#and i think i ruined it with the colors but id

[jorrated]

literally the only good thing i can say about hellava bust is that they are introducing the seven deadly sins in the same order as dantes divine comedy, like following the order of the 9 layers of hell from shallowest to deepest. only smart reference in the whole show

[on-my-way-to-the-woods]

All of the terrible disaster advice on this website is gonna make me cry

Your "go bag" for a fire shouldn't have canned goods, it should have water, money, any medications, and a copy of your important documents for fuck's sake 🤦

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.

warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, NO KIDNAPPING NOR ABUSE HERE, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET

notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 this man

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.

You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.

You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.

A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.

“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.

“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”

Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.

Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.

Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.

Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.

“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.

“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”

“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”

The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.

“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.

And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.

…

Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.

You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.

It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.

Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.

Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.

At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.

The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.

He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.

What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.

Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.

His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.

The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.

Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.

So now, was like it was meant to be.

How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.

Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.

With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.

And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.

…

Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.

Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.

“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.

“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.

The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.

“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”

“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.

“You sound like an ethnocentric…”

“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.

“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”

His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.

“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”

“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.

“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.

“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.

Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.

“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.

“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.

The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.

…

Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.

The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.

It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.

He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.

He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.

After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.

Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.

Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.

“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.

The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.

You swore you saw your salesman.

Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.

“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.

But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.

Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.

And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.

You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.

Your salesman was the attacker.

“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.

His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.

It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.

You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.

There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.

You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.

But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.

Your salesman finally found you.

…

“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.

The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.

Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.

“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.

Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.

“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.

“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”

He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.

For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.

“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”

His good girl….

What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.

What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”

He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.

“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.

“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”

Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.

“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.

“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”

“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.

He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.

Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.

Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.

Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.

“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.

“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.

His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.

It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.

You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.

At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.

Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.

…

When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.

“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”

“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.

He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.

“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”

He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.

Fuck everything, you thought.

I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).

“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.

Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.

Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.

Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.

Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.

You step forward, confidently eyeing him.

“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”

He gulped.

His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.

Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.

Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.

You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.

Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.

“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.

“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”

“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”

“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.

“I don’t need your money”

“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”

“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”

It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.

“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.

Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.

As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.

_______________________________________________

If you ask for more I will provide

Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Hello, Id like to request general HC can be as little detailed as you want with who do you think would be the best and worst person to make friendship bracelets for like who is straight up eating them beads. Joking it with the bracelet. Idk. Making bracelets and devastated you're not in bracelet throwing range ily/p -Marc

FRIENDSHIP BRACELET HEADCANONS

!- friendship bracelets with various characters, mentions of canon deaths

TIM WRIGHT

"Why the fuck would I wanna do that?"

Probably reminds him of the psych ward tbh

It was rare that he'd get to do arts and crafts but he always loved it

Uses as many colors as possible, the psych ward had none

Absolutely loves the bracelets too Wears his everywhere, forever. It's one of his most treasures possessions, not that he'd ever tell you. You only find out because he flips the FUCK out when he can't find it

JAY MERRICK

Makes the ugliest bracelet you've ever seen. Can't tie a knot to save his life. Gets sad if you don't wear the one he made for you, though, so you're stuck with it.

Despite being godawful, he's so excited to be doing something with you

He just wants to hang out all the time, forever (quality time love language gang unite)

The bracelet breaks at some point during season 2, but he keeps the beads in his pocket until his death.

BRIAN THOMAS

"Yeah, sure, sounds fun!"

He's not super into it, but you're his friend, you asked, so he feels kind of obligated.

His bracelets are decently pretty. Nothing too special, not Jay's disaster either.

Wears it for a couple weeks before tossing it in a drawer. You're friends, yeah, but he just doesn't get the whole bracelet thing.

ALEX KRALIE

Says no.

If you ask him again, you have to ask six times before he says yes.

SUPER particular about bead choice.

(Charm and color association, it's a super personal thing but you can't waterboard that out of him)

Pretends not to wear it but it's under his sleeves almost all the time

This man loses his glasses before he takes off his bracelet.

Towards the end, when he's sometimes lucid, he'll stare at the bracelet and try to remember your face.

TICCI TOBY

Twitches right as he's finishing his bracelet, ruining his progress and scattering the beads everywhere.

Gets pissed and leaves the table. You give him the one you made for him, but he opts for giving you jewelry he stole found instead

He wears the bracelet until he has a breakdown and tears it off in a panic, losing it forever

Definitely chews on it

JEFF THE KILLER

Will not make them with you, quite literally doesn't have the patience for it.

If you GIVE him one though, he will cry

He loves small gifts so much

Mans is permanently emotionally stunted, which means extreme reactions to EVERYTHING, not just the constant rage Probably personifies the bracelet.

Definitely talks to it on missions like it can somehow send a message to you.

EYELESS JACK

Eats the beads.

He likes the crunch and is too autistic to not have some kind of stim about them.

