu ~” it came out though stifled, it was small enough to make Remi’s heart skip a second. Levi had tried holding it in for so long when he had initially realized the trouble he was going to start. Unfortunately, mission failed. “It’s the…EHh…ehHh..duHhss…eht-chu!” Letting out another sudden sneeze, looking at Remi with innocence that almost looked like guilt. It was so cute, Remi’s face hardened, his eyes turned dark, he bit his lower lip, he slowly stood up, checked the hall from above the attic entrance, and swiftly closed the stairs.

“W-what are yo-u eh…hn.. ehh..tSHU…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, the second Remi closed the stairs another waft of air sent dust flying about their surroundings.

“You wanted it to be Funday, I haven’t been having fun…but you know what…I can see the appeal now,” stepping closer with heavy feet, Levi sunk where he stood suddenly feeling much much smaller. He held his nose and mouth with a sleeve covered hand. He shook his head. “What, kitten? It’s just us in here…don’t be scared, be a good boy, let me hear it baby…” his index finger brushing a few loose strands of his white hair behind his mate’s ear, leaning down in one fluid motion, closely, he whispered sensually into the leopard’s auricle. “Do it for Daddy…” Levi closed his eyes, heart palpitating in his chest cavity.He sniffled, though stifled by the cloth, like a soft “phnf”… before removing his hand. Once his freckled and flushed nose was again exposed to the open air, he wiggled it, already feeling the oncoming assault. “You’re so good for me..” Remi licked his canines as he hovered over his mate reaching over to grab hold of his mate’s thin bicep, his thumb rubbing gently against his muscle.

“Eh-TSHu! EHTSHU! EhhHh-TCHU! ” He sneezed openly in the space between them, his body shaking violently, hand coming up to grip Remi’s forearm to brace himself. “EHH…TSHu..ehtshU.-EhT-ChU!” Remi growled deep in his throat as he listened to his mate have his fits. His hands moving to work the buckle on Levi’s jeans. “Here??” Levi looked around nervously and the wolf could only chuckle.

“Absolutely, here…come on get these off we have to be quick,” grumbling with hast as his boyfriend now helped him shed the articles of clothing he wore on his lower half. Levi stood half dressed and half erect, fully embarrassed in a very sensual, erotic way. He felt exposed and dirty, but those thoughts were quickly clouded as another tickle scaled across his senses.

“EhTSU!” He sneezed once more, out in front of him with force for his mate’s enjoyment. Remi groaned again, feeling his hung cock hardened in the base of his pants. He quickly looked to and from, deciding he didn’t have time to find a better place to really do this but he wanted that sneezing mess of a man on top of him. He wanted to see every last upper angle of him losing it on top of his cock, so Remi quickly got on the floor and grabbed Levi’s wrist, dragging him on top of him, letting their lips crash into a messy, heated and passionate kiss.

“I need you so fucking bad,” breaking away and taking a fist full of messy white strands into his closed palm, he tugged. “Ride me,” commanding the leopard now as he laid more at a horizontal angle. Still snuffling and sniffling as he spit into the palm of his hand, rubbing it down the length of his partner’s cock, he slowly slid it inside himself, sitting at a squat above him. Strong, calloused hands came up to grip comfortably at the crook of his hips, Remi pushed himself up further, groaning deep from within his chest as his length was fully sheathed inside the other.

“Ahh-~ Nyhaa..nnn..” Levi moaned and hesitated, as the tickle still lived inside his throat. The amounts of dust around them that puffed upward with each shuffle and movement their bodies made. “Ehh—…” his head raised, Remi watched from below as his mate’s mouth opened wide, body stiff ready to embrace the inevitable. Throwing his hips upward in a quick and violent action, it came rocking out of Levi like a hurricane, lurching forward as he sneezed. “TSHU-EH!!” Rolling his emerald green eyes back after witnessing the other from this angle could nearly send him over the edge.

“You’re doing so good baby…” praising his mate through gritted teeth as his hole was gripping his hard cock that he shoved in and out at an increasingly desperate pace. Levi’s palms pressed firmly against the other’s abs he whimpered, and shook as his body was fueled by pleasure.

“I’m..its coming again…ba-baby…” Levi stuttered as he warned his lover of the incoming attack he was about to experience.

“Let it out for me, Kitten,” his hand coming up now to cup the crook of his neck and jaw, forcefully angling the other’s head downward at him, pounding upwards without mercy. The leopard bounced uncontrollably, feeling the wave building inside him like a hot rock of lava waiting to erupt.

“EHTSU! EH-TSHEH, TSHU!” They came out in a series as Remi’s grip only got tighter, claws digging into his partner’s scalp, Levi oblivious to the pain it could be causing. “EhTSHU!” Again, as their eyes locked, Levi’s crystal blues pooled in liquid as it trailed down his red stained cheeks and dripped down between them. The tip of his nose a slightly darker shade than his cheeks. Crossed between Levi looking so deliciously tortured and lewd, the sounds of his unintentional sneezing and the feeling of him tightened around him? Like he’d been struck in the chest, Remi came hard inside of the leopard, rocking through him he held tight to his partner’s body, freezing as he emptied himself inside. Both of them wheezing for air, Levi far more uncomfortable than he was to start with, they got up, scrambling to get dressed. “Promise…once we get home…I’ll let you take some medicine and I’ll reward you for being so good just now..” the wolf reassured his suffering partner.

“Whatever we do…can we please get out of this crusty ass attic?” Levi asked now from behind his sleeve. Remington laughed loudly throwing his head back as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah let’s get the hell out of here,” opening the attic and shoving the stairs downward once again. “After you…” extending his arm out to invite Levi through. The leopard quickly climbed down into the hallway and found a chance to breathe much cleaner air.

“Hey! You! That area isn’t part of the estate sale! You shouldn’t be up there,” some strange man in a suit scolded the two of them as they slowly closed the entrance back up.

“Hey man, cool it, we just needed a place to fuck, it’s all good now,” Remington smirked wrapping his arm protectively around his boyfriend.

“Remi!!” Levi squealed attempting to shove the man, horrified by the look on the man’s face. Remi laughed loudly, quickly pulling his boyfriend toward the exit, leaving the stranger in stunned silence.

