#and i know it’s shit and stupid thinking

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[greengoblinswifey]

Valentine’s Plans

Rafe had been patient. Too patient. He knew exactly why you’d been acting like this, short replies, annoyed sighs, that little scoff whenever he so much as touched you. Valentine’s Day was in a few days, and he hadn’t asked you to be his Valentine yet.

He had a plan. A good one. But you didn’t know that.

So when he walked past the other Kooks and overheard you saying, “He’s such a pussy. I swear, if he doesn’t ask me, I’m done.”—Rafe saw red.

He bit his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wanted to call you out right then and there, but he wouldn’t. He’d make sure you felt stupid for ever doubting him.

Dinner was at the nicest restaurant on the island. Private booth, dim lighting, a box waiting on the table before you even sat down. A Vivienne Westwood necklace, because he knew you liked that shit. The cake came out after, white frosting with Be My Valentine? scrawled in red.

Rafe leaned back, watching you take it all in. Now he could be smug.

“Still think I’m a pussy?” he asked.

Your face burned, but you rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“That’s what I thought.” He smirked, nudging the box toward you. “Say yes, or I’m taking that back.”

You huffed but reached for the necklace, letting your fingers run over the silver chain. “Obviously, yes.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. “Good girl.”

You thought everything was fine until you got home.

The second you stepped inside, Rafe kicked the door shut behind you, gripping your jaw to tilt your face up.

“Gonna talk shit about me to my friends again?” he murmured, voice low.

You swallowed, pulse spiking. “Rafe—”

He smirked. “No, go ahead. Tell me more about how I’m a pussy.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

That night, you learned never to doubt Rafe Cameron. He made sure of it.

You were beneath him, writhing, your body burning under his touch as his thick cock fucked you deeper into the sheets. His breath was hot against your ear, his voice low and taunting.

“What was it you said?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, making you shiver. “I’m a pussy, huh?”

You whimpered, your fingers twisting in the fabric beneath you as you felt him pound into your sweet spot. “Rafe—”

His teeth scraped against your skin as he chuckled darkly. “No, no, sweetheart. Say it again.”

You shook your head, your body arching against him. “I didn’t mean it.”

He tsked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you roughly onto his cock. “Didn’t mean it?” His voice was mocking, teasing. “You sounded pretty fucking sure earlier.”

You whimpered as rolled his hips to meet yours, his hands gripping your body like he owned it. He did.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. His lips brushed your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You talk a lot of shit, but look at you now—squirming, whining, completely at my mercy.”

You gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he fucked you even harder.

He smirked against your skin. “Bet you won’t doubt me again, huh?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, sir.”

“Good fucking girl,” he muttered, nipping at your collarbone. “Now, let this be a reminder of who you belong to.”

A hand remained on your hip, gripping you while another went into your hair, pulling your head down to watch as his cock disappeared inside you. He wasn’t going easy, he was fucking the doubt right out of you.

“You wanna fucking doubt me? Huh? Call me a pussy? You can’t even fucking talk. Fucked you dumb, who’s the pussy now?”

You cried out in pain and pleasure, his thrusts unrelenting and hard.

For a moment you thought the lesson was over but you thought wrong. He flipped you onto your stomach, slapping your ass making you wince and pulling it up to him.

He wasted no time burying himself to the hilt inside your wet pussy, the new position making him feel like he was deeper. You cried out, reaching around to put your hand on his chest but he just grabbed it.

He chuckled darkly, pinning your hand behind your back. “Take this fucking dick, you’re gonna learn your fucking lesson tonight.”

He fucked you like he hated you, cock dragging along your walls, stretching you so much you thought he would tear you apart. You could feel him so deep, the tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. All you could do was bury your face into the sheets and moan, unable to form a single coherent word or thought.

“This is exactly how you should be all the time. Fucked out and keeping your mouth fucking shut,” he growled.

He grabbed you by the neck so you were arching off him.

“Do what I say for once and rub that clit so you can cum on my dick. You don’t fucking deserve it but I’m such a good boyfriend, I’ll let you cum.”

Your body jolted in his arms as you rubbed your clit and he gripped your neck even tighter. “Fuck, cum on my cock. Cum on my cock so I can fill this ungrateful pussy up.”

With a loud cry, your body went limp in his arms. Your walls clamped around him, squirting on his dick and your orgasm triggered his own. He moaned in your ear, his load filling you to the brim and your pussy milking him of every drop.

“Good fucking girl. Now you’ll know never to doubt me or call me a fucking pussy again.”

[andromeda-collective]

i have multiple and im going to mention all of them but im starting with THIS FUCKER HERE (blade from honkai star rail) AND I HAVE A VERY STUPID REASON FOR IT

there was an minigame thing with a character named march 7th (dont ask) and there were little events you could encounter throughout it and one of them was that you had to choose between a red and blue pill (or the third option of giving a nonanswer) and since my choice didnt matter at all i went with the red pill because i know that the matrix is a transfem allegory and i also hc march as transfem but then another character made a little comment that blade would ALSO pick the red pill which completely makes sense for his character but since i was still on the transfem allegory mindset i had the thought of "wait does this make blade transfem??" so shes transfem to me now 👍

estrogen would NOT save her. not even REMOTELY. he's a suicidal immortal who physically cannot die because of a ritual his old friend-with-romantic-implications tried who he now wants dead more than anything else. hes basically possessed by evil plants that revive him every time he dies and he goes fucking feral. hes a mass murderer with a bounty of over 8 billion. nothing can save him. but transitioning might make her miserable life slightly more manageable? plus i mean.. throwing your old name away and being a new person? obviously a metaphor for being trans /j

boothill! this is slightly for shipping reasons (turning a het ship wlw for funzies) but mostly projecting my gender-nonconforming transness onto the only southern disabled character i know of. are we different kinds of southern? yes. are we different kinds of disabled? also yes. do i care? absolutely not. (also because butch southern women make the world go round)

also sampo because the idea that this fuck is a cisgender ANYTHING is laughable. this is a nonbinary transfem boymoding for shits and giggles who randomly switches to the girl voice when talking to someone JUST to fuck with them because nobody else would believe them and the person would think theyre losing it. typical masked fool stuff. gaslight gatekeep girlboss.

and then from genshin impact: zhongli. who has CANONICALLY used shapeshifting to become a woman. and has likely done so on more than one occasion. this guy is CANONICALLY GENDERFLUID WHETHER PEOPLE LIKE IT OR NOT. and you can obviously be genderfluid and transfem at the same time so why the hell not :D

most other characters i hc as transfem i dont have much of a reason for, but im gonna list them anyways cause hell yeah

argenti (hsr) - she can have a little estrogen as a treat

dr. ratio (hsr) - no reason i just think it could work

sunday (hsr) - something something religious-trauma-and-giving-into-what-you-once-believed-to-be-sinful

diluc (genshin) - fanfiction on ao3 changed my brain chemistry

kazuha (genshin) - also no reason i just think it fits

sebastian solace (a game on roblox called pressure) - im gonna be honest with you op, i just like putting this fucker in situations. and i would love to see the struggle of medically transitioning when you've been forcibly had your body and dna altered to the point of no longer being human. even ignoring for a few seconds the thought that maybe hrt wouldnt have the same effect (or any effect at all) due to the experiments, how could you will yourself to alter yourself medically in any way after the horrific trauma you've experienced? its between fucking with your already fucked up body or having the dysphoria kill you from the inside out. i am rotating her in my mind even harder now.

p.ai.nter (from same game) on the other hand? a lot simpler. make the ai with guns a girl. also just a funny idea: you know that "put eyelashes on it to make it obvious that its a girl" thing? yeah. painter doing that.

^ TELL ME SHE WOULDNT.

i would apologize for the essay but you did say i was legally required to share so this is your fault /lh

anyways i hope you enjoyed the women

If you see this post you’re legally required to tell me at least one trans woman headcanons you have for a canonically male character, I never get to see transfem headcanons like that, give me them, and for equality of my own please know estrogen could have saved Insector Haga and Dinosaur Ryuzaki I will not elaborate, also Yuya.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Special Delivery

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, possessive Simon, arguments, annoyance (spouse and nonspouse annoyance)

Author’s Note: Simon forgot some stuff at home, you are a firecracker if anyone has ever seen one so here we are. Inspired by one of my favs @bi-writes and her younger!wife x John Price fic

Masterlist | Bi’s Fanfic

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It starts with a text.

My Ghostie: Forgot my wallet.

Then another.

My Ghostie: And my lunch.

And another.

My Ghostie: ...And the file on my desk.

You stare at your phone, lips pressing into a flat line. Unbelievable. You love your husband, truly, but some days? Some days he tests your patience.

With a sigh, you gather everything—his wallet, his carefully packed lunch, and the stupid file he swore he wouldn’t forget—before grabbing your keys. You could ignore it, let him suffer, but you both know you won’t.