Threading the beads is difficult with the claws, so he ends up making you a shaker jar with baby oil and water

He's very particular about the colors, but not shape or texture since it's in a jar and also he can't see the shape very well, but you can both see colors and he wants you to feel as happy about the beads as he does (again, autism)

He wears the one you gave him until it eventually gets lost on an assignment

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[lovelessrage]

Loveless: A Loveless Review

[Plain Text: Loveless: A Loveless Review]

Trigger Warnings For: Discussion of sex, sex negativity, platonormativity, arophobic tropes, and anti-loveless rhetoric

Disclaimer/Disclosure: I couldn’t finish this book. This will factor heavily into the review, as it has to do with how some scenes, details, and the writing quality were just very hard to sit with and continue. I got about 50% through, so I didn’t just skim pages and get back to you on it.

You might guess I don’t think of this book highly if I had to put it down and stop reading. This would be correct. However, I have more in depth thoughts than that. If you like this book and don’t want to read negative things about it, that's fine, but I implore you to read it anyway. A lot of the problems in this book are present in a lot of creations I see and can be a valuable teaching lesson; loveless people aren’t out to ruin your fun because biases got questioned.

Alright. Enough disclaimers. Review under the cut.

The Bingo Card: Surprisingly, Not A Strikeout

People who have been following me for a while may remember I mentioned I went into reading this book with a bingo card in hand: Loveless and Tired Bingo, a sheet made by yours truly. I did not get Bingo with this book! I did, however, fill 17 spaces out of 25; it just didn’t happen to line up, not because the book passed with flying colors. We’ll return to the Bingo Card at the end of this post to see what it looked like. But, letting you know, that’s a rate of 68% of all squares ticked on Loveless and Tired Bingo. Not looking so hot. 

Let’s start with the meat of the post so nobody has to read it all if they just wanted my representation opinions. Other things like writing will be shuffled down for your convenience.

Edit: Past Scowl is a liar and a fraud and did not have maims glasses on, and misread the bingo card! I did get Bingo. Oops. Point still stands because the data is the same, I just gave this book a sliver more credit than it deserved for not getting one.

Platonormativity, Envy, and The Loneliness Whirlpool

If this book had a full course meal, normativity would ironically be a key ingredient in every plate on the menu. Loveless has a platonormativity problem that confronts you from page 1, more realistically before that; the blurb!

[Text ID: From the marvelous author of Heartstopper comes an exceptional YA novel about discovering that it's okay if you don't have sexual or romantic feelings for anyone... since there are plenty of other ways to find love and connection. /End ID]

I promise not all my complaints will be raving about one sentence, but this kinda encapsulates the entirety of my problem with Loveless: Georgia Warr is not supported in her own novel. Loveless is a deeply insecure book that many can relate to, but, really… does it alleviate that insecurity, or just cover it up? There’s an unspoken “but” to every part of Loveless’ philosophy about aspec people [especially aroaces], where they must have platonic love to make them whole, to “fix” and “redeem” their lacking attractions. This has always bothered me, and it’s not an uncommon opinion in the community, unfortunately.

Aroaces aren’t allowed to simply “be” – they must be more. They must be so platonically invested you forget they’re aroace, because they have all this other type of love to give the world. It’s reflective of a view on a community sourced from hurt and exclusion, of someone trying to rebuild their worth on a new forefront. It doesn’t make it less of what it is, though: it’s a “yes they’re valid, but” statement that serves as the backbone for far too many aspec-focused media. 

Georgia is a deeply unsure character, and there’s nothing wrong with her being this way; she’s a fictional character made to represent a journey of acceptance, not a real person with the ability to inflict harm on other real people. She does reflect the author’s biases in many ways and many points on the same token, though, acting as a mouthpiece. This often comes in Georgia’s insistence her friendships are simply stronger than other relationship types, as well as her reflexive tendencies to judge the friendless.

One of my many, many hurdles in this book had to do with Rooney [someone save her and half the cast from this novel, please], when the group realizes she’s only a socialite, not really a long-term relationship holder, and the entire room devolves into silent judgment. Georgia does not defend her newfound friend, simply noting she thought differently of her. What about Rooney not having many friends changes her outgoing personality? It doesn’t. It’s simply the fact that Rooney being friendless makes her weird, as with many things Rooney is unfairly demonized for in this novel.

The emphasis on friends doesn’t end here, and persists through the entire novel, practically. It is the main focus, when it isn’t talking about Georgia’s disinterests, and her friend circle is very important to her. All of this is fine. What isn’t fine is the expectation and casual enforcement of friendship being all you have, so you must seize it; this book, even though I wouldn’t recommend it, is often given as The Book on being aroace, but I wouldn’t agree [you’re free to tell me I can’t have an opinion on that if I’m not aroace, but at least read on before deciding anything, alright, official hear me out warning]. One, not all aroaces are alloplatonic, and two, this:

Why Is This Book Written Like A Workplace Safety Seminar

It’s a very… cookie-cutter way to be aroace, and cookie cutter aroaces exist in real life! The rep should exist, no doubt, and shouldn’t be taken away from anyone. It’s not my problem per se that the book is semi-stereotypical. What my problem is has to do with something I see a lot.