[bbqhooligan]

straight up i will never ever let anyone forget he's a pedophile. i have beem side eyeing everyone at every mention of that man's music im not letting ANY drake sympathy sneak past me istg

on a more fun note i gen cannot get over how pretty kendrick is. he has those like heartbreakingly pretty eyes, and like i found photos of him in like a white crochet (? maybe) outfit and he straight up looks like an angel. im sickkkkkk in the headddd for this man

ahhh youre so right. in rich spirit he legit looks like an angel. princely. god im gonna share something with you anon cuz no one else would understand: theres this one short on youtube called something like "kendrick lamar stands up for short kings" or something like that. and his voice. his smile. he says "they have more character. and more dignity and pride! and theyre more talented theyre more aware and handsome than anybody else in the world" and im watching that blushing like hes talking abt me smhhhhhh. SIGHHHHH im mental abt him

[thelioncourts]

hii sorry to ask but is that fic you posted a snippet from coming soon or??

love your writing!

ahhh, the 'mad honey' one???? I haven't written in it in a minute, but I do want to get it done in the next little bit because I anticipate losing some desire to write 1910s new orleans for the first bit of s2 airing and whatnot. here's some more of it, though! (it's going to be smut. like the entire premise is smut lol so we're not looking at a lot of plot to worry about here):

Harold Kershaw.  Fifty-seven years old.  White.  Rich.  Old Kershaw money rich.  Just got back to New Orleans a week ago after an extensive time spent up north.  Already bought a new mansion, one of the biggest over in the Garden District.      “Mr. Kershaw,” Louis had said to the man warmly, shaking his hand and putting on his best winning businessman smile.  Harry had commented on Louis, said, “You don’t look a lot like your daddy, but you sure got his brains for business.  Look at this place!” and by the end of the night, the man had tipped the band profusely, bought a round of drinks for everyone in the vicinity, gone upstairs with Elsie — a little redhead that had been working The Azalea for the last year — and returned down with a satisfied smile, a wad of cash tossed on a free table, and a hearty chuckle about how he’d be back.  And he had come back.  He had come back the very next day, and the day after that, and even the day after that.  Each time he did just the same, tipping the band, buying drinks, and spending some quality time with a new girl than the previous night, and it became apparent that The Azalea had a new regular and a generous one at that.   Then, just over a week ago, Harry had come in, sat at what was now his table, and requested that Minnie accompany him for the evening.  Minnie, a buxom blonde with generous assets and a notorious habit of wearing big earrings that garnered almost as much attention as said assets, wasn’t available; her daughter (a scandal all on its own, one that had landed her at The Azalea because Louis didn’t mind one bit that Minnie was unconventional, that she had a child out of wedlock and had a bad reputation attached to her name) was sick and she had to stay home and take care of her.  No one had thought it would be a problem given that Harry had sampled from a handful of the girls already and had seemed happy with each one, so they’d offered him another girl.  “Lydia is free right now, sir,” they had told him, choosing another blonde so the experience was close to the same for him.   But that hadn’t been good enough.  Oh no.  No, Harold Kershaw was not a man that was used to being told no and he made that very clear.   “He said,” Penny had started when she went to inform Louis of their unhappy patron, “that he’s already given this place a whole lot of money.  He said that,” and she had stuttered, had looked down at her feet, “if you were a good businessman, you should know that you don’t offer a man a cheap replacement when he asks for something of quality.”   Louis had been in his office before all that, he and Lestat in there discussing what to do about the annual Pointe du Lac Christmas party Louis’ momma put on every year and Louis was, once again, expected at.  That conversation had been abandoned quickly, all in favor of Louis going downstairs and attempting to smooth things over Old Harry.  After some intense discussion and a lot of fake smiles on Louis’ end, Harry had calmed down some, and had seemed content with having Elsie once again for the evening.  But not before he had thrown in a comment, reiterating his stance to Louis.  “If you want to keep your head afloat in the business world, Louis, you best make sure your best customers are taken care of.”   The situation had been deescalated then, but it had left a bad taste in Louis’ mouth.  He’d gotten home that morning still thinking about it, hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it until Lestat had tugged him into coffin and kissed his worries away until they slept.  

I'll work on it some tonight! thank you for reading anything I write, I appreciate it so much <3

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

one time my very indulgent beloved took the friend group on one of those night time ghost tours, because we were in a Very Historic Very Haunted Southern Town. i say "indulgent" because he is not a ghost guy. anyway, it's late at night, a little chilly, everything besides the ghost tour is quiet, everybody but my beloved is going ooohh and ahhh at exploitive true crime etc type stories. with the patience of a saint, for like two hours, my beloved says nothing. the tour guide is yammering on about shadow people and a house where a banker's son got killed by the mob.

pensive, hands shoved in his pockets, listlessly kicking the haunted (OooooOOooO!) cobblestones, my beloved says, in a perfectly neutral whisper of a voice, "the real horror is that we're standing on an alleged mass grave of murdered slaves, but talking about one rich white boy and maybe, what, three property owners over the course of a century who had a few nightmares? the real horror is people and how we can treat other people."

and he didn't mean to be overheard and he wasn't trying to be a killjoy or make a point, but he said it at one of those perfect conversational lulls, thereby chastising everyone in earshot and it was SUCH A MOODKILLER, 10/10.

i never checked the yelp reviews for the tour but I know in my heart of hearts that even if they never posted it, somebody typed up a review that was like, "was implicitly scolded for being gross by an Ambiguously Ethnic Man with beard. do not recommend."

and this is the energy I want for my fictional sabor latino reluctant necromancer character: man who's not trying to be a dick about it but who really thinks you're focused on the wrong thing here

[allkinds-oftrash]

The Crown S5E1 Commentary:

Non-Spoiler Gist - It was a good first episode, I am mixed about some of the casting but I'm going to chalk it up to the transitional period of it and I just need to get used to them. I was really surprised about the new Prime Minister.

Spoilers Under The Cut:

The way I got so emotional seeing Claire Foy again as Lizzie 🥺🥺

The transitional scenes crack me up I dunno why it just feels very meta

This report feels like an lie - who in the WORLD thinkd he's modern, young and empathetic??? OH COS DI WOULD BE QUEEN SJKSKDJD Ahhh the second honeymoon is a PR stunt yikes

I don't know how I feel about Elizabeth's Diana. Like obviously she's older and jaded so the vibe is different I dunno something feels off

Charles and Diana are being friendly??? Oh there he is Chucky being a dick

Awee babey Harry AWWW THE BOYS WANTING TO GO SHOPPING WITH THEIR MOM

It's all a lie Lizzie they aren't a happy couple at all.

Johnathan's voice as Phillip is SO OFF It needs to be steeper "A replacement" Lmao they're not talking about the boat anymore

Ohmygod they're playing Mariah!! I love that Diana is having the time of her life with her boys as she should!