Which is how you find yourself at the base entrance, staring down a soldier who looks entirely unimpressed with your existence. Arms crossed, legs planted apart, like he’s guarding the last bastion of civilization.

“I can’t just let you in, ma’am.” His voice is flat, bored, like this is the most mundane problem he’s dealt with all day.

You, on the other hand, are vibrating with irritation. “Look,” you huff, adjusting the duffel bag on your shoulder and waving the brown paper lunch bag in your other hand. “I’m not some crazy stalker trying to infiltrate your little clubhouse. My husband, Simon Riley, left his wallet, his lunch, and some other important stuff at home, and I’m just here to drop it off.”

The guard doesn’t budge. “Can’t confirm that without proper clearance.”

Your patience is wearing thin. You exhale sharply, then, with slow, deliberate movements, hold up a very distinct leather wallet between two fingers and shake it slightly. “Alright, genius, let’s use some logic. If I wasn’t supposed to be here, do you think I’d just so happen to have Ghost’s actual shit?”

The man hesitates, clearly uncertain. “That… that could belong to anyone—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, resisting the urge to fling the wallet at him. “If I was trying to sneak onto base, don’t you think I’d pick something a little less obvious?”

You go in for the kill. Flipping open the wallet, you shove it right into his face. “Does that look like just anyone to you?”

The poor bastard leans in, eyes locking onto the ID tucked inside. His face blanches.

It’s right there. Simon’s name. Simon’s face. Your husband’s face.

“…I mean, I still can’t—”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alright, listen here, Private Dumbass.” You shift your stance, letting the overhead lights catch the big-ass rock sitting pretty on your ring finger. You tap it against the metal of the gate for good measure. *Clink, clink.* “See this? This means I can make your life very difficult.”

The man stiffens. You decide to twist the knife. “I may not have rank here, but I am married to a lieutenant. And if you don’t let me through in the next ten seconds, I will personally make it my mission to have you running laps around this base until your legs fall off.”

He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “You… you can’t do that.”

You smirk. “You sure about that? ’Cause my husband definitely can.”

That does it. With a sigh, he gestures for another soldier to let you through. “Fine, fine. Go.”

“Damn right,” you mutter, marching past him with your head held high.

Smart man.

——

After waiting at the gate for so long, you storm onto the base with a paper bag in one hand and a duffel slung over your shoulder, exuding confidence as your boots click against the concrete. The guards barely had time to stop you before a sharp-tongued remark had them stepping aside, unsure if they were more intimidated by your presence or impressed by your sheer audacity.

Simon’s dumbass forgot his lunch, his wallet, and a few other essentials, and you’ll be damned if he goes without just because he’s too stubborn to admit he needs you. He might be the terrifying "Ghost" to everyone else, but to you, he’s just your husband—the same man who forgets his keys and leaves his socks all over the damn house.

Walking into the common area is like stepping into a lion’s den—if lions had the audacity to gawk at you like a bunch of wide-eyed recruits seeing their drill sergeant off duty for the first time. A few soldiers are loitering, some cleaning their gear, others playing cards, but the moment they spot you, their focus shifts. You can practically hear their thoughts.

Who the hell is this?

Why does she look like she owns the place?

Did we miss a briefing?

The most unsubtle reaction comes from a particularly cheeky Scot lounging with his feet kicked up on a chair.

“Well, now,” Soap drawls, an impish grin spreading across his face. “And who might you be?”

You don’t bother stopping. “Not in the mood, Braveheart. Where’s Simon?”

Soap lets out a low whistle. “Oi, no need to be feisty, lass. Maybe if ye tell me who ye are, I can help.”

You sigh, shift the duffel on your shoulder, and lift your left hand just enough for the overhead light to catch on the massive wedding ring decorating your finger.

“His wife.”

The room goes silent.

Soap’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. His mouth opens, closes, then—“No shit.”

“No shit,” you confirm dryly. “And unless you lot want to deal with a grumpy, starving Ghost, you’ll tell me where he is. Now.”

Before anyone can answer, a deep, familiar voice rumbles through the space.

“Don’t need to.”

The effect is instant. The tension in the room shifts as every soldier in the vicinity straightens instinctively.

You turn just as Simon strides in, the mask covering his face doing nothing to hide the sheer command he carries with every step. He looks at you, and even though his expression is unreadable, you feel the weight of his gaze.

“The hell are you doin’ here?”

You plant a hand on your hip, tilting your chin up. “Bringing you your shit.” You shove the paper bag into his chest before shrugging the duffel off your shoulder and letting it drop at his feet. “Your lunch. Your wallet. And the file you swore up and down you wouldn’t forget.”

Simon catches everything with practiced ease, his gaze dropping briefly to the items before flicking back to you. “…I would’ve managed.”

You snort. “Yeah? And by ‘managed,’ you mean sulking around all day, hangry as hell, making everyone else suffer for it?”

A muffled snicker comes from Soap. Simon’s head *slowly* turns toward him. The room collectively holds its breath.

Soap lifts his hands innocently. “What? She’s got a point.”

You smirk, smug. “See? Even he agrees with me.”

Simon exhales sharply, a sound you know is the closest thing to a fond sigh. Then, before you can react, he hooks a hand around your waist and tugs you in, pressing your body flush against his. It’s firm, grounding, and entirely possessive. His fingers spread wide over the small of your back, holding you there like he’s making sure you’re real.

“You shouldn’t’ve come all this way,” he mutters, voice softer now.

“You love when I show up unannounced.”

His grip tightens slightly. You know you’ve won. His hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer if that was possible. His touch was firm but gentle, grounding you in a sense. You tilt your head up at him, grinning. “Besides, I know you missed me.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he rumbles, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“And you’re lucky I love your grumpy ass.” You grin up at him, reaching up to brush your fingers over the side of his mask. “Eat your lunch, alright? I made sure it’s still warm.”

A long beat passes before Simon finally responds.

“…Yeah. Alright.”

Soap mutters something under his breath, and Simon growls, “MacTavish, if you don’t shut it—”

But before he can finish, you press a quick kiss to his mask-covered cheek. His grip tightens slightly, and you catch the subtle shift in his stance. Oh yeah, he missed you.

“Well, my work here is done,” you say, stepping back with a playful salute. “Try not to forget anything else next time, yeah?”

Simon grunts, his version of a reluctant thank you. But as you turn to leave, you hear him mutter, “Get home safe, love.”

As you turn to leave, you call to your husband, “Oh, by the way—told the guy at the gate he’s gotta run laps for giving me a hard time. Make sure he actually does it, yeah?”

You shoot him a wink over your shoulder before strutting out, leaving a room full of stunned soldiers—and one very flustered Ghost—behind.

You don’t stay to hear the response, but you do catch the sound of Soap absolutely losing it as you step out the door.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[baronessvonglitter]

Guessing Game

stepdad!Javier Pena x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: Your stepfather is a DEA agent. When he finds drugs in your room you have to find a way to keep yourself out of trouble.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Step-cest (if that's an ick for you please do not read - you are responsible for the content you consume 🖤). Age gap (reader is early twenties, Javi is mid-to-late forties). Reader wears makeup and a dress and has hair long enough to get in her face. Cocaine use. Sexual proposition/exploitation. Dub con. (Reader is high during the act.) Oral (m receiving). Drug use during oral. Come swallowing. Fingering. *Spanish terms at the bottom. If I've missed anything please lmk!

Author's note: Big thanks to those of you who asked about this when it was just a baby wip -- now it's fully grown and I so appreciate the support! 💜

JAVIER PENA MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Please tell me you're coming out tonight."

You pause a moment before answering your friend Gabi, switching your phone to your other ear as you check your reflection in the mirror. You apply dark burgundy lipstick to your bottom lip: Guessing Game by MAC, and top it with a swipe of clear gloss.

"I'll be there. You can bet your tits on that," you tell her with a smirk before you end the call.

Sure, you're technically still in trouble for staying out all night the past weekend. That's the thing that sucks about  commuting to college instead of moving out-- having to stay under your mom's roof and adhere to her rules.

Not just her rules, oh no. Your new stepfather is a hard-ass too, and a DEA agent on top of that. Javier Peña's over half your age and a stickler for rules. He's down your throat any chance he gets when you talk back to your mom or do anything that he finds disrespectful. 

It's stressful having to walk such a thin line. You deserve to go out tonight and show off the slinky, short black dress you're secretly borrowing from your mom's closet. It's not like she wears stuff like this anymore. She won't miss it for one night.

Almost ready to go, you do a last minute checklist. The only thing missing from your purse is your baggie. 

Shit! Where is it? You check your usual hiding place but find nothing. Your stomach swirls with unease.

"Looking for this?"

You turn to the sound of the deep voice coming from your doorway. There stands Javier, big bad DEA stepdad, holding your baggie of coke between thumb and forefinger.

"That's not mine," you automatically deny. 