The book falls into many of the pitfalls of what I’m dubbing “the pamphlet effect”: when a novel, show, etc. continuously needs to halt the plot to remind the audience this character is different, and explains this to you in a way that resembles an educational pamphlet at a pride event. Georgia Warr feels like an example given to explain a concept more than a person, and I feel bad for her because of how little this book engages with her actual character when it shines through. I understand the book is primarily centered on her journey through the spectrum, but very little is given to make Georgia’s experience unique outside of one scene off the top of my head. Her interests, hobbies, and unique feelings only seem to play a role when it comes time to be an author mouthpiece on slutshaming for fun and sport; only one scene, the forced kiss with Jason when rehearsing the play, really blends her life experiences with her aroace experiences.

Georgia feels designed to be an everywoman, and it was very disappointing to say the least. Very little of the book actually feels like I’m with her, or learning about her unique take on being aroace as a theatre fan or young adult figuring things out; it just feels like Georgia [and the reader] are being dragged through the Cliff’s Notes version of what it is to discover being aroace, rather than a look at how a character like this might feel differently than others on a fuller, whole scale. She’s a hole that can fit most shapes into it, which makes her broadly relatable, but not as fun or engaging to read about if you don’t fit precisely in the demographic Georgia is for; even if you do, is there much to engage with beyond “I’m like that too!”? 

This isn’t just a Georgia problem, either, as many, many characters in this book are walking stereotypes or very flat. But, we’ll get into that later [if you want to get into it now, skip to Writing Problems, Oh My!].

The Fingering In The Room: Loveless’ Weird Ideas About Sex

Alright, if you’re sex repulsed and braved the storm to get some insight, this next paragraph is just complete confusion about this book’s sex scenes and talking about some of the details within. If you want to skip that, skip the next paragraph.

Why is everybody fingering each other? Fingering is fine and it feels good, but it is basically the only sexual act this book knows outside of making out with tongue. Someone having sex in Loveless? They better have clipped their nails because at least two are going in. It feels like a point of research that was skipped because it was unimportant, which. Pretty much, yes. But when you’re someone who pays very close attention to sex scenes because you’re of the opinion they can have artistic value, as well as conveying the author’s views on sexuality, I come away with “is fingering what Oseman thinks young adults do?”. Anyways. Something I noticed.

[Okay sex repulsed people, you’re good. No in depth descriptions beyond this point, just the word “sex”.]

I should’ve titled this section “In Defense of Rooney Bach” because oh this poor girl. Oh you are just there to be gawked at.

First off, let’s begin in a good place: this book always has to clarify it isn’t slutshaming its characters, followed by slutshaming its characters. Rooney is, for the uninitiated, very sexually active. Georgia’s envy often leads to a judgemental, close minded view of Rooney that often pins her sex life as “too much” – something many sexually active women get villainized for. It strikes me immediately how Rooney is constantly picked on for her sexuality as a woman in ways no male characters who aren’t asexual either are treated. None of the men she flirts with or spends time with are reprimanded or “held to account” by the book; Rooney alone is breaking the rules. Rooney’s descriptions are often bookended with a disclaimer that she isn’t being called a slut, she’s just like one, which… This is slutshaming. You can’t just say you aren’t doing it to not be doing it.

Rooney is also a victim of a very arophobic trope, and one that is also misogynistic: the Broken Woman. Why is Rooney sexually active? A rough breakup that broke her heart and makes her fear intimacy on account of potentially being wrong again. Sure, sex feels good, but explicit focus is made on the fact she is only not engaging with romance because she tried and it didn’t work. For a few chapters, admittedly I was hoping for a book where an aroace and aroallo can get past some differences and expand each other's worldviews; what I got was Georgia thinking pretty poorly of Rooney through unaddressed envy and sex negativity, and Rooney being made to only like hookups because she’s messed up. Because of course a woman could only enjoy that if she had a negative experience that forced her on the path!

Also, another scene I didn’t like was Georgia and Pip watching Rooney have sex while she is completely unaware of their presence? Jason leaves as soon as he notices, but the two of them watch before Pip makes a comment on how disgusting it is and Georgia agrees. I’m shocked at how little this is brought up as being violating or creepy. 

If it was a better book, I would have expected it to result in some kind of furthered conversation about boundaries; it could've been a place for Georgia to start establishing what she likes and dislikes, starting with Rooney preferably keeping her out of her sex life when she’s able. Instead, this event gets brought up solely for jokes, and for a motivation for Pip to start hating Rooney, despite her insistence it wasn't because of the hookup and she isn’t slutshaming. Always a great sign when that needs to be clarified. This is a PSA for everyone: you should not need to clarify you aren’t trying to slutshame. If you feel the need to do so, you are probably being sex negative. 