Oop the article is coming I need to find this paper

Oooh is that the new Anne?? I kinda miss Erin already hdkdjd

What is so damming about this article omg Don't say no to Anne lmao do you want to die sir Lmaooo she's gonna see it eventually they can't hide it from her forever LOL THEY WENT TO PHILLY FIRST DJDKDKD Despite my issues with him, I do love his devotion to Lizzie

Not Chucky planning a pseudo coup ndndjd

Okay the new Anne has the voice down I need her more snappy This moment between mother and daughter is cute I'll give them that. Oh helloooo Tim hahaha

"How come I never noticed" "Cos you're married" LMAO I'm shook the guy playing Tim looks just like him

Not Charles and his pseudo coup Him complementing the PM sjdkdkk yall are boring white dudes calm down Lmaooo "It's instinct for renewal and it's willingness to make way for someone younger" Are we thinking of the same Conservative Party Chucky??? Chucky you're not Edward though. God the delusion of this man

Leslie is a vibe as Margaret But I swear the Queen Mother looks like a new person every time dkdjdkd

Lmao Lizzie is sussing them out Damn Martin is hot?? Granted all the Martins were shsjks I NEED to find this article and I wanna know what the journalist was on lmao

HE'S SIPPING HIS TEA LMAO after she told him abt the article Jesus she is NOT asking for funding for a ship?? Yesss Johnny tell her I'm very conflicted by John Majors he's so right in both of these convos but he's also a TORY 🤢🤢

Lizzie you sound like a spoilt rich person please shut up "Service I've given this country" 🤡🤡🤡 Okay Lizzie okay.

Hohoho Dominic West in a kilt??? He's an asshat for cheating on his wife but damn does he look good

Philly shouldn't be going this hard on a ship

John Majors is gonna be the Royal Fam's babysitter and therapist this season it's so funny please. John Majors is so right in this episode I can't even Peter Morgan HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME AGREE WITH A TORY

Literally me agreeing with everything John's been saying this ep:

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Prologue) | Tom Holland

Summary ↠ There’s just something about Tom Holland that makes your blood boil. He walks around like he owns the world, always with an unhelpful quip or irritating smirk on hand. You can’t stand him, and your feud has burned hard and bright for three years. Everything changes following an explosive evening at the Oscars, when a questionable encounter with the paparazzi lands you in some hot water with PR... fake dating au; enemies to lovers; actor!y/n.

Word count ↠ 4.6k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, paparazzi, swearing, discussions of misogyny and the corruption of fame, Tom and Y/N are both very petty, dramatic assholes.

A/N ↠ Ahhh it’s here! I was really shocked by how many people responded to the announcement post for the series -- I hope so much that this doesn’t disappoint anyone lol. This series is my baby, and I’m very excited to share it with you all. Before we dive into the fake dating, we must first explore a very critical evening for Tom and Y/N... hahahah. This was a lot of fun to write. Please let me know if you’ve got any thoughts! :D 

(Tom’s in the FFH premiere outfit because I’m still in love with that fit, and the jury’s out for whether or not the actual Tom needs glasses to see; this version of him just uses them as a fashion statement lmao)

((The biggest thank you ever to V, mischiefandi, for being this series’ no.1 supporter and proofing this -- love you mate))

Series masterpost

ZERO: The Oscars (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and as you throw back your third glass of champagne of the evening, you let a small smile unfurl across your lips. 

It isn’t your first time attending the Oscars, but it is the first time you haven’t felt utterly out of your depth surrounded by people of this calibre. When you’d first started in the acting industry, you’d found it incredibly unsettling to enter a room full of Oscar-winners. Even now you remember how your hands had felt slick with sweat as you’d nervously been introduced to Meryl Streep and Viola Davis, and how you’d felt imposter syndrome on a scale you’d never imagined possible. Time and experience have brought you many things, but most importantly, they have gifted you confidence. You’re 24 now, and the string of achievements and nominations tied to your belt is so impressive that they deem you no longer an outsider at the Oscars; instead, it’s as if you’ve been accepted into the fold. 

But for all the enjoyment of the lavish after-party, you can’t stop your mood from plummeting. It’s all fun and games until your eyes sweep the room and settle on a smirking figure standing in the corner: 

Tom Holland. 

Just the sight of him makes your nostrils flare. 

You think it must be true what they say: once you start to dislike someone, it’s as if every single thing they do irritates you. This is how you feel with Tom. Even the smallest, most insignificant details about him somehow manage to annoy you. You cannot stand the smell of his hair gel, and you detest the way he stubbornly refuses to mend his phone screen. Your teeth grit together every time you see that smug smirking grin hanging from his lips, and you get worked up by the way he always seems to swagger around as if he owns the room. The grievances fall into several categories: his aesthetic choices, his generally smug demeanour, and his irritating personality, and it all fosters your deep, unyielding disapproval of the man.

Tom infuriates you beyond belief - beyond words. And he’s standing across the room right now, staring at you over the rim of his wine glass with a teasing smirk hanging from his stupid lips. 

You try to ignore him at first. You lick your lips and return your attention to a conversation with some of your co-stars. You know better than to try and approach anyone else tonight. Your reputation, as your PR team likes to put it, is ‘fragile’ at the moment. A string of uncomplimentary ex-lovers and a few disgruntled directors have shattered your pristine public image, making you regarded as both a rising talent and loose cannon by the media. There’s been a common trend recently of news outlets dragging your name through the mud, and the desperate words of PR as they’d begged you not to cause a scene tonight drift through your mind as you contemplate wandering over to Tom. 

You know it isn’t in your best interests to engage with the man - no matter the occasion, your conversations always end explosively - but Tom is just standing there, staring at you persistently, and you just can’t help it.

Your tongue flicks out across your lower lip as you feel his hot gaze trailing around your made-up cheek. His eyes are intense - holding power over you, to the point where you have you excuse yourself from your conversation. An exasperated sigh slips past your lips as you turn around, preparing yourself for your encounter. Your stare finds him, and it follows Tom as he strides across the party towards you, one hand hanging easily from his trouser pocket as the other clasps an intricately engraved wine glass.

The frown on your lips deepens the nearer Tom gets, and as more details of his figure draw into focus. He’s got his chestnut waves slicked back tonight, with a few stray strands hanging out across his forehead. It makes him look dishevelled, but in a devilishly handsome sort of way - which makes sense, given you’re reasonably sure he must have some kind of relationship with Lucifer himself. Stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders is a deep burgundy suit, and it cages him in tightly, leaving little to the imagination. Your lips curl into a poisonous grimace as your eyes finally fall on the glasses perched on his nose; you’re sure Tom doesn’t even need glasses, and it riles you up to see him parading the frames as a fashion statement. 

But perhaps the thing about his ensemble that annoys you the most is the fact that you can’t look away. No matter how hard you beg yourself, you can’t drag your gaze away from Tom’s swagger, or the tight hold he has on the stem of the glass, or the way his eyes dance with a dark, mischievous glint as he falls to a stop in front of you. Tom is many things to you, but it’s undeniable that you find him attractive, and that fact often keeps you seething well into the early hours of the morning. 