"Bullshit," he mutters, stepping into the room. "I found it in here earlier. You want to tell me what you're doing with cocaine, chiquita?"

"Like I said, it's not mine," you insist. Deny, deny, deny. 

"How stupid do you think I am, huh? Just be damn glad I found it and not your mother. She'd kick your ass out on the streets for having this." The offending white powder in its baggie looks tiny in his large hand.

"Did I interrupt your big plans tonight?" he asks smoothly, shutting your bedroom door behind him. "Were you gonna go out and party, do a few lines, let some pendejo fuck you up the ass?"

"Javi!" You instinctively cover yourself as his eyes linger over your figure in that short, tight dress.

He comes around the bed, towering over you as you sit on the edge. Still in his suit and tie and his hair still in its neat, swept-to-the-side style, you imagine he must have just gotten off work. His dark eyes challenge you to do one more thing to piss him off. Despite the severe disdain you hold for one another, in the back of your mind you've always wanted to fuck him. Him being alone with you in your room, that dangerous, pissed-off look in his eyes only serves to make you wet. 

"You should know better," he says. "I can't have a fucking druggie for a stepdaughter."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "But you shouldn't be going through my shit anyway."

"That's not a fucking apology, cariño," he gripes. "When you say 'sorry, but' that means you're not truly fucking sorry."

"You're giving me a fucking semantics lesson now?"

"Don't fucking talk back to me," he growls. "I'm not your mom, I'll beat your ass."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Keep it down, she's asleep in the next room."

It's late and by now your mom's taken her sleeping pill. You'd counted on her staying practically unconscious as you snuck out. Until Javi came along. You don't know what his plot is but the fact that he's here in your room with the door closed and it's half past midnight gives you a feeling that he wants something he shouldn't be asking for.

"Just.. give it back to me. I'll flush it, I promise."

A dark chuckle leaves his throat and sends a chill up your spine. He holds the baggie out and flicks it with his finger. "Who's your plug, baby? Give me that much. Possession with intent to distribute is a worse crime than just possession. You could get off with just a slap on the wrist if you just give me a name."

"I'm not telling you shit.."

"That stubborn, eh, princesita?" He smirks at even you have to admit he's a little handsome when he looks at you like that. But you still fucking hate him. You make a low sound in your throat, akin to a growl.

“You got something in your throat, chica?”

“No.. but I’d like to..”

His gaze darkens as he looks down at you, that barely-there dress leaving so little to the imagination. He recognizes it from his wife's closet, the very same dress she wore when they went on their first date. And now it fits you like a second skin. "Careful, chica. You might be an adult under the law, but you have no idea what the real fucking world is like."

"What are you gonna do, turn me in?" you challenge him.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise," he says, his gaze on your wet, glossy, darkened lips. "I'll keep quiet about the drugs if you do something for me."

"Like what?" You lean back on the bed, acting bored with the conversation though you're secretly glad he's about to let you off the hook.

"You're a smart girl. Use your imagination."

You separate your gaze from his, traveling down to the prominent bulge in his trousers.

"You're disgusting, you know that? Exploiting your own stepdaughter like that.."

He shrugs. "I have no problem bringing you in for this. It's a shame, though. You're a bright kid, you have your whole future ahead of you. You gonna let a little cocaina put an end to all that?"

"Fuck you," you mutter, sitting up. What does it matter anyway? It's just a dick. Not like you haven't sucked a few in your time. "Fine. I fucking blow you and you don't tell anyone about the coke, okay?"

A little smile curls his lips upward. "Deal, princesita."

He puts the baggie on the nightstand where you can't reach it and turns to you, hands on his hips. You realize he's waiting for you to start. 

Smart guy, having you make the first move so it's not on him later. "Nobody knows about this, either," you demand, your fingers hovering just over his belt buckle.

His breath hitches before answering, excitement hidden in his voice. "Just between us."

You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you undo his belt and pants, letting them fall to the floor. He's wearing white briefs, though you know him to typically go commando when he's not working.

"That's it, bebita linda," he coos as you free him from his underwear. His thick erection curves upward, slapping his belly as it swells and rises. Your mouth waters just feasting your eyes upon it.

"Ain't got all night," he grumbles.

"So fucking impatient," you grumble back, wrapping your hand around his hefty cock. It's bigger than any you've ever had, already weeping from the tip. Without hesitation you lick up the salty precum, delighting in the way his breath catches in his throat.

"It's not gonna suck itself," he grunts, putting his hand on the back of your head and pushing you towards him. "C'mon, baby, wanna see that pretty lipstick ruined and slopped all over my cock. The deal doesn't count if you're just gonna give it kitten licks."

Grabbing the base in one hand you slide the tip between your lips. Already it feels like too much, but you're not going to let him think he's got the best of you. 

"Open wide, baby, I know you can suck a cock better than that."

Forcing back an exasperated sigh you practically unhinge your jaw to get your whole mouth around him, his fat cockhead hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. Javi laughs as you pull away.

"You a fucking amateur, mia linda?" he chuckles. "Or am I just too big for that bratty mouth?"

"Fuck you."

He grabs you by the chin and forces you to look up at him. Your eyes are big, wide, a hint of fear there mixed with desire. "Be good for me. Or do you need something more to keep you sweet?"

He reaches for the baggie and scoops out a small amount, making a nice line on the top of his cock. 

"C'mon, do a line for me, sugar." He brings your head down and immediately you snort the white powder off his dick.

"There you go.. putting those vices to good use for once. Now maybe you'll suck my cock like the proper little slut you are."

You're still sniffling up the remnants of the coke when he shoves himself inside your mouth again, the bitter taste of the drug mixing with the salty taste of his flesh. 

"Relax your throat," he commands. "I can't believe I have to tell you how to suck a cock," he tsk-tsks.

Your eyes are brimming over with tears as you take him deep inside your throat. He stays there, guiding your movements with his hands on the back of your head. You start to breathe through your nose as your airway gets stuffed full of Javi's throbbing dick.

"Just look at that pretty mouth, pretty purple lips spread open wide around my cock," he whispers. "That's right, baby, get my cock all messy with your lipstick."

He lets you pull away from him to catch your breath before pushing back in, thrusting into your mouth. Whether you like it or not, saliva fills your mouth, making the slide in easier. If he knew your pussy was getting just as wet right now he'd take full advantage.

By now the coke is taking effect, making your heart flutter, and your pleasure receptors are buzzing off the charts. If you were only a reluctant participant before, you're voracious now. You put all your effort into blowing Javier, eager for his moans and sharp curses, even when he pulls out and taps your cheek with his dick you can't help but giggle, seeking him out with your tongue so you can drag it along his length.

Soon you're getting into a rhythm, following his lead as he thrusts into your mouth, pulling you away, only to push in again, stuffing you full and deep as he grabs your hair. Your mascara runs down your face, black streaks down your cheeks, lipstick smeared, Javi's dick now a strange purple.

He likes watching his whole member disappearing inside you, excited by the way you're learning to take him. He stops playing nice and stuffs himself down your throat, shoving himself deep and thrusting shallowly while your arms flail in a vain attempt to push away from him.

"Nuh-uh.. we agreed. I can just take you in right now, all wrecked and ruined. I can already see the mugshot. Bet your mama would be so proud," he says sarcastically.

"Fuck you," you manage to say, lips swollen, saliva running down your chin and neck.

"Hey, that's not very ladylike. Then again, you're not much of a lady, are you? Now suck."

He thrusts inside you again, even though you gag on him, tasting the bitterness of your own bile creeping up your gullet.

"If you puke on me I'll just keep going. You think I'm worried about a little vomit?"

You force down the remnants of your dinner from earlier, simultaneously bringing him deeper into your mouth.

"Lift up that dress for me, want you to play with your pussy while you're sucking me off," he says, stuffing your mouth full with more of him.

You do as he says, picking up the hem of the dress over your hips and sticking your hand under your black lace thong. You're drenched and Javier can see it, smell your arousal as it fragrances the air between you. He's never smelled a sweeter pussy. 

"That's right, circle that pretty little clit for me, mamacita," he grunts, exiting your mouth to pull back and watch you for a little, a long thick string of saliva connecting between your lips and his dick. You look totally wrecked and he's not even done yet.

You work on yourself, pressing your clit, your little gasps fueling Javier's need. "There you go, drive yourself crazy for me," he says.

You dip your fingers inside your warm cunt, closing your eyes as you seek out the relief from the heat building between your thighs. "Nu-uh, baby, eyes on me," he purrs slipping back in, thrusting deep and slow, watching you, feeling how good it is when you moan around his dick.

"Perfect, fucking perfect," he moans when you deep throat him again, your tongue peeking out to lick his balls. "Fuck," he says, tightening the grip he has on your hair. "Freaky mamacita, aren't you? Done this before, haven't you? To a lot of guys, I bet."