This book isn’t very fond of sexually active people, nor is it kind to characters that are. I can understand why being asexual and sex repulsed is representation people would want, but I also think there’s many, many ways to write it without making it an exercise in shame.

Ironically Kinda Arophobic In Some Parts

This is a short section of a thing I noticed, hated, and had as a contributing factor for my ending early: this book loves aphobic tropes. There’s already the trope against aroallos of not needing romance because of being broken into only liking sex, but also the problem with Pip and Rooney.

I’m a lesbian, for clarification, and I’m saying from experience that I hate the archetype of the angry, jealous lesbian. It’s everywhere. It’s in this book. Pip, upon even the idea of being rejected, starts berating and demeaning the girl who turned her down, even if she was only turned down in her head. The book passes it off as a lighthearted, funny story that Pip got so mad at an ex-crush she was suspended for throwing an apple at their head. Why do I bring this up?

Is it not ringing any bells that this is arophobic? That a character so hostile to romantic rejection is treated as a joke? Many, many aros, and queer people in general, have experienced violence for turning down someone. It’s a serious issue for aros and a real fear in rejecting someone. I found it incredibly hard to read and sit through as everybody passes off Pip’s tendencies to do this to the women that reject her as a silly, funny Pip moment and not a major issue for the aspec community. I don’t care if it’s enemies to lovers, because it doesn’t really feel good to read at all. The only tension is built off the back of something I’ve experienced in real life and many others have as well. 

Lovelessness: The Insecurity Unaddressed

This book, despite its title, is obviously about a loving character. Many people might not see this as a problem: first off, loveless doesn’t always mean the same thing, and second, many aroaces express feeling loveless when coming to terms with their identity. Here’s my rebuttal.

One: Georgia fits no definitions of the label. She subscribes to none of the beliefs. She loves her friends actively and sees their relationship as more than romance or sex, as something greater to her.

Second, this is because anti-loveless rhetoric is everywhere and all over this book. Not once is it suggested Georgia could live as loveless, or truly be without love. In the end, she is surrounded by it, simply learning to accept friendship instead. The way her insecurity isn’t met with “you’re complete as you are”, and instead with “you can still be complete if you simply fill the void with friends”, is anti-loveless. Nobody is allowed to be whole on their own without a subplot where their doubts are reinforced or they’re explicitly made to be broken inside.

This is shockingly common, and always sad every time I see it. Many aspects fear being loveless, as if it is a curse or blight they must cleanse. This book is one example out of many, but it doesn’t make it less hurtful when a book that runs against everything your community stands for [self-acceptance and the optionality of love] bears your name regardless. It is a book for people who are afraid of loneliness, and it answers their insecurities with “you’re right. You do need other people. You just need to find a way to still find and have a life partner!”. This is damaging to loveless people, especially those questioning an aplatonic identity.

Again, it’s not unique to Loveless. But, it’s reflective of a broader issue of aplatonics who may be seeking community constantly being presented with “you ARE broken, but friendship can fix you!”, a “solution” many can’t use, and often leads to even more self-hatred.

That’s about it from the aspec side of things. If you got this far, congrats! The rest is opinions on the writing, and the bingo card finale. You can drop off here if that’s all you came for.

Writing Problems, Oh My!

This is veering into heavy personal opinion, so, I will remind you: I don’t usually like YA, but YA can be a very good genre! I do not think this book is a good representation of what good YA looks like.

The writing quality is one of the hardest things to get past, because of a major problem I observed: Oseman is better at comics. This isn’t so much a vilification as a recommendation that it would’ve been much better suited for a different type of media. This kind of “media dysphoria” is present in many of the ways the book operates: many scenes would flow perfectly well in a visual piece. Georgia’s inner monologue has a tendency to jump suddenly into scenes and interrupt the action in a way that would be perfectly natural as a narration bubble put over a drawing of the scene around her. There are entire pages of just… text messages that would be much better suited to a visual medium where you could make these dialogue bits look much more interesting through different shots, or drawing what the background would look like on a screen [The Girl from the Sea does this well, for example]. 

There’s also the fact I cannot place in my mind if I'm too old for this novel. A lot of the jokes boil down to “hah! Sex!” in a way that instantly alienates me from the writing. The jokes can be pretty juvenile and repetitive, and serve to be the equivalent of a comedian saying “eh? Get it? That was a joke.” six times. 

This isn’t to mention the fact many of these characters are complete cardboard. Sorry. Jason does not need to exist. When he appears in a scene, he is ignored or completely leaves it on his own. He really only serves to drive Georgia’s character forward, rather than have one of his own. I found myself forgetting he was present in a scene at all until he spoke again and reminded me of his existence. The book would practically be unchanged if Georgia temporarily dated Pip and Jason was never a factor, plus or minus the Shakespeare Soc plot. 