“Y/N,” Tom greets, his voice dripping charm. “Lovely to see you again.” His thin pink lips twist up into a smirk, and you find yourself clenching your fingers into fists around the tender stem of your champagne flute.

“Tom.” You step forwards, and your lips catch at his cheek as you press a firm, unwavering greeting to his face. You feel his warm hand slip from his pocket, and it grazes across your hip as Tom holds you closer. “You look to be enjoying yourself.”

When you pull back, you linger near him, allowing Tom to return the gesture by pressing his hot mouth to your cheek. He smells of rich, overpowering cologne, and you scrunch your nose up as his lips burn against your skin.

“It’s quite the party tonight,” he returns, stepping back. Tom’s beady little brown eyes run across your figure, taking in the long designer gown and the decadent sparkly necklace hanging from your neck. He graces you with an approving nod. “Are you having a nice time?”

“I was.” You pause to take a long sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the bubbles pop against your tongue. You hope the alcohol will help to take the edge off the way your heart has started to pound against your ribs. “It’s a shame you had to come over here and ruin my mood.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you were staring at me, love,” he says, “Thought maybe you had something you’d like to say to me.”

You feel a hot spike of irritation as his lips curve effortlessly around the word love. Tom has always been a fan of pet names. The ease in which they roll from his tongue in that smooth, accented voice never fails to charm the room, and though you like to think you’re immune to his allure, you can feel the word spinning around your head like a broken record.

“Not really,” you return coolly, maintaining your composure with the poise and precision of a seasoned actress. You even manage to flash him an apologetic smile. “No big award for you tonight, though? Must be heartbreaking.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Are you really still caught up on the BAFTA?” He asks, his voice lower and harder. 

The mood between you dips, and instinctively you find yourself moving away into a quieter corner of the room. As you drift away from the hordes of celebrities guzzling champagne, it’s as if the facade between you breaks down. Your smirk becomes harder, your eyes less forgiving - and in return, Tom’s smile sours into a grimace, and he holds himself straighter. The masks you wear come off, leaving you both bare and exposed. 

“No,” you respond darkly. You’re tucked away in the corner of the party, with your back almost against the wall as Tom lingers in front of you. Both of you have discarded your drinks glasses. “I couldn’t care less that you won the BAFTA, Tom. If the jury decided you were worthy, then you were worthy. I would have to be very unreasonable to disagree with the committee.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Y/N.” Tom tilts his head to the side, flashing the tips of his shiny white teeth as his mouth loosens into a wild smile. 

“Fine.” You give him an excessive sigh, and you let your eyes drift towards his mouth. “I don’t buy it, Tom.”

Tom’s suit jacket breaks out into wrinkles as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You don’t buy what?”

“This act.”

Tom almost rolls his eyes again. “And which act are you referring to, Y/N?”

“The Mr Nice Guy Act, Thomas.” The way he flexes his jaw makes you lean nearer and smirk. “Everyone here thinks you’re such a wonderful man, but I see right through it.”

It’s hard to know precisely when your feelings towards Tom became so hostile, but you like to pinpoint the night of the BAFTAs in 2017 as the day you surpassed the point of no return. You were younger then - both of you - and things quickly got out of hand. You know Tom likes to pinpoint your ‘jealousy’ following his win and your snub at the awards show as the catalyst for your tumultuous relationship, but both of you know that night was the product of several cumulative events.

Your best friend had worked with Tom’s mate Harrison, all those years ago in 2016. You knew Harrison through her, and you got on well enough with him, so when the BAFTA academy had nominated both you and Tom as contenders for Rising Star, Harrison had orchestrated an exchange of phone numbers. However, given your packed schedule and press engagements, you had failed to respond to all of Tom’s attempts to contact you. 

One thing led to another. Tom assumed you were dodging his texts and started bad-mouthing you to Harrison. Word travelled to you that this guy - the competition - was throwing shade to your name, and so you might have made a few choice remarks about him on Ellen and suggested that Tobey Maguire was the best Spider-Man. Whatever. It was all so petty and childish, and it’d escalated to boiling point on the night of the BAFTAs when Tom hadn’t been able to shut up and thrust his win right into your face - quite literally. You can still remember the way he’d clutched the trophy as he’d shown it off in all its grandeur.

Ever since then, your relationship has been poisonous. A case of miscommunication and petty jealousy turned hostile, and now you’re in far too deep to even think about mending the fractured dynamic. 

“I am a nice guy,” Tom tells you. His eyes skim across your face, and you don’t miss the way they drag across the curve of your lower lip.

“As if.” You ponder which anecdote you should fall back on to prove your point, and it takes a while to select one: the pool of Tom’s past mistakes and moves against you is vast and wide. “Would a nice guy conveniently forget to invite me to Harrison’s birthday party?”

Tom winces, and something almost like regret flickers out across his face before he meets your eyes and hardens up his gaze. “I’ve already told you that was a case of miscommunication,” he says slowly, patronising. “I doubt you would have enjoyed it anyway, Y/N. Wasn’t exactly your type of party.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Your hand finds your waist, gripping firmly at your flesh to stop your fingers from shaking. The way Tom looks at you so intensely makes you feel strung-out and bare, and it’s almost as if he can see straight through you.

“It was a small, intimate gathering. From what I’ve been hearing, you’re a fan of the larger, more explosive parties, aren’t you?”

You could throttle him. You could really, truly throttle him. You know with certainty that Tom’s referring to the latest smear the media had run against you, which had placed you at an illegal rave in Downtown LA and cost you a role in a film you were passionate about. 

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Tom.” 

“Maybe not.” Tom’s closer to you now. You find your back brushing up against the wall as he steps nearer yet again, his shiny leather shoes sparkling beneath the light curving out from the chandeliers. “I’d like to think I know you quite well, though, Y/N. We have known each other for several years.”

“I’d use the word ‘known’ very loosely if I were you. I think it’s more like, ‘been plagued by’, but you do you, Tom.” 

He laughs, and this time the noise is lighter. You feel a little woozy from the champagne - or maybe it’s his cologne - and you let your hand wander up to rest on the top of Tom’s suit. You drag your fingers across the smooth material, marvelling at how soft the designer garb is to touch.

“Do you like my suit?” Tom asks, his voice lower than before. There’s a strange charge to the air between you, and you find yourself nodding.

“I disagree with the glasses, but your suit is decent. I have to admit that this colour looks flattering on you.” The bold burgundy tones bring out the warmth in his eyes, even if the stupid thin frames of his glasses obscure them. You watch as his pupils widen and feel the warmth of Tom’s breath as he inches in closer. 