You whimper around his dick, pulling away to get some air. You finger yourself into a frenzy and start to come. "Not yet," Javier growls, pulling you back onto his slobber-coated cock. "You gotta earn it if you wanna come," he tells you.

You whine about it but the energetic buzz the coke has given you is still at work, putting extra effort into sucking off your stepdad, a renewed energy and vigor to your mouth sucking his cock. 

"Damn, cariño.. you really want your bad little habit kept secret, huh?" Javier pants, head thrown back as you sloppily suck him off. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come.. gonna spray that sarcastic little bitchy mouth with my cum.. you ready?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, slamming into your mouth with urgency, not a care for your comfort until he bursts in your mouth and you have no choice but to taste the hot saltiness of his release.

He pulls out slowly, and when you try to spit out his release he shoves it back in with his fingers, effectively gagging you in the process. "Swallow," he commands, and you do so obediently just as his other hand finds its way to your core. 

He curls his fingers into the waistband, pulling the thong up, rubbing the material against your wanting and willing core, rubbing hard against your clit. It's pleasure bordering on pain.

"Fucking hell, look how soaked you are," he coos. He watches the way your stringy slick clings to the lace of your thong. "You got all wet sucking me off, didn't you? Dirty girl. Muy sucia." He rubs the pad of his thumb over your exposed clit and smirks when you start panting like a dog in heat, thighs open to him, head thrown back, your hair sticking to the mess of saliva and lip gloss on your mouth and chin.

"There it is.. just what you wanted, huh? What you think about every time you look at me. You dream about my cock in your mouth and my fingers in your cunt, just like this.." He delves two thick digits into your wetness while stroking your clit and it's embarrassing how quickly you come on his fingers, your core quivering around him, expelling more fluid, coating his hand.

"That's it," he says gently, staying inside you until the little aftershocks are complete and your body is utterly spent. Your mouth tastes like his cum and the lingering bitterness of the cocaine is at the back of your throat. Despite your orgasm being over your heart is still jackhammering away. The high of both the drug and the orgasm combine to leave you teetering on the edge of sanity.

"Drugged out and fucked out," Javier mutters, watching you as he removes his fingers. He lets out a small noise of approval, his thumb gently tracing along your lip and the edge of your tongue for a moment before slowly sliding it inside your mouth. “Taste yourself, princesa.”

You make a little sound of pleasure, swirling your tongue along his thumb, your gaze on him.

His free hand moves to tangle in your hair to keep your head still as he slowly pulls his thumb out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting his finger to your tongue as he looks down at you with half lidded eyes. "God, you look so good down there, cariño." 

Then he pushes you back on the bed. "Such a fucking mess," he mutters, tucking his cock back in his briefs and doing up his pants again. "Go clean yourself up. And no more fucking coke, got it?" he growls as he leaves, taking the baggie with him.

"We're square now, bebita," he says, giving one last look to your prone form, your skin flushed and sweaty, legs splayed out like a true coke whore. "But if I ever catch you doing something like this again, I'll do more than fuck that sweet little mouth of yours."

*chiquita ~ little girl | pendejo ~ idiot | carino ~ dear | princesita ~ little princess | chica ~ girl | cocaina ~ cocaine | bebita linda ~ pretty baby | mamacita ~ gorgeous/hottie | muy sucia ~ very dirty

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 👑

taglist: @myownwholewildworld @milla-frenchy @604to647

@vichons @itwasntimethatdidit40 @probablyreadinsmut

@drewharrisonwriter @joelmillerisapunk @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@everybodylovedcontractors @almostfoxglove @cxrsed-angel

@ohlookitspaperpixel @victorian-cherub @sawymredfox

@friendly-neighborhood-boricua @notgoingtomalta @darling-stevie

@letsgobarbs @devineconjuring

[shanastoryteller]

Hi shana! Hope you have a great day!

Bit of a strange question ... So, the recent ao3 maintenance had me read through your mdzs fics again (I love lynchpin so much!) and it had me notice something: there are quite a few redemption fics for pretty much any chara out there, except for jin zixun. And tbh, I wouldn't even know how to start writing one for him, but I thought, shana's a really good author, maybe she would have an idea?

Obviously not asking for a fic, more like, if someone challenged you to write it, how would you go about it?

weeellllllllll

i don't think jin zixun really needs to be redeemed

what's he guilty of, really? he's an asshole, sure, but he's not evil. he doesn't betray anyone. he doesn't scheme. he doesn't lie. he's just a chess piece, manipulated and used and ultimately discarded. he hates wei wuxian because he's rude to jin zixuan, because the rumors of his relationship with jiang yanli sully jin zixuan's reputation in turn. hating wei wuxian doesn't make him evil. in both lynchpin and become tomorrow i try and write him as a jerk, but not a bad guy

however if we were to make him likeable, when it comes to tweaking characters enough to polish them up without making them unrecognizable, you gotta ask yourself three questions

what is his best quality?

what's his worst quality?

how can his best quality be used to soften his worst quality?

i'd say his best quality is his loyalty and his worst is his gullibility. you should also look at the inverse of this - his worst quality is his loyalty because it leads to him doing stupid shit and acting like an asshole when it's not necessary, and his best quality is his gullibility because phrased another way, he's unthinkingly trusting of certain people.

so you'd take the person he's loyal to - jin zixuan - and make him a good sympathetic character. you'd give jin zixun's overprotectiveness a reasoning - such as jin zixuan feeling constrained by the expectations of his station and father's reputation keeping him from acting as freely as he'd wish - and you'd use this to soften his gullibility by having him trust jin zixuan completely

looked at like this, jin zixun's foil is wei wuxian. he acts for jin zixuan as wei wuxian acts for jiang yanli, with similar reasoning, and similarly potentially disastrous results. we find wei wuxian good and compelling and sympathetic. why not jin zixun?

often i think the best thing to do is not necessarily adding or subtracting to a character, but taking the traits they already have and shifting them just enough to show a different angle, like holding a prism up to the window to make a rainbow. there's something good in there already. you just gotta look at it the right way

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

teach me? // Quinn Hughes

a drunk conversation leaves your best friend wondering.

AN: based off this anon, this is the first of a few ideas i have for this topic so enjoy part one!🫶🏻

WC: 1.1k

CW: smut, quinn talks you through it, fem masturbating, a little bit of possessive quinn.

Quinn knows he should leave, he knows he shouldn't break your trust and listen but his feet won't move. He can hear your giggles, not a sign of discomfort in the conversation. A drastic difference from anytime you've been around the guys when these topics are brought up.

“y/n! Are you telling me you’ve never gotten off?!” There was another laugh, he couldn't tell who. Too focused on your answer. How could no one treat you right? No one’s found pleasure between your thighs? Tragedy for them, he thought to himself.

“Oh my god, no. I have gotten off, just not manually? If that makes sense. Like, no one else. No hands, nothing but the handy dandy vibrator.”

He needed to leave, his mind wandering and he knew all the guys would just chirp at him if he walked back with a hard on.

Everyone started to slowly make their way to bed, calling it a night yourself around 1:30. Your room right across from Quinn’s. You knew he was already locked away, trying your best to stay quiet while you were in and out of the bathroom that shared a wall.

Finally settling in your bed and grabbing your phone, seeing a text from Quinn. Come here, please. Followed with another text, Don't knock, just come in.

“Hi Q.” He was quick to pat his bed, “I need to ask you something, and you can tell me no or to fuck off and I wont ever bring it up again. I just, I need to ask.” You nodded at the man, who's now pacing. “I’m telling on myself and I'm sorry in advance. I was walking by when you and the girls were chatting and somethings been stuck in my head since and it makes me feel so bad because you absolutely don't deserve that kind of shit treatment. Oh god, I'm rambling. Anyways, no one ever made you cum? I can show you, oh my god I need to shut up.”

Your face was flushed, your nerves were setting in. Did Quinn just offer to get me off?

As if he could read my mind, “I don’t have to do it! I can just tell you what to do. Like you get yourself off and I just kind of lead the way.”

“You wanna teach me how to make myself cum?” Your voice was small, he was sure if he wasn’t staring at you he wouldn’t have heard. He nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Teach me, Quinny.”

That dumb conversation led you here. On his bed, pj shorts on the floor, legs spread and Quinn watching you from his desk chair.

You were both giggly about it. The nerves settled, it seemed a little funny, silly even. But he's your best friend. Who cares? All bad thoughts went away the second your legs spread and the man's eyes went a little wide, pupils blown as he watched your hand roam down your body.

“Fuck. You’re pretty.” He whispered to himself.

This wasn't sexy, well it wasn't meant to be, at least to your brain.

“Uh, like this?" you asked, a little embarrassed. "Fuck, this is stupid."

You were against his pillows, unable to fully look at Quinn who was still at his desk, starry eyes watching you intently.

Your hand was down the front of your body, shaky fingers searching for something you shared you'd never been able to achieve on your own.

Quinn adjusted himself, his growing cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. Forever wishing he put on boxers before you came to his room.