Many interesting characters suffer from severe Pamphlet Effect syndrome. Most of the girls do. In a better novel, they would be more in depth, but Loveless doesn’t really afford them this luxury. I need to take the girls very far away from this novel, okay. I need someone to write a version of Loveless where they have personalities. There’s crumbs there. Please, someone make a loaf of bread out of it. They deserve it.

Another thing, but minor: the breakneck pacing at some points followed by slow slogs of not a lot happening contributes to the reading issues. You may thing something would be dwelled on, just for it to go flying away into the sunset as 3 more things happen and then one problem lasts for 2 chapters. I found it very hard to catch up with Loveless, while other parts I felt like I was constantly waiting for it to catch up with me instead.

The Final Frontier: The Bingo Card Returns

And without further ado, the Loveless and Tired Bingo Card for Loveless by Alice Oseman! Completed with help from other readers braver than I.

[Image ID: A bingo card made from a basic template. It has no title, and all the text is black on a white background. Some squares are marked with a blue X, while others are marked with a red scribble. The marked squares are: “Not prioritizing friendship treated as freak behaviour”, “Jab at loveless sex thrown in”, “Something about not being like THOSE people”, “Universal type of love is laid on thick”, “The answer to all your problems is finding some pals”, “Found family ending”, “Platonic-romantic binary”, “Love still treated as universal [free]”, “Friendship is more wholesome or pure”, “Amatonormativity BAD [platonormativity is my bestie]”, “Platonic love being more powerful or sumn”, “You still love your friends though, right?”, “Friendship saves the day”, “Still thinks you need dedicated people to survive”, “Being alone treated as worst thing in the world”, and “Friendships are more stable than partnerships anyways”. The unmarked, blank squares are: “Something about "players" and pickup artists where no commitment is villainized”, “Character fears being loveless and is kinda aplphobic about it”, “Aspec double standards [one is normal, one is weird]”, “You still love your FAMILY, right???”, “QPRs mentioned by no nuance given to their diversity”, “Friendship forced upon a character against their will”, “Comment about some people being inhuman gets brushed past”, and “Simply prioritise your family instead!!” /End ID]

Would I recommend this book? Uh. No! Well. Yes, but not as a good book for aspecs. I’d recommend it solely to read it yourself and form your own opinions. But, no, I would not recommend it to any aspecs I know, especially not loveless ones, aplatonic ones, aroallos, or if they're an aroace looking for support.

Ah, Loveless, how you vexx me. Never again. See you in the next, much shorter post.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

All Bark, No Bite

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BodyGuard!Simon "Ghost" Riley x rich girl!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: Simon takes on a job that may be more than he bargained for.

Content warnings: This story contains elements of intoxication, sexual assault, and violence. If you are not in the headspace to consume this content please scroll on.

A/N: Hello folks, I am kinda getting back into the swing of things. While working on another story this idea popped into my head and I had to get it down while the creativity was flowing. Pumped this bad boy out in one day so if it seems rushed I apologize. I just wanted to get it done tonight before I have to go back to work. As usual let me know what you think. If y'all like it I may do a part two. Thank you so much for all the support! Love you guys!

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At first Simon was irritated at such a small time job being given to someone with his expertise. Growing more resentful by the day as he prepares for his stay at your family's property. When he was offered a long term private security job he thought it would be more along the idea of escorting an important political figure or guarding an extremely dangerous weapon of mass destruction. He never thought he would see himself packing suits and nice shoes for a job.

He becomes a little less irritated when he is introduced to you. Seeing such a beautiful young woman greet him in the entryway of your dazzling family home he figures the next few months may not be so bad. Getting to watch a cute little thing like you all day stroll around the expansive acres of gardens and woodlands.

As he takes your delicate hand carefully in his own upon your first meeting. “Pleasure to meet you ma’am” making sure to use his best manners.

 You roll your eyes. "Why would I need a bodyguard?" you scoff to your father’s assistant, hardly bothering to make eye contact with Simon. 

Simon was taken aback by the rude attitude that mismatched with your sweet appearance. It is explained to you that now that you are going out on your own you need someone to make sure you're safe. After a huff you stomp off, thus beginning Simon’s first day. 

During your first night together he can see why he was requested for this job. As soon as the sun sets you're out the door without a word. Simon scrambles to catch up as you climb in the backseat of your private car. Slipping in just before the driver slams the door in his face.

"Oh my god, are you serious?" you look at him in shock. Scooting as far away from him as possible, pressing against the opposite car door, as if his very presence was an assault. "No way this is happening. You’re staying here,"

"Sorry ma'am. Just doin' my job," he firmly plants himself next to you and stares ahead. 

You huff and puff the whole drive to town. Complaining that he is going to ruin your night and scare away any man who approaches. Simon silently smiles under his mask at your bratty tone. 