“Thanks,” he says. Tom’s hand winds around your waist. “Your dress is very nice.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You briefly wish that you had another glass of champagne to keep you occupied because you find your other hand joining the first and finding purchase on Tom’s shoulder. He’s very close to you, and there’s nowhere left to move because you’d backed up against the wall. Fleetingly you wonder what it must look like, to be hidden away at the back of the party and caged in like this, but you decide that the flurry of heated emotions passing through his eyes and the way his thumb pads over your waist is worth it.

Neither of you says a word, but you watch through wide eyes as Tom’s gaze flickers out across your lower lip. He inches in closer, almost painfully slowly, his demeanour radiating a shaky confidence as he tilts the angle of his head. You watch the hard lines of his mouth dissolve, and his smirk melts away into something like a smile as his eyes flutter shut. Now Tom is very close - so, so close - and the gap between your mouths narrows by the second.

He’s going to kiss you. You know he’s going to kiss you. Why is he going to kiss you? Why are you going to let him kiss you-

“Y/N! Hey, congrats on the film. I saw it last week with my wife, and she loved it-”

Tom springs back. You gasp a short breath of air as your eyes widen, and the film of scattered emotions that had temporarily disarmed you shatters. Tom’s cheeks are bright red, and he doesn’t seem to know where to look or what to do as he jams his hands into his trouser pockets and stares at the floor.

“-Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Your throat tickles as you shake your head, looking up to see Mark Ruffalo standing there, his expression relaxed but growing in confusion as he drinks in the awkward tension rippling between you and Tom.

“No,” you say immediately, a bite to your voice. You refuse to look at Tom. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”

Mark releases a breath of relief and launches back into his speech, complimenting you profusely on your performance. You become distracted as you listen to him, but not enough to forget about the way Tom had leaned closer and brushed his thumb across your side almost gently. After a few moments of conversation, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over towards Tom, only to notice that he’s slunk away elsewhere. His absence makes your heart twist.

Another hour slips away, and you find yourself returning to the Moët for release. You can feel your composure gliding away from you with each fateful sip. Tom seems to have vanished, and you find yourself questioning if he’s so embarrassed by your moment in the corner that he had to leave. You wonder if that would be better than him staying.

But eventually, your eyes seek him out, as they always seem to do. And you catch him chatting with a woman, his arm around her shoulders and his lips brushed against her ear. Tom seems to feel your gaze on him, and his deep brown eyes meet with yours. He raises his eyebrows and whispers something into the woman’s ear that makes her laugh, and it sends something whipping down your spine.

It isn’t just jealousy - it goes deeper than that. It’s the realisation that you could never get away with this behaviour. You know that if the roles were reversed and it was you who had been seen getting close to two men in one night, you would be assigned a whole host of derogatory names. The double standards that exist in this artificial world of cameras and headlines make you feel sick to your stomach. You are not jealous of the woman beneath Tom’s arm, though you will admit it makes you feel uneasy - it’s the hypocrisy of it all that makes you seethe. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter to no one in particular. Tom’s eyes slip away from yours as you put down your empty glass and turn, heading in the direction of an exit. You wander the vast, glittering ballroom for a few moments before spying a door embedded in the back wall that leads out into a dark alleyway.

When you step out onto the street, the cold February air seems to bring your tipsiness to the forefront of your mind. You giggle softly to yourself and wrap your arms around your chest, your fingers rubbing rapid fiery circles across your exposed flesh as you try to drum up a heat.

You lean back against the wall and stare up at the vacant sky. LA is too polluted to see the stars, but you like to imagine they’re staring down back at you. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of laughter coming out from the hall, and out at the end of the alley you can see the street, cloaked in dark paparazzi vans and dim amber street-lamps, but tucked away up here alone, you feel at peace. 

“Cinderella runs away from the ball, yet again.”

You scowl. Your eyes move away from the dark blanket of clouds to see Tom. He’s ditched the glasses, but you can see the legs sticking out from the pocket sewn to the top of his suit.

“Joined by her ugly pumpkin.” You screw up your nose at your own words, cursing your fizzled mind for messing up the tale. “That’s not right, is it?”

Tom approaches you, his cheeks full of a rosy tipsiness. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Think I like it better than being called your ugly sister, though.”

“Ew.”

You share a loud, unruly laugh with Tom, your voices mixing almost melodically. When you sigh, you lean further against the wall. 

“I hate it in there,” you find yourself admitting. “So many people were talking about me behind my back. It’s like they think I can’t tell that they’ve just been discussing me when I walk over and the conversation falls silent.” You slot your fingers together and play around with your thumbs. “Everything is so fake. It’s like a game to them.”

A cool breeze floats down the alley, and you find yourself shivering.

“It is a game,” Tom says slowly, all whilst slipping off his suit jacket. He holds it out to you, raising an eyebrow when you shake your head. “It’s cold, Y/N. I know you’re stubborn, but neither of us wants you to freeze out here.”

The mood between you feels tender, and you let yourself accept his warm jacket. You throw it across your shoulders and feel the warm embrace of his suit, and the husky traces of cologne nestled to the fabric, but Tom’s looking at you with an intense gaze, and the sight of his golden browns draws you back to the scenes from inside the party. 

“Saw you chatting with a woman inside,” you say, words a little sharper. “Trying to see how many times you have to try it on before someone bites?”

Tom flinches. The air fills with the sound of him clicking his tongue as he rubs his hands together. “You are so fucking petty, Y/N.”

You raise an eyebrow, responding to his clipped voice with surprise. “Hit a nerve, have I?”

He groans softly. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t swear at you. You just get under my bloody skin.”

You shrug. “You’ve said worse.”

“So have you.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

Tom’s bearing in on you again, but this time you feel more at ease. The scent of his cologne mixes with the sweet champagne that lays fresh across your palette, and it makes you feel delirious. You can’t stop yourself from reaching up and draping your hands across his shoulders, bringing him nearer.

“You drive me crazy,” Tom admits. His voice is husky, his eyes dark and intense. In the slight breeze, strands of his hair waft across his forehead.

“I can’t stand you,” you return. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his hands dig into your waist. The rough render on the building behind you digs into your back as you loop your arms around Tom’s neck and bring him in closer.

“Neither can I, darling.”