He didn't know the rules when it came to getting yourself off in front of your best friend. So he kept it a little light, laughed breathily and asked, "Are you even touching your clit?”

His words ran through you, a simple question truly but it was bordering on the dirty talk you desperately craved to come from his mouth.

You squirmed, shrugging, but he was watching your hand move, content with seeing your fingers moving through your folds.

"I think so?" you claimed. "I don't know. It's just, it's too wet to feel anything really."

Quinn felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

You finally looked up at his face and watched his cheeks burn, wondering if he'd move closer if you asked him to.

You dont know what fell out of your mouth, your brain is just on autopilot. Quinn’s now at the edge of his bed. Hands holding your ankle, rubbing softly.

"No, I know. fuck, um-" Quinn swallowed, shifting again. "Move in circles, be a bit softer. Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, you'll feel it."

So you did, two fingers exploring slowly, up and down between your folds, moving a little higher until you reached the spot he was just picking on you for, the pads of your middle and pointer touching a little bump that made your breath hitch.

“There you go, just like that.” He spoke.

You laughed to yourself, feeling stupid, and floaty, searching for that high. You crinkled your nose, as you did slow circles, soft and shy.

"Oh," you mumbled, mouth parting slightly. Still watching Quinn. He pressed his lips together, eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

"Yeah? Does that feel good?"

"Uh huh, feels good."

You thought you heard him let out a groan.

"Will I come?" you asked, still feeling small. "If I keep doing this?"

You were squirming again, moaning softly, chasing your high. He was watching you, open mouthed.

He was too far gone to try and hide it anymore, when he dragged his palm over himself, you moaned, eyes following his movements.

"Yeah, fuck. just keep doing that. Do what feels good, okay?" voice hoarse and wrecked, "you're doing so good, baby."

The praise made your hips lift from the bed a little, fingers moving down a little further, confidence building as Quinn kept rubbing over his cock, "Holy shit, that's fucking hot. You gonna show me how tight you are?" he croaked.

"Uh huh", head tipped back into the pillows. you wanted him to keep talking. You just didn't know how to ask him.

Your foot slipped, bumping into Quinn’s arm and he caught your ankle, wide palm wrapping around as he held you, making you shiver. "Oh, there you go," he murmured. "That's it, baby. Fuck, you're so good. Gonna have to stretch you out more if you ever want me in there, baby. Fuck. Can't believe you're gonna let me watch you cum. Gonna be a good girl and show me how bad you want it? Won't ever need anyone else after this. Just me and you."

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan who in his modern world is a serious and respected fantasy writer with a fairly large fanbase and film and television adaptations of his works, an adult entering his fifties, grey-haired and wearing his long hair in a half ponytail, who is attending a good therapist to deal with all that repressed homosexuality, with an ex-wife who supports him from a distance (distance like, another city an hour or two away by train or something, she had a lot of Shen Yuan in her life), and two teenage children aged fifteen and seventeen who live at home until they finish school and are old enough to go live with their mother, and an older daughter in her twenties who already lives with her.

In fact, reading PIDW was just a stupid distraction about ten years ago when he was entering his forties and going through his divorce, and even though randomly some silly and ridiculous thing from that webnovel pops into his head without paying rent, he doesn't think about it too much.

And one day, he sees Luo Binghe.

Well, it's clearly Luo Binghe. PIDW was a huge success, with physical books, live action adaptations, and international translations. Of course, ten years after from the highest peak of fame of the novel, there would be some fans cosplaying him. However...

Well, he's seen a lot of cosplay in his life. He's seen the beginnings of cosplay when the internet was still a piece of shit with telephone wires. He is actually familiar with seams and costumes and the artificial shine of wigs.

Nothing he sees in front of him looks like cheap cosplay. And the boy, Luo Binghe, beautiful as only words could describe, is staring at him.

"Can I help you?" Shen Yuan asks, because despite everything, he is a kind man in the accommodated neighborhood who has raised his children.

And "Luo Binghe" looks at him with the strangest expression in the world.

"This Lord is looking for someone," the cosplayer says. "Can this man let this Lord know where the Shen family home is, by any chance?"

Shen Yuan feels an unpleasant chill.

“Why do you ask?” he says, however. And the Luo Binghe in front of him just smiles.

"Oh, this one is just looking for someone who owes this Lord a debt."

Shen Yuan hopes there are more Shen families in his fucking neighborhood or for heaven's sake none of his bratty kids have gotten into trouble with cosplay gangsters. Thanks.

[kaiserposting]

My Worries Come in Phallic, Freudian Shapes

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Established Relationship, It's basically just Kaiser tweaking for no reason 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ (I find it funny but interpretations may vary) WARNING(S): Kaiser's overactive imagination?

Kaiser would like to say he’s quite numb to being separated from you. Sometimes you come along with him at away games, if possible, but in other instances you have to be apart sometimes even for months, and Kaiser likes to think he manages it well.

You’re not on his mind much when he’s training or during a game. Mostly his times of weakness happen outside of that, though Kaiser doesn’t let it get to him. For example, he does this fun exercise where if his mind strays towards you too often or when he can sense the void in his chest is beginning to take on a suspicious shape, he holds out on texting or calling you for as long as possible. To test his will — which is something normal people do like all the time, of course — and because wanting to distract himself gives him extra neurotic energy to burn when he’s doing his exercises.

Not that Kaiser becomes neurotic over you or anything. It’s not even a big deal to him.

He’s sure you miss him more than he misses you. He’s confident you do. After all, to him, it’s no big deal, as previously stated. It’s true.

He doesn’t worry about small and nonsensical things like how you’d probably prefer a more present and available boyfriend, and how you’re free to do whatever you want with remarkable ease when you’re seas and oceans away from him.

Kaiser’s eye twitches while he continues shoving the last of his belongings back into his luggage, since he needs to pack for his flight back home. This train of thought isn’t going anywhere good — he needs to abandon it. Besides, a second with Michael Kaiser is worth way more than a month with some stupid, worthless commoner. Your shitty replacement for him will never rival the real deal.

No, this is stupid. You love him, you don’t have a replacement for him. Right? You wouldn’t betray him while he’s away. You’re his first and only love, you can’t do that to him, can you? You know he’d kill you if you did it and he found out, don’t you?

This is stupid. He wouldn’t kill you! Kaiser doesn’t want to kill you. He should stop thinking about this… You wouldn’t do it to him either anyway, you love him back. Kaiser knows you do, so why does it not feel real most of the time?

What if you’ve fallen out of love with him, though? Maybe you look forward to when he has to go away for long. Forget all about him the moment he’s out of your sight, don’t spare him a single thought, have fun with your little friends while he’s gone, all that.

You probably get together and you start shit-talking him with them the way people do about their good for nothing boyfriends sometimes. They call his haircut stupid and you cackle along with them, then you tell them how insecure and unlovable he really is, and actually his dad beat him as a child so now he’s barely human, how it makes him an arrogant and pretentious piece of trash pretender, and then you’re like ‘I wish I had a normal boyfriend instead of Michael’, and they’re all like ‘you deserve a normal boyfriend, this is fucked up’, and you’re empowered to free yourself of your burden. So he comes back home and you pick him up from the flight and you break the news to him that you’re leaving him and he has to move his belongings back to his place.

Maybe you have a new fling already, but it’s nothing serious because you still need to dump Kaiser and all. And he’s like in finances or something, an accountant maybe, who works normal hours (not the overachieving workaholic type who stays behind to do extra), and he probably doesn’t have footage of him having meltdowns on live TV for everyone to see. There are no interviews where he’s acting bitchy, no compilations of him acting cruel or ‘crashing out’ or whatever else. And he probably grew up in an average household — they weren’t rich or anything, but his parents made time for him. They were loving and nurtured him to be a rightful member of society, raising him to be someone worth your affection…

Holy shit does Kaiser feel unhinged. Literally why is he making up this entire story in his head? It never happened.

It didn’t, right? You wouldn’t do it to him, would you? You love him. You really, really, really love him, like from the bottom of your heart, somehow you love him and you don’t want to hurt him, even if you’re probably sick of him being away and of his problems and his attitude and his everything. If you had a magic wand, he wagers you’d wave it and change him on a neurochemical level, keep his looks and his successes, but get rid of the unnecessary baggage.

Or would you keep him as he is and love that ugly thing? Can you? Do you have it in you? Are you just tolerating him for some monetary benefits or out of pity with your knowledge of his past? Do you still love him? Will you love him a few hours from now or are you going to get bored? Are you bored and antsy waiting for him and is it affecting your feelings, suffocating your love to zero each moment he’s not by your side, each reunion only serving to put off the inevitable? Is the novelty wearing off? Do you need novelty?