When the car pulls up outside of a raging club you are quick to crawl over Simon's intruding frame and get out ahead of him. In your haste unintentionally flashing him a pretty view of your lace panties underneath your criminally short dress. 

You get a brisk pace once out of the vehicle, rushing past all the patrons and straight to the bouncer. Flashing him a smile and your ID he seems to already know you well and you walk past barely slowing down your pace.

The bounce is quick to halt Simon in his tracks though. Makes him stop to explain before reluctantly allowing him access.

When he step inside he is momentarily stunned by the pulsing colorful lights and pounding music. His height gives him an advantage as he scans the crowd of partygoers searching for you. You have managed to mix in with the sea of people while he was held up at the door. 

He pushes through to the bar, carelessly shoving away anyone in his path. Ignoring the excuse you's and angry swears tossed his way. He eventually finds you, sparkling in your rhinestone covered dress leaned provocatively against the bar trying to get the bartender's attention. He watches you bat your eyelashes and cross your arms under your breasts. Proudly showing off to anyone who would look your way. 

When you feel the large presence behind you, you look over your shoulder with flirty eyes until you realize who it is. "God, take a hint," you shout over the loud music. You turn back to the bar and bang your hand on the counter top, "Hey! can I please get a drink!" 

The bartender finally steps over. "What will it be tonight?" he greets you smugly with a knowing grin.

"Hm surprise me," you counter with a sweet smile.

He mixes a colorful drink and pours it into a martini glass before sliding it over to you. You hand over your gilded credit card, "Keep it open," you wink. You spin around while taking a sip of your drink, almost bumping into Simon.

"Look, if you're going to hang around all night you need to give me room to breathe at least." You shove your hand into his chest and push him away harshly. Though, frustratingly, he hardly budges. 

Simon suppresses the urge to grab your little wrist in his crushing grip and show you how to be respectful to others. Instead he stares down at you refusing to break your annoyed stare. He can tell you're used to people shrinking away under your gaze.

You quirk in an eyebrow and humorlessly chuckle before breezing past him and onto the dance floor. You maneuver into the crowd up towards the DJ. Simon keeps his distance for now allowing you to dance freely under his watchful eye. He finds a high table in an unlit corner of the club at the edge of the crowd. 

You move to the pulse of the music. Swaying your hips loosely, the jewels of your dress reflecting the passing lights. You spin and twist like a human embodiment of a disco ball in the center of the dance floor. Your free hand trails down your body sensually as you mouth the words to the song playing. You are carefree as you sip your drink quickly extinguishing its contents. 

It's not long until a stranger approaches you from behind. Both hands coming around you to pull your hips into them. You smile and move along with them. The man ducks his head down and whispers into your ear causing you to giggle. 

Simon hates watching this stranger run his hands along your perfect body. Smelling your perfume and touching your hot, soft skin. He knows the stranger only wants you for one reason and it angers him to watch. Simon feels a fury building inside of him but he stays put, not wanting to make a scene just yet. Waiting to see how far the exchange will go. 

The man's hand slides up your waist,  brushing the underside of your breasts. You don't seem to mind as you continue dancing, closing your eyes and bringing one of your hands up to hold onto the back of his neck and running your fingers through his hair. 

After a few songs together and several more drinks the man is now kissing up your neck and fully groping your body. The movements are growing more heated by the second. He whispers in your ear again and you bite your lip in response. You look through the crowd until through the wall bobbing heads your eyes find Simon's through the busy crowd. Your playful smile drops when he raises his hand to wave at you letting you know he is still here and still watching, much to your discontent. 

You spin around to meet the stranger face to face. Your movements have become sloppy and uncoordinated with the amount of alcohol in your system. You pull him down by his shirt so you can mumble in his ear once more. He smiles and grabs your hand quickly pulling you in the opposite direction. You nearly trip over your own feet following him. You look back at Simon and wave back sarcastically with a wink before disappearing in the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Simon makes a beeline towards you but by the time he breaks through the congestion of people you are nowhere in sight. He walks along the perimeter of the room not seeing you at the bar or sitting in the lounge area. He grows frantic in his search scanning for you but finding nothing. 

He find his way to a hazy corridor lit by strips of red lights along the ceiling. The walls lined with couples making out or smoking in the cramped passageway. He breaks apart a few offended couples to make sure it wasn't you. He can’t believe he agreed to do this shit. Chasing around a spoiled rich brat was not the job he signed up for. 

He reaches the exit door at the end of the hallway. He pushes through to reveal the dim city alleyway. Worn brick walls scattered with graffiti are lined with trash cans and dumpsters. He steps down from the stoop to the concrete ground littered with garbage. He looks back and forth, seeing no signs of life besides a few roaches scattering underneath an old can. He is about to head back inside for another look when a nearby noise catches his attention. 

He freezes in place until he hears more shuffling and soft mumblings. He steps quietly down the alley. Walking past one of the large dumpsters he locates the origin of the sounds. Finally finding you. You’re pressed against the side of the dumpster along with the stranger. 