It’s like magnetism - some sort of invisible force pulling you in before you can even fathom it. One moment you’re staring at Tom, scepticism in your eyes and anxiety thick in your chest, the next he’s surged forwards and captured your lips in a messy, sensational kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and your fingers tighten against the short hair at the nape of his neck as you kiss him back harshly. Your noses bump and your teeth collide as Tom grabs at your sides with fervour, and having him clutching at you is so hot that it takes your breath away. The kiss is messy and hurried, and it seems to melt down all the built-up tension and frustration you’ve been nurturing for years. It makes your head hurt, and all you can focus on is how crazy it is that you are kissing Tom Holland - and, horrifyingly, how much you don’t seem to hate it. 

It comes crashing down when there’s a round of flashes, and you hear the telltale sound of paparazzi photographs.

“Shit!” You push Tom away from you immediately, your breath hitching as your head snaps down to the end of the alley. Unbeknownst to either of you, you’ve been spotted by the men with those large, invasive lenses. The flashes continue, and you turn away, your actions almost in slow motion as you feel a wave of nausea travel across your chest.

“Y/N!”

“Tom, Tom!”

“Are you dating?”

“Having a bit of fun tonight, Y/N?”

A chorus of cataclysmic yells come racing down the alley and the howls of the paparazzi mix with the loud sound of camera shutters.

“Fuck.” Tom grabs your arm, and he pulls you away from them, bringing you both back into the party. There’s a tightness in your chest as you gasp for breath, walking in dizzying strides as you card your fingers through your hair anxiously. 

“No, no, no,” you mutter to yourself. You can hear the calls of the paparazzi ringing in your ears, and you dig your fingers into your temples for relief as you snap your head to glare at Tom. “Why did you just kiss me? What’s wrong with you?”

Tom looks pale, and his eyes are round with shock, but he still manages to stare at you incredulously. “You kissed me too?”

You bury your head in your hands. “This is it - this is the last straw. They’re going to have a field day with this.” You peek out at Tom through gaps in your fingers, laughing humourlessly. Your chest burns as you take in his disarmed expression and his deep chocolate eyes. “This is the end.”

“It… It was just one kiss.”

You shake your head furiously. “They’ll run with it. They’ll make a spectacle of us.” Your nails dig into the soft palms of your hands. “You are such an asshole.”

Tom’s mouth, a little red and puffy, twists into something of a snarl. “You kissed me! Why is this my fault?”

“It’s always your fault.” You pause and shake your head. You can’t help but fall back on the naive thought that this truly is all Tom’s fault. You’d been fine before him. You’d been looking into the starless sky. You’d been at peace. He’d just had to waltz on out and trick you into his lips. “Well, I hope you enjoy the end of your career.”

He raises a thin eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been associated with me, which is the equivalent of getting a big black line scored right across your name.” You reach up and jerk his jacket from your shoulders, and roughly shove it back into Tom’s hands.

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Really?” Your gaze hardens. “This is all just a game, Tom, don’t you see? We don’t get to decide who stays on top.” You laugh humourlessly, your tongue tasting sourly of champagne. “We have fucked up.”

Tom sets his jaw. One by one, he stuffs his arms through his suit jacket and tugs it back around his body, sinking into it forcibly. He pulls his glasses from the pocket and places them back on the bridge of his nose, balancing them crookedly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom remarks, his voice cold and sharp. You briefly wonder if he understands the magnitude of the situation, and as he sweeps away without so much as a kiss on the cheek goodbye, you realise he probably does.

Without yet wholly understanding it, one drunken kiss has sealed your fate. As you stand there, twiddling with your thumbs in the back corner of the Vanity Fair party, your mind races. You know with absolute certainty that things will never be the same again, but not even your wildest dreams could compare to what is about to come.

buckle up bc I’m about to take us on a ride and a half. may as well have ended this with an ellipsis lmao.

↠  next part

any thoughts?! I am actually dying to know what you’re thinking lmao!! my askbox is open :D

taglist can be found in the series masterpost, which is the pinned post at the top of my blog

masterlist linked in my description 

[buckys-other-punk]

 Merciless

Pairing: Asshole Ex-Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Reader

Request: Could I have a part 2 to Insensitive were the reader comes back and she’s a bad bleep?

Summary: A couple months after their breakup, Y/N has changed since the last time Chris saw her. 

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: mentions of previous cheating, alcohol, cussing, mentions of sex, and badass reader aka justice lol I don't know 

A/N: Hello! Thank you @vanillabqrnes​ for the request apologies for this taking forever and I hope you like this! Also sorry to those who follow me, I promised to write more and that didn’t happen, but here’s something lol. Whenever I wanna write I open my computer and then bam writers block. Also please don’t mind any minor mistakes this is unedited. Anyways hope you enjoy and I’ll meet with you at the end of the fic ; ) 

Previous Part

It had been six months since your breakup with Chris and honestly you were doing great. I mean at first after all the rage you remembered the good memories from your relationship. While recalling those “good”memories you realized that four months prior to you finding out he cheated that he had been acting strange and distant. But you’ve moved on and could care less about that asshat.

You quickly moved on and actually you’ve completely changed your mentality when it comes to relationships. You have started to become more comfortable with yourself and not let anyone walk over you. Your closest friends have noticed your change in demeanor and they love it. They have literally called you a badass heartbreaker, solely because you have turned down almost every guy who reminded you of your asshole ex-boyfriend.

With your new look and attitude you were able to find the perfect match for you. You met your boyfriend, Henry *cough Henry Cavill cough*, at a party hosted by a mutual friend. The two of you were trying to avoid the crowd which didn’t help since the two of you were seated at the bar. You both had people flock towards you offering to buy drinks, which you both rejected. The two of you noticed one another when a woman asked Henry for his number, he declined, then she started flirting with you. You shook your head and scoffed, turning her down as you stood from your seat. You walked closer to the man taking a seat right next to him. After that the two of you had a pleasant conversation about who had the most people to hit on them, you won, and then the rest is history.

Your new relationship was completely different from your previous one. Henry adores you, treating you way better than you know who ever did. Also lets just say the sex was clearly better and you learned new things about yourself with your boyfriend. You never really got to explore that side of you when you were with Chris. He would be the one to take charge and never let you try something new.

Anyways you and Henry were actually going to lunch at one of your favorite fancy restaurants. Opting to sit near the open glass window you ordered your food. You didn’t give a fuck how these rich people were staring at you because you were wearing. You wore a long leather coat showing the right amount of cleavage and thigh high black boots. Henry wore a white button up shirt that clung to his muscles and dark blue dress pants. You laughed at a joke that Henry made, you glanced out the window and your eyes widened. Henry looked outside and he felt his blood start to boil.

*Chris’ POV*

After the break up the infamous Chris Evans was having a slightly rough time. He still didn’t understand what he did wrong. Then about a few months later Brittany, his second girlfriend while dating you, dumped Chris because she apparently found a better, richer man. Chris had been miserable in his house ever since. He thought about calling you after his break up with Brittany, but then he thought a grand gesture would be better. So he ordered the most expensive bouquet of roses and had them delivered to your house. 