Kaiser fights off the impulse to write you a text message threatening suicide and then turning off his phone until the end of the flight to keep you on your toes. A flashy move in attention seeking for sure, but for one you don’t even know he’s in a mind war with you, so you’re more likely to be confused than begging for him not to do it and for his forgiveness, though maybe it could earn him a reassurance of love and care. Regardless, Kaiser is not taking the chance because if you ignore him or don’t see the message it’ll just devastate him.

And also he kind of doesn’t want to act like that. Well, he does, but the rational part of him is also still awake and holding him back. You won’t appreciate that. Right now the strife he’s going through is completely imaginary, but if he goes and acts crazy outside the confines of his mind, he really might fuck everything up.

If he makes too many mistakes, you might fall out of love with him, and if you fall out of love with him, you’ll leave him. Kaiser thinks about what he’d do in that case. Without you he is nothing besides an unwanted waste of breath — you’re the sole person who got close enough to see beneath his nonsense and decide to tolerate it, attracted beyond frivolity for an enigmatic reason.

Maybe the perpetrator behind this strange limbo of weird hysteria is Kaiser’s low self-esteem. It always circles back to that and he is sick of it. He doesn’t understand why you subject yourself to him and here, a whole ordeal.

Whatever anymore. Kaiser doesn’t even care. It’s a pointless matter to lose his mind over. He knows you cherish him, and even if you didn’t, he’d get over it. Life moves on. There are other fish in the sea…

Actually, if you tried to leave him, Kaiser has so many things he would do, they’d earn him a restraining order. First he’d resort to begging and ugly crying, but he doubts it’d sway you. He’d need to be more extreme.

No, that’s silly. If you separated, he’d react to it like a normal person, right? He wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let you leave without any theatrics and move on. Right? It’s what he would do, Kaiser decides.

Or maybe he can get a leg up on you and catch you out when you begin losing interest in him and he can work to win you back over. You won’t even know what hit you. Yea, Kaiser will scheme to sweep you off your feet.

Not that he cares that much to put so much effort in… It’s just his strength and natural calling as an unbothered male manipulator.

___

After the packing and the waiting at the airport and all that, Kaiser survives a restless flight. He tried to read a book during it, but he turned out not to enjoy it whatsoever (catastrophe). Then he turned to Gesner, who was sitting next to him and seemed like he wanted to kill himself, and told him in detail about all the plot problems and why this was what made nonfiction superior.

To Gesner’s relief Kaiser also spent a good chunk of it trying to sleep, though the endeavor was useless. He closed his eyes and his pattern of anxious cyclical thinking continued and he failed to doze off. What do you think about accountants? Maybe your side piece wouldn’t have any tattoos because you secretly find his corny and you’ve sworn off tattooed men. ‘I mean, seriously, just put the eyeliner on like a real man.’ Kaiser would bet this is what you’re saying to your friends.

Anyway, again, his flight was spent stirring in ridiculous thoughts in that vein. If nothing else, actually, if you knew what was running through his head, that would be what would put you off of him. But you don’t. He needs to just… keep it to himself and it’ll be fine.

So you find each other after some stumbling and chaos and some vague text exchanges like ‘where are you?’, ‘At the airport obviously’, ‘you think you’re so funny’, and so on, and when you spot each other, you grin upon the sight of him (hard to fake such immediate happiness, Kaiser concludes) and spread your arms out for a hug.

Kaiser rolls his eyes. You’re so cute, he wants to squeeze you to death, but regardless he puts on a big show of what an inconvenience this is and gives you a stiff, nonchalant embrace. The way you hold him is a small reassurance. You’re still in public though, so he needs to play it cool for a bit longer, and he reluctantly peels himself away from you.

You interrogate him about his time away while he’s your passenger princess on the way home. Kaiser takes it as a good sign you’re still interested in his life at least enough to ask, as if there was a possibility he was going to come back and you just… wouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he’s been up to. He keeps his answers vague, trying not to let on the almost daily mental torment he’s been subjecting himself to just because his brain can’t stop making up stupid narratives.

Once you two arrive, and only when you’re inside, does Kaiser give into his desire for your affection. He wraps you up in a way tighter embrace without intention of letting go and peppers your face in kisses.

The first time he acted like that with you upon coming back, you were rightfully weirded out, but now you’re used to this whole routine and let him have his moment of rare forwardness.

“You know,” he says, “I missed you like, a little bit.”

“It’s hard to tell,” you say, sarcastic.

Kaiser ignores it. He bites your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt at all, but it’s a strange sensation.

“So gross.”

“I hope you weren’t doing anything stupid without me. I wouldn't want to miss out on any fun.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What do you think about accountants?”

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, but humor him anyway. “Can’t say I think anything in particular about them.”

“Is that so…”

For some reason, you find his tone to sound suspicious? There is a harder bite — your skin might be a bit irritated around there for a few minutes. You wonder if Kaiser was arguing with management or something somewhere abroad.

___

I just wrote this because I thought Kaiser having emotional impermanence (which is likely) would be hilarious I promise I'll write a more plot-oriented one shot soon again

[shenaniganeryfromtheabyss]

yeah,, this is a thing, unfortunately

some men will literally steal women's and feminine people's disability aids- ranging from mobility devices like canes to fuckin prosthetics- and then play Cinderella (literally) by bringing them back under the guise of "my buddy stole this, he's such an ass" or "i found this in the garbage by your apartment" or some other stupid shit

they think disabled people are so easy yet can't just fuckin get to know us and form an actual relationship

glad the poor woman he stole from was able to track him down and press charges

Some wild shit goes on in ppls lives

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

09 | facetime

“hello?”, nagi asks from your phone.

“sorry, i was just messaging ryusei.”, you reply, going off your messages app and back onto the facetime, seeing the top half of his face peeking on your phone.

“oh, okay.”

“alright.. back to what i was saying”, you say, watching nagi’s eyes flicker back up to the facetime, ready to listen.

“i won’t lie, you had me really confused in your messages.”, you continue.

“why?”, he asks.

“i just felt like you was suggesting something.”, you explain, “but i can’t really tell all the time with you.”

he hums, “i don’t know, maybe i was?”, he replies, his tone unsure.

“you sound unsure.”

he defiantly whines while his brows furrow through your screen, causing you to giggle, “you don’t feel like answering?”

“no, but you know what i meant though..”, his voice drifts off, “didn’t you?”

you think for a moment, “well, i don’t think i’d mind if people thought we were together.”

he’s silent for a moment, “really?”

“mhm.”, you pause, “but i would mind the hate from your crazy fan girls, though.”

“yeah. i know.”, he sighs, flopping backwards on his bed.

“but you don’t have to be so secretive about how you feel.”, you pause, “i mean, i have everyone telling me how you feel, but i’ve not heard it from you.”

he feels the anxiety pool at his stomach, a rare feeling for him, “well.. what have they said?”

“that you like me.”

he’s silent for a moment, “oh..”, he mumbles.

“oh?”, you ask softly, trying to pry more out of him other than a quiet ‘oh’.

“i dunno, i guess i do.”, he says quietly.

you giggle at his sudden shyness, “you don’t have to be so shy about it.”

he groans, “it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s not!”, you continue, “i promise it’s not.”

“it’s a hassle.”

“it’s a hassle liking me?”

“no, i mean.. i dunno.”, he sighs, “it feels childish.”

“and.. i’ve never even met you, so do you not find it weird?”, he asks, a tone of insecurity in his voice that you’ve never once heard.

“i don’t think it’s stupid, sei.”

he sighs out in slight relief, glad you’re not making fun of him, “it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“why not?”, you pry.

“cause you don’t like me back.”, he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about it.

you hum before replying, “and who said i didn’t like you back?”

he’s silent for a few seconds, “what?”, his voice is quiet.

“well, i just assumed.”, he thinks for a moment, “are you maybe saying.. that you do like me?”

you hum in confirmation, nagi now having a small, genuine smile on his face from the other side of the phone, while his stomach fills with excitement.

this is a new feeling.

navigation. virtually yours

next chapter. 10

author’s note. sorry this took me longer to get out!! i’m pretty busy atm with life and college. this is also a pretty short chapter but i’ll be posting chapter 10 soon as well!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd @mizuwki @simpingmyassoff @karasu4life @crispynutella @stwberri @lilwx @suksatoru @rwura @ibyobi @renchai @nuhahani @digitaltrippers @natsukicookies @meekydeeks @ursafehaven @tamimemo @yukari1k @chaoslibra @mochiii-sama @cookielovesbook-akie @ningninjas @wallflowerdowned @hannimissesherbackbone @dinnersyummy @appalost @mbyy00 @asteraslvrr @kaz-0e @kascar-chronicle @arwawawa2 @rwbie @haruhi269 @lovessen @kaiserlvr @azharyy @hwaassaa @mikaru0 @sobbangchan @thenightsflower @chuurinnie @appl3-0rchard (closed)

[bootycallin]

I see your reader who needs their clit played w, I raise you....Vi x reader who needs penetration to cum? And Vi just playing w her clit, edging her, and it feels good obviously but she just need need needs to be filled up to cum and Vi is so condescending about it and just won't give her what she wants okay I'm rambling but think ab it

UGHHH this lowkey sucks but i wanted to write it. cw: wlw. female reader with strict female anatomy. pet names (cupcake, baby, etc.). clit play obvs. dacryphilia if you squint a lil. a littttle degradation? idk. kinda fluffy at the end. not proofread.

this is torture.

one mention of it. one single mention of it to her and she’s on you. she’s making it her life’s mission—not one thing is going inside you. not her tongue, strap, fingers- whatever.

she wants you to feel what it’s like.