The man's hand covers your mouth and his other freely roams your body, dipping underneath the hem of your dress. You whimper out weakly trying to push him off with no avail. Your unfocused eyes widen when you see Simon walking towards you. Your muffled protests grow more persistent as you plead for help. "I said shut up, bitch," the stranger hisses.

Simon’s brain short circuits at the sight before him. It all goes red. He wastes no time snatching up the back of man's jacket and yanking him off of you. Without the man holding you up, you fall back against the metal side of the dumpster. Weak legs unable to hold you up as you crumple to the dirty floor. 

Simon pushes the man to the other side of the alley and into the wall. Immediately bashing his shocked expression with several punches and he holds him in place by the collar. The man grunts out in pain with each hit, his cheekbone and eye socket swelling from the abuse almost instantly. 

"You like taking advantage of girls?" Simon questions dangerously. His voice came out as more of a growl before continuing his assault. “Piece o' shit. I’ll fucking kill you,”

In between punches the man attempts to put his hands up in dense, "I'm sorry man! I-I didn't know she was yours" the words quickly tumble from his bloody lips. 

Only infuriating Simon further he pulls his pistol from his concealed holster on his back. He grabs the side of the man's jaw harshly until his mouth is forced open. He shoves the barrel into the man's mouth. “I should blow your bloody brain out. That’s what I like. Killing sick fuck’s like you. Would you like that, mate?” He cocks his head in question. 

The man shakes his head urgently. Simon shoves the barrel further into his mouth, completely stretching the man's mouth open to fit the intruding cool steel. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? Being forced to take it, huh?” 

The man shakes his head again looking to be on the edge of tears. Simon removes the pistol from his mouth “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me” the man whimpers. Simon pulls the man off the wall and pushes him towards you, gun now pressed to the back of his head. 

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to her” Simon demands

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I thought-” The man is cut off when Simon hits him in the back of the head with the handle of his pistol. 

“You thought nothin’. Just say you’re bloody sorry” He grits out. 

“I’m sorry” the man cries. 

Satisfied that the man has had enough punishment for now Simon reholsters his weapon and leans until he is only inches away from the man’s face. Simon’s crazed eyes darted across the man’s face. “If I ever see you again, you are dead. Yeah?” Simon's voice now scarily calm. The man nods frantically. Simon nods in return then shoves the man backwards. 

He falls back onto the dirty concrete ground roughly. He scrambles back up to his feet and bolts out of the alley way.  

Finally Simon turns his attention back to you. On your hands and knees sniffling as you gather several of your items that spilled out of your dropped purse. 

Simon quickly kneels down to meet you. "You alright?" you shake your head and look up to him pitifully. Your makeup is now smeared down your cheeks. Your hair hangs messily around your face. 

"He broke my purse," your words coming out slurred and whiney. 

Simon's heart pangs with sympathy as you hold up your sparkling purse to show its broken strap. 

"S' alright, we'll get you a new one," he gently takes your hands and brings you to your feet. He adjusts your dress for you, pulling down its hem to cover more of your exposed thighs and push your fallen strap back on your shoulder. As his hand brushes the exposed skin you shiver causing your skin to erupt into goosebumps. You hold your arms against your chest to combat the chilly evening air.

“He told me he just wanted to talk somewhere quieter. I-I didn’t even realize wha-” 

“Shh, S’ gonna be okay. You don’t need to explain. I know.” Simon takes off his large coat and puts it over your shoulders, pulling it tight around you so you are totally swallowed by its dense material.

"Can we go home?" you ask shakily.

"Course, ma'am" his hand comes around your shoulders to usher you out of the alley way. You wobble when you try to walk. Simon catches you as your legs start to buckle beneath you.

Without a second though Simon scoops you up in his strong arms. He is surprised at your lack of protest. You drop your head onto his shoulder as a few tears continue bleeding into the fabric of his shirt. You mumble watery apologies, half of the words lost as incoherent slurs.

"Don't need to apologize. Just doing my job, ma'am," Simon steps out to the road and sees your car parked and waiting just across the road. The driver hops out and opens the door for him. 

Simon carefully places you down on the seat before ducking into the car himself. When he sits you scoot closer and drop your head to lean on his bicep. Your arms wrap around his forearm, finger dancing across his skin tracing the veins down to his hand. You gasp when your blurry vision focuses on his bloody knuckles.

“Oh my god” you mumble.

“M’ alright ma’am. I’ve had much worse.” Simon reassures you. He looks down to see you already gazing up at him. Even with your disheveled appearance he can't help but think how effortlessly beautiful you are.

"You don't need to call me ma'am," you chuckle and rub your damp eyes, smudging your makeup further. 

"What would you like me to call you?" he asks. He brushes away a stand of hair in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. 

"Don't know, what do I look like?" 