A letter was immediately sent back saying that you had moved out of your small apartment, but the man who lived there kept the expensive flowers. Chris yelled out in frustration which startled his maid. She tried to comfort him telling him what he wanted to hear, that you would eventually come back to him, but deep down she knew that what she said was a lie. She knew about what her boss had been doing, but Chris offered to pay her to keep quiet.

Chris never stopped thinking about you. He would walk by your old apartment, sometimes even drunk. The man who lived there always saw him through his window feeling a bit bad for Chris, but assuming he probably deserved the heartbreak. As more months passed Chris decided that drinking would help numb the pain. It didn’t, drinking honestly made him think about you even more. Thoughts and images of you flooded his head and he didn’t know if he wanted them to stop or continue.

Chris decided that going out with other women would help, the break up messed his game. He would accidentally call his new girlfriends your name and some would stare at him with a blank face and the rest would ignore it. Eventually he found a woman who resembled you to the tee. The two of them were together for a while and Chris was kind for getting tired of her because she wasn’t you. He decided to go to a fancy restaurant to make reservations for their most elegant seating to break her heart. That’s when he saw you through the window with a man.

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

Henry looks back at you, “Is that?” You nodded your head and stood up from your seat. “Be nice.” he huffed as he remained in his seat unfolding the napkin on the table and placing it on his lap.

You stormed out of the restaurant stopping Chris from entering. Chris was shocked by how you dressed, he never saw you dress like that before. You saw Chris eye your entire body looking from your head to toes stopping at your chest.

“What do you want?” you harshly said crossing your arms over each other.

“Obviously, I’m here to make a reservation.” he snarkily replied. “How was I supposed to know you would be here?” 

“Bitch, I don’t know?!” you exclaimed. “It’s not like this is my favorite restaurant.”

“Again, how was I supposed to know that?” Chris angrily replied.

“Seriously?!” you huffed. “You’re still a dick you know that?”

“So what? You gonna teach me a lesson?” he flirtatiously said.

“God, you’re disgusting.” saying as you turned away from him.

“Wait,” he stopped you, grabbing your arm and pointing to the window, “who’s that you’re with?” 

Snatching your arm back from him. “That is my boyfriend, no begone.” you said shooing him away not caring about the people who were staring.

“Boyfriend? I bet he doesn’t treat you as well as I did.” he says c, crossing his arms. You slapped his face hard and shook your head.

“Oh, you're one to talk.” you yelled back at him. “You never changed, did you? You’re still an asshole prick that just wants a nice woman by his side to make him feel better about himself.”

“That’s not true!” he exclaimed.

“Oh really? Then tell me the real reason why you’re here?” you questioned looking at the man.

“As a matter of fact I’m taking my girlfriend here.” he replied with a smirk.

“Yeah, to break up with her?” you asked, shaking your head.

“How’d you know that?” He placed his hands on his hips.

“Because that’s what you did to the girl you dated before me, asshole.” you exclaimed.

“Well, why not after I break up with my current girl, you and I find a nice place to properly talk.” he smirked at you.

You walked closer to him and he smiled as he felt your chest against his. He looked down at your cleavage and back up to your face smiling even more. You put your hand on his shoulder smiling at him and that’s when you kneed him in the crotch.

“Go find someone else to feed your ego. I’m busy.” you said as you walked back to the restaurant and your boyfriend.

As you sat down on your seat, your boyfriend placed a kiss on your cheek. “Were you nice?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“I tried to be.” you huffed as you looked out the window staring at your ex who laid on the ground in pain.

“Well, looks like I need to teach you some manners then.” he smirked.

“You sure do.” you smiled, winking back at him.

A/N: Ahhh hello!! How was that? I feel like this wasn’t my best but at the same time not bad. lol I literally have no clue how to write a bad bitch reader (because i ain’t one), but hopefully I did this request justice! Thank you for reading and lemme know what you though of this. Feedback is very much appreciated and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in my stuff!

Taglist:  @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @sebtheromanianprince​ @aquabrie @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan​  @anbrax5553​ @wintersoldierissucharide​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @miraclesoflove​ @kitkatd7​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @fandomsandxfiles​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

^^please lemme know if you wanna be added/removed for future tags or dm me if I forgot you^^

[rodeo-boots]

Ahhh omg requests are opened?!?

Can I request a Javier x F!reader where she wants to try cockwarming and they do it at the campfire around a lot of gangmembers...

They don't get caught tho but Javier find it really hard to act normal and control himself

👉👈🥰

I hope you'll enjoy this, dear <3 I kept it a bit short and sweet.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 966

AO3

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Coming up with new and exciting ways to show your affection to Javier Escuella wasn't hard for you. A single look at him was enough for dozens of ideas to take root in your brain, and you weren't shy to let him know at least half of them.

Javier enjoyed most of your suggestions, seeing as he had no trouble trying something new. But when you'd first voiced your latest infatuation, the look on his face had instantaneously shifted into one of intrigue. You remembered how he had pulled away from you where you'd laid on his cot, only to find your stare and raise a brow in question. "That somethin' you'd enjoy?" He asked quietly, fingers tracing the shape of your shoulder. "You're quite the dirty girl after all, huh?" Though he didn't make a move to take his hands away, his words in no sense derogatory towards you.

His chuckle was rich and syrupy when he leaned in again, just briefly pressing his lips to your temple. "I think that can be arranged," he smiled against your skin, nuzzling your neck as his arms wrapped around your frame. "Who's gonna be sittin' around the campfire, either way?"

And while he had laughed at his own words back then, had tightened his hold on you to pull you back on top of himself and showcase just how much your idea was getting to him, he didn't look too amused now as the two of you were about to make your plan a reality.

Usually, there were no more than two, maybe three, people frequenting the campfire during the night. You've never had much of an issue with any of them, quite liking the stories Uncle was willing to tell until he passed out inevitably, or the bluster leaving Sean's drunken big-mouth. Truth be told, you appreciated all of them. But tonight, you had hoped for a quieter environment, and Javier seemed to have done the same.

"You still gonna pull through?" He asked, whispered, slight disbelief in his voice. You were already sitting in his lap, both of you positioned on a log that was only partially cast in shadows. It was comfortable as always, your skirts pulled out of the way to fan out over his thighs and onto the bark of your seat. You hadn't bothered with underwear, certain that by now you had to be soaking the front of his pants.

"Of course," you muttered, eyes briefly casting over the peaceful features of those seated around the campfire. Even Arthur Morgan had decided to show his face around and make this experience all the more exhilarating for your boyfriend and you. "You just sit still." You made sure to emphasize those words, aware that Javier could be patient as they came or the complete opposite. Hopefully, tonight would be a night of fortitude.