“vii…!” she could listen to you cry and whine for ages, really. she’s humming against your clit, and only your clit. she’s not tried to move down once. it’s frustrating—worse when your clit’s so fucking sensitive you’re bucking up into her, back away, all the way back to her eager tongue.

“mhh… what, cupcake?” she knows damn well what. you’re almost in tears, poor girl. but she wants to hear it from you. she needs to hear it from you.

“f-fuck—vi, too much…!”

how do you explain it’s not? it’s not too much, but it’s so little at the same time. every little touch of hers on your clit feels like electric shocks, poor spent bud twitching under the wet muscle. and yet it felt so good. but not enough, and god, you just wanted to fucking cum. by now you could’ve let it all go, but nooo.

because vi is as stubborn as a goddamn mule. and she’s gonna do whatever she sets her mind to. and right now, that’s making you cum through your clit.

“so wet,” she briefly nips at your clit, grinning at the way you squeal and arch your back at the shock that runs up and down your spine.

“pretty fucking baby.” she says, and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s got a shit-eating (well, pussy-eating) grin on her face. her attack is only briefly stopped, as she replaces her tongue with her fingers, pulling the hood of your clit back and running sharp little circles right on the nub. her movements are quick, and she only needs one finger to make you fucking scream.

“shiiit!-“ you’re sure you sound stupid, but you can’t help yourself. your legs try to close out of instinct, but vi is right there to force your legs open, tutting.

“no, no. keep those legs open,” does she really think you’re listening?

“fuck, fuck, viiii…!” you whine, throwing your head back. fuck, so cute. vi can’t help but think, watching your thighs twitch, toes curling into the sheets, pretty back arching. her fingers are working on automatic, even as she lifts from between your thighs and kisses up the valley of your breasts.

“ah-!”

her hand is firm holding open your thighs, fingers still working on your wet, sensitive nub. she kisses up your tits, trailing up, up, up. a kiss to the underside, to your pretty areola, right on top of your nipple, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. she’s hungry, giving open mouthed kisses to your perky nipples, biting, working her tongue the same way she did when you were making out.

your brain’s as messy as your pussy. wet, plain dirty noises sounding, along with your echoing moans and whines and whimpers that turn her own brain into mush. she could cum untouched just listening to you moan and cry like this. there’s a particular little gush of wetness on her fingers that tells her she’s on the right track, the way your noises get somehow needier and louder. you’re close, she can tell. she’s growling as she slobbers on your chest, tits still in her mouth as she makes an effort to look at you and give both tits the same attention as she gives your dripping cunt.

“vi, vi, vi, vi—“ fucking broken record. “fuuuck…!”

it’s something you’ve never felt before. you’re squirming, almost like you’re trying to run from her. you can’t close your legs to find some respite—so you’re left to bend your thighs and kick your feet slightly as if that would help anything.

“mmh, close?” she groans, finally letting your tits go and lifting her head, staring right down at you. you didnt notice how flushed her face was, coated in a slightest sheen of sweat. this was fucking hot for her too. her pussy’s aching like fucking crazy, but she’s not focused on that.

“baby’s gonna cum, yeah?” you could only reply with a dumb whine as her fingers press harder on your clit. she’s a blabber mouth, she can’t help it—“yeah. pretty baby’s gonna cum, hmm? like it when i play with your clit? isn’t it so good? see, don’t even gotta fill this slutty cunt up to make you cum.”

you can’t formulate phrases. you can just barely process her chuckle as you whine and cry, blubbering senselessly, you can just barely process as she fucking slaps your clit—and you burst. a flash of white over your vision, your back arching instinctively, body tensing.

the noises are fucking delicious for her. fingers working quickly on your clit even as you cum, watching as your pussy grows impossibly wetter with sticky cum, your voice raspy by now with how you scream.

she only has some mercy when you genuinely start to cry, figuring your clit’s too sensitive—and you can’t even breathe right, so she definitely got to her goal.

that doesn’t happen without her slapping your clit one last time, though, grinning almost cruelly at how you nearly sob.

her hand meets your cheek, gently rubbing her thumb over your skin and coaxing you to open your eyes. she kisses your tears away. lips just barely brushing over your wet lashes.

“that hurt,” you whined slightly, and she chuckled softly.

“yeah. sorry. overstimulated you a little.” and that’s because she had mercy. if she didn’t, you would be sobbing by now.

“but did it feel good?”

“yeah…”

…

“think you can handle another one?”

“no!”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[chrissturnsfav]

⋆.˚✮ valentine's day with rapper!chris and singer!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is a little longer than my usual blurbs :)

the night starts with chris strolling into the restaurant like he owns it, diamond chains catching the low golden light. his hand stays low on your back, a subtle claim, like the whole world should already know you’re his girl.

whispers ripple through the room—famous faces in every direction—but chris doesn’t give a single fuck. he pulls out your chair, smirking like he’s showing off, because he most certainly is.

"always gotta make a scene," you tease, sliding into the seat.

chris grins wide, his teeth glinting. "nah. the scene follows me."

you roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. "cocky fuck."

"yeah," he chuckles, rolling his eyes as he takes the seat across from you. "but you love that shit."

he’s not wrong.

dinner is stupid expensive but effortless—courses neither of you can even pronounce properly, champagne refilled before it ever empties. chris keeps the conversation wild, making you giddy, cracking jokes that make you laugh loudly even when you're trying to be proper.

"yo, you fancy as fuck right now, kid," he laughs, catching your van cleef rings glimmering in the dim light as you sip your drink.

"why, thank you," you giggle, cheeks warm.

"i told you i was gon’ do valentine’s right," chris says, nodding his head toward you before taking a sip of his champagne.

"right? you mean 'extra,'" you tease, narrowing your eyes.

he grins, shameless as he shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his seat, as if taking you out to the most expensive restaurant in paris is nothing. "my girl deserves the best, don't you think?"

you bite your lip, fighting a smile. he’s fucking impossible.

after dinner, chris pulls you close as you both head toward the eiffel tower. it’s packed with other couples—laughter floating through the air, lights shimmering against the dark sky.

you catch the glint of a paparazzi camera from the corner of your eye, and your stomach twists for a second, but chris clocks it immediately.

"fuck outta here," he mutters under his breath, shifting so his broad frame blocks the view. his arm stays wrapped firm around your waist, solid and reassuring.

"they always do too much," you huff, voice tight as you roll your eyes.

"nah, don’t trip," chris says low in your ear, "they ain't gon' fuck up my night wit' my girl."

you exhale, leaning into him. how does he always knows how to keep you grounded?

the tower looks like a dream, lights flickering like stars. chris keeps making jokes to make you laugh, pointing out couples in matching outfits or doing the most for their instagram pictures.

"we look better than all these mothaf*ckers combined," he says, dead serious.

"dude, shut up," you giggle, but your cheeks grow pink because maybe he’s right.

afterward, back at the hotel, your breath catches when you step inside the suite. heart-shaped red and pink balloons float near the ceiling, rose petals cover the floor and king size bed, candles flicker on every surface. it smells like roses and something sweeter—something that smells like chris.

"you did all this?" you chirp, your mouth falling open in disbelief, voice soft.

"hell yeah," chris grins, looking too fucking proud of himself. "had to flex a lil’ for you."

you shake your head, heart full. "you’re ridiculous."

"yeah, whatever," he scoffs with a chuckle, guiding you to the bed where a parade of designer shopping bags wait.

your jaw drops. "you did not."

"oh, i absolutely did." he lounges back, arms stretched wide like a king on his throne. "go on, open 'em."

you move through the bags—prada, dior, chanel, each one more jaw-dropping than the last. your chest tightens with emotion, but before you can even catch your breath, chris pulls out a sleek red cartier box.

"wait, wait," chris suddenly says, holding it up. "this the big one. close your pretty eyes."

you do as he says, heart racing. when you open them, he’s sliding a gold love bracelet onto your wrist. it gleams in the candlelight, sleek and perfect.

"know what makes this special?" he asks, voice low, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"what?"

"only opens wit' this key," he says, holding up a tiny gold key between his fingers. "'n guess who’s got the only one?" he adds with a smirk.

your jaw drops for what feels like the third time tonight. "you’re fucking with me, chris."

chris grins wickedly. "nah, i’m serious as fuck."

"are you fucking crazy?" you laugh, shaking your head.

"maybe," he shrugs without missing a beat, voice raspy and cocky through a smirk

your heart races, warmth spreading through your chest. without thinking, you straddle his lap, fingers threading through his curls.

"you spoil me too much," you whisper against his ear.

"nah, this jus' a warm-up," he murmurs, hands firm on your waist. "i ain’t ever done showin’ you how much you worth."

the air between you is thick, humming with tension. his voice hangs in the space, rough and deliberate, making your pulse race.

you feel the weight of his hands on your waist, steady but commanding, fingertips pressing just hard enough to make your skin tingle through the silk of your dress.

you shift slightly, leaning in until your lips hover right over his ear. "you talk too much," you whisper, voice low and teasing.

his laugh is dark, laced with something primal. "oh, it’s like that?"

"mhmm," you hum, dragging your fingers down the line of his jaw, soft but deliberate.

chris doesn’t miss for a second. in one smooth motion, he flips the dynamic without trying, his grip firming as he pulls you flush against him. your breath catches, but the surprise only fuels the rush under your skin.

"i ain't even started talkin’ yet," he mutters, voice thick with promise, lips grazing the corner of your mouth—just barely.

you tilt your head, daring him with a cheeky smirk. "then stop teasing."

his grin is lethal, all confidence and heat. "aight."

he crashes into you, mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s hot, messy, and unrelenting—yet full of love and adoration. your hands tangle in the back of his neck, nails grazing skin as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your whole body feel hot.

"damn, kid," chris breathes against your lips, voice wrecked but amused. "you wild tonight."

you smirk, catching your breath. "keep up."

his laugh rumbles low in his chest as he grips your thigh, fingers brushing bare skin under your dress. "oh, i gotchu, baby. believe that."

the kiss resumes, growing more and more hungry, but it's somehow still full of pure love. his fingers brush down the straps of your expensive dress, laughing cockily when he catches a glimpse of the red lace on your body as the dress sinks past your waist.

he pulls away, just to take a look at you in the red bra, little hearts embroidered into the mesh material. his eyes then flit up to your face, running his tongue over his bottom lip through a sinister smirk, "this my present?"

"you like it?" you giggle, a hint of blush heating on your cheeks, fingers idly toying with the silver chain around his neck.

chris proves to you how much he likes it when the lacy red g-string is pulled to the side, plowing passionately into your puffy cunt with loud wet squelches, rose petals shifting on the bed as he moves.

"so pretty," he grunts breathily, his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds them in a gentle yet firm grip against your chest, watching your walls swallow his cock greedily.

you whine softly, watching his pretty face above you through lidded eyes, messy curls bouncing in front of his icy blue eyes. "c-chris...feels so...g-good..." you gasp softly, eyes rolling back as you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth.

chris hums cockily, smiling softly down at you as he leans down to peck your cheek, "yeah?" he mutters against your skin, pace not slowing for a second.

"really...good..." you whisper shakily, panting through soft moans, gasping when one of chris' hands moves to toy with your tit, brushing his finger over your hardened nipple over your thin bra.

"mhm...i know," he coos softly, huffing out a soft chuckle as his head dips down to pepper soft and wet kisses along your neck, your fingers threading through his soft hair. "jus' relax f'me, baby, i gotchu."

he grunts softly against your skin while you whimper, feeling his tip hit that spot deep within that makes your vision blurry. "wanna make you feel so fuckin' good...s'valentine's day...need my girl to be satisfied..."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[onlyalittleperverse]

And here we go, the left demonizing and doxing people they don't like again.

I think we all know who should actually be arrested here, and they don't work for Elon.

Funny, you rage about people doing exactly what they are supposed to, for doing their actual job and are probably also the same idiots who promote disruption of the companies you work for with things like "quiet quitting" or worse, actual active sabotage, all while sitting around and bitching and complaining about how "the man holds you down" and "cant ever afford to own anything in this economy"

You know what the economy has been so shit? Besides bidens massive efforts to ruin it, it's largely because too many moronic pieces of shit like you are filtering into it. You suck the value out of everything you touch.

You are as close to useless as you can get, so obviously the ultra successful magnify your uselessness by stark contrast, which causes resentment, instead of simply hating the successful just for their success like a literal communist scum bag, get off your fat ass and do something for yourself. Don't yell at your mother because the stupid bitch is too slow to get your 4th bag of family sized cheetos, get up off that lard ass, and get your own cheetos, and if you do that enough, you'll start to feel competent, then you can maybe one day walk to the kitchen, golly, wouldn't that be swell? Not swoll like your ankles, but swell, like...great. anyways..

God you people are pathetic. Do better.

These men just stole the personal information of everyone in America AND control the Treasury. Link to article.

Akash Bobba

Edward Coristine

Luke Farritor

Gautier Cole Killian

Gavin Kliger

Ethan Shaotran

Spread their names!

[matchpointfaist]

a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,” so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.

[chaoticwriting]

FENTON CRIME FAMILY 4

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Damian straightens out his shirt a little as he stands in front of his siblings. He doesn't know why nor would he admit that he is a little nervous right now. They are currently at the theater room waiting for whatever Damian has prepared for them. Except for Dick and Jason, all of the siblings are here.

Tim: Would you explain to us already why you want us here?

Damian: Silence Drake. I am gathering my thoughts here.

Steph: Ugghhh, just tell us already. I am already close to cracking up Cass to confess who she is hanging out with.

Cass: No you aren't.

Steph: Yes, I am.

Duke: Umm, guys. I think Damian is ready.

Suddenly the lights turn off and the projector starts to show a slide show.

Damian: So, I thank each one of you for making time to come to this meeting today.

Tim:*Whispering* Oh wow, he must really need our help if he even thanks us for just being here.

Damian:*Glaring at Tim* As you all are aware, I am going out on an outing the day after tomorrow. Although I am sufficiently trained in proper dressing up, I would like to have a second or maybe third opinion.

Steph: You mean fifth opinion? Cause there are like 4 of us here.

Damian: It is a figure of speech, Brown. I'm sure you are not stupid enough to not know that.

Tim: I think he is trying to insult you but that sounds like a praise to me.

Duke: It's because you are a weirdo. How about we get back on track? So, what do you want our opinion on?

Damian turns the slide and a selection of clothes appears.

Damian: I need you to give me your opinion on which set of clothes are the most suitable for my outing.

Cass: What is the specific criteria for the selection?

Damian: I want the clothes to flesh out my features more.

Duke: As in making you look more handsome?

Damian: Yes.

Tim: Why do you need to look more handsome? I thought you are just going for some outing?

Steph: Shit! Don't you see it, Tim? He is going on a date. Look at those clothes. Those are the clothes that he only wears if there is a special occasion.

Duke: You are going on a date? With who? Does Bruce or Alfred know?

Damian: I already told Alfred about my outing. I am holding off on informing father of this event until there is any further progress. As for who, it is none of your concern.

Tim: Wait. Then why do you want our opinion on what you wear?

Damian: Because all of you have experience in relationships before. I would have invited Grayson if not for his fashion sense.

Duke: Fair warning, though. I am not good at these clothing things. It is usually Isabella that chooses my clothes.

Damian: Of course I know that. But given you are in a relationship with Ortiz for a long time already, I would assume her sense of fashion has already rubbed off a little on you.

Steph: Wait, so we are just gonna ignore that he is going on a date? Aren't any of you curious?

Tim: I already got her files. Name is Dani Fenton. 15. No school. Lives in the Bowery. Her sister is the therapist that Bruce is seeing. Has a brother. Her internet history is very clean. Like super duper clean. Almost tailored to make it seem like that.

Duke: Chances it is forged?

Tim: Likely. But I can't seem to find anything about her. Whether it is physical or online.

Cass: Are you sure she is safe?

Damian: Yes.

Steph: I'm not gonna stop you from romancing her but considering who you are the son of, we might need to prepare just in case.

Duke: Oh yeah. Hopefully she isn't anything like that. The last thing we need is another rogue in Gotham.

-Crime Alley-

Red Hood: So, why do you want to meet?

Spectre: I have information that you might want.

Spectre (Ellie) throws a file with a big red 'SECRET' on it onto the table. Red Hood picks it up and opens it.

As he flips through the pages, his breath becomes more ragged. His eyesight slowly turns more green and he could feel his blood pumping at a higher rate as his anger slowly builds up while reading the file.

Especially when he reads the part where they are part of the government. How dare the government do this? Not only are they killing people, they also label them as non living.

Red Hood: What do you want me to do with this information?

Spectre: It is up to you really. Since you are technically a hero, I decide to give this information to you first. However, do know that if you wish to take action, please do it quickly. A lot of "people" wish to have a piece of them.

After Spectre says that, she stands up from her chair and goes out of the room. Red Hood watches as the young gang leader leaves his office. Eyeing the file, he will call the Outlaw tomorrow. There is a government base to be blown up.