Your hand sneaked behind your body, freeing Javier's cock from it's confines. Teasingly, you ran your thumb over the tip, giving his erection a few appreciative strokes before lifting your hips. Your breath hitched, eyes flickering back towards your camp-member's faces. No one looked in your direction.

Releasing a relieved, albeit quiet, breath, you sunk down on Javier's cock, suppressing any further sounds that might've left your throat by holding a hand to your mouth. To those around, it simply looked like you were yawning.

Your pussy took him in willingly, hungrily, your slick enabling him to slide home right away. It was a fulfilling sensation, the likes of which made your lids flutter and your breath run short.

Javier seemed to have more trouble behind you, muffling a curse against your shoulder while his hands settled upon your hips. His grip was tight, knuckles turning white where he bunched up the fabric of your dress. You just had to turn your head a little to catch him blushing furiously, perspiration visible upon his temples.

"Do you like it?" You asked innocently, quite enjoying not only the feeling but the growing neediness of the man behind you, a subtle shift of your hips enough to make him nearly groan into your ear. He had always been vocal, but this entire setting had to get to his head more than any before. Maybe you should seek risks more often, the throbbing of your own core proving how much pleasure you were able to get out of this as well.

"You're drivin' me insane," Javier whispered, nibbling on your earlobe as hands wrapped around your waist. He was trying to shift his hips, to shift yours, in order to get any sort of relief for his fully hardened erection. Apparently, sitting and waiting and enjoying wasn't his strong suit at the end of the day, and you gasped when he palmed your breast with a hand he had slipped under your dress.

"You wanna get caught?" You swatted at his fingers, pointedly scowling at him. And he all but whined.

"Ain't fair," he whispered back, though he took his hand away, returning it to your hip to rub it as a peace-offering. His breath met your earlobe soon again, however, eyes trained on the crackling flames of the campfire, the sound of Uncle's banjo and Karen's singing nearly drowning out his voice. "You know I'll have to pay you back for this, right?" He asked quietly, his voice dipping low.

A shiver ran down your spine, your cunt clenching down on him at the dark promise in his words. You didn't need to think for long to know what the man might come up with, certain that no matter what it would be, you'd more than appreciate it at the end of it. Because Javier was a pleaser most of all, and for his lady, he was eager to do anything.

[an-army-of-nightmares]

Peppermint Rot, The Beginning

Ah, new fic time! This one I intend to be multi chaptered, but whether or not I'll actually write the other chapters,,,,, well, we'll see :p

Bsksbdks I wrote this in like. The teens of July? 14th? And am only just editing and posting it now-

[Chapter 2 here] [Chapter 3 here] [Chapter 4 here]

Tw for ahhh, Character death? And local horrible dad Lanyon Sr is in this

-

The room was silent, save for the sound of pen on paper. Until there was a knock, two gentle yet strong raps agaisnt the door.

"Come in" gruffed the man writing. He was an older gentleman, wearing rather causal clothes. A stainless white shirt, a navy blue silk vest that had subtle yet beautiful embroidery flowers, a maroon ascot to match, and dark trousers with matching shoes. He's sitting at a finely carved oak desk with two expensive wine bottles and other rich niceties upon it. He had been writing on an indecipherable paper. His pen stopping and resting above when the door knocked. The room has a rug from the door to the desk, and curtains that rise all the way to the high ceiling. All in all, it looks quite lavish

The door opens to reveal Dr. Jekyll "Good evening to you, Lanyon Sr" he greets with a polite, if nervous smile. He closes the door behind him just as Lanyon Sr stands up from his desk. "Dr. Jekyll", Sr greets with a kindness never given to his own child, "What brings you here? Is it because we didn't get to properly talk at my ball the other day?"

"Well" Dr. Jekyll still seemed to be nervous, "Yes, sort of. Sorry for leaving so soon by the way" The Doctor winced slightly at his awkward words but the older Lanyon simply barked a laugh and slapped the man on his back, "Hah! Don't worry about it son, I heard you had gotten tired, and with your little exhibition so soon it's hardly that much of a surprise." Dr. Jekyll noted how the man so casually called him son, as when speaking with Robert the man always clearly used it as a formality.

Becoming a bit more confident at the man's fondness towards him, he straightened his posture, yet fidgeting with his hands. "Ah, that's, what I wished to speak with you about actually. As you well know the exhibition is nearly a week away, and I'm worried that we wont have enough funding to make it to then" Lanyon Sr stared "T-Theres a number of important payments that are past due. I've tried liquidating my assets, I've already sold most things in my house, but it doesn't seem to be enough, all I ask of you is to fund us just for this week, and I promise not to bother you about funding for the Society again" Jekyll gave a smile

Hastie doesn't say anything, he walks over to his desk and opens one of the wine bottles, pouring it silently. "Hmm. Perhaps Robert" he said the name with a tone of distaste "Did not properly relay the information to you. The Society is expensive, and I have more important things to be doing with my money. You're an admirable man Jekyll, hard working, I'm sure you could last just a week, less even." He puts down the wine bottle and picks up his glass, taking a sip. He hands the other to Jekyll

Dr. Jekyll silently grabs the glass and continues to fidget "I'm glad you have such confidence in me sir, but I truly cant, these payments are far past due and I'm afraid someone will come shut down the society at any moment. I've checked and even if I were to spend every last cent of the Society's and my own funds I wouldn't be able to make it."

Lanyon Sr. seems irritated now, he puts his glass back on the desk. "Well you have ingredients dont you? Just make some potions to sell, it's not like you have any competition" Dr. Jekyll makes a slightly confused noise at that and starts gesturing and looking down at his hands "I can't. I dont have any warrants or proper approval, you've heard me complain about how they've never responded to my request"

"So?" Sr was increasingly more agitated "Just sell anyway, I'm sure you could charm them into believing you were approved, and that the missing paperwork is a fault of their own" Dr. Jekyll sputtered at the suggestion "That's illegal!"

He glared "You could easily get away with it. Sometimes to keep things running smoothly you have to tell a few lies. Get your hands a bit dirty. This is hardly the "worst" suggestion I could give you" Dr. Jekyll, who has since stopped fidgeting puts his glass down and stands a bit straighter "I'm sorry sir but I simply cannot-" Hastie cuts him off "You WANT this little dream of yours to succeed right? Shouldn't you be willing to do anything for it?!" Dr. Jekyll curled in a bit at the mans sudden shouting "I do want it to succeed, but-"

Hastie threw the unopened wine bottle at him.

Jekyll crumbled.