Simon takes a minute to ponder. He watches as the passing streetlights cast a fleeting light into the window of the backseat. The yellow beams illuminating across each rhinestone on your shimmering dress peeking out from underneath his jacket. Your diamond earrings and necklace frame your face, matching the rest of your glittering outfit. Simon thinks they are nothing compared to the sparkle in your big round eyes. Then he wonders when he becoming such a hopeless sap. He wonders if you will even remember this in the morning.

All that fuss and harsh words from you earlier now a distant memory as you lean against his side. You were wrapping around his arms in a vice. Legs curled up under you, one of your heels had fallen to the floor of the car. You look up at him expectantly still waiting for an answer. 

"You look like a princess,"

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Masterlist

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ﾒ𝟶

[noellefan101]

Offline to Online HSR edition

Characters: Kafka, Silver Wolf, Seele, Bronya x gn! reader

Summary: your girlfriend is a streamer, a popular one at that. this is a fic about: how their chat finds out that you are dating, how they treat you off-stream and on-stream/do they treat you differently

"Warnings": Romantic relationship, modern au, streamer au, kissing, [h/c] is hair color, not proofread,

Note: this is the other one that was in the poll if you would like to read the genshin impact version it´s here. and omg i am so tired and my back hurts like CRAZY, but i luv you all.

Kafka

How chat found out: she kinda wanted to say it out loud the first day/month you started dating, but you stopped her because you didn´t want the whole world to know. and she agreed it was for the best anyways/don´t want all her simps to come at you(looking at you "cough cough")/. so she kept it a secret, still teases you about it though. and she was pretty good at hiding it, but then it had been a year or so and you moved in together, in a new house.

so obviously it was going to be harder to hide it, mainly because you lived together, but also because she was asked 24/7 to do a new house tour. she eventually did it, but without your office being in the video. it worked out well in the beginning but then people started wondering what was in the last room/your office/. you were worried about it, while she ignored it and acted like no one had asked about it. that of course didn´t help and only grew more suspicion to the last room. she eventually had enough and started asking you if she could say it, following up with her saying that her fans won´t come after you for it.

On-stream: she teases you, every time she has a chance too, and i mean EVERY time. she normally does that a lot, but not this much. she also doesn´t like when anyone else teases you. you´d say she´s possessive, but if you actually said that when she´s streaming, you would be banned from entering her office for a few months(at least).

Off-stream: she´s WAY sweeter when no one is watching, mostly because she doesn´t have that evil look in her eyes all the time. and then she´s with you so ofc she´ll behave(if you ask nicely). she would also kiss you more passionately than when she´s in front of chat/she doesn´t need chat to spread pics of you kissing all over twitter, that´s why/and she also hugs you more gently. over all she´s just softer with you but don´t tell her that.

she loves you, even more than chat loves her.

Silver Wolf

how chat found out: they didn´t really think that you were dating at first, but just some affectionate roommates. maybe it was because they didn´t think that she would be dating anybody/or maybe you looked too good to be dating silver wolf hehe/. but either way, you ARE dating, you just thought her chat knew already. but when you found out they didn´t/because they called you her roomie, not her partner/you tried to show more affection.

so when you were home while she was streaming you made some food for her. walked in and gave her the food, after you just left a little kiss on her cheek. leaving the chat stunned, she just started eating her food, acting like nothing happened. she asked if anything was wrong and they flipped out even more, like wtf they just kissed you. she didn´t think it was that big of a deal and tried to move on. but they wanted answers, she didn´t care ofc, and didn´t answer any of their questions. after she was done eating and she just continued the stream like normal. you on the other hand was a little worried that she got upset, because you just kissed her on the cheek, and in front of all her viewers. she eventually revealed to chat that you were dating, and they should shut up abt it. only because she didn´t want you to worry.

On-stream: she doesn´t really care if you´re there or not, but id happier with you there. she shows affection, but not much. the reason: she doesn´t want to ruin her reputation.

Off-stream: when she´s not streaming or in a call you play with her instead. she loves when you play with her, wanting to share her interest with you. she does this while hugging you/maybe from behind/and kisses you to distract you.

she loves games, but loves you even more.

Seele

How chat found out: they properly noticed the person walking around in the background all the time/since her streaming setup is in the living room/and they didn´t know who it was other than a person with [h/c] colored hair. they tried to ask about it, but Seele didn´t pay them any mind and moved on. she kinda thought they were joking and already knew who you were/but there kinda clueless and thinks she kidnapped someone/but ofc you´re just her partner and she didn´t force you to live with her. actually, it was your idea to live with her. so they should quit thinking that.

but anyway, she was streaming(like usual)and she was in a call with some friends/like Sampo, Bronya, Natasha, etc/and she kinda got into an argument with one of them/Sampo/. because he wasn´t playing well enough and it turned into a thing of them dissing each other. the others wanted to stop them, but they didn´t in fear of getting into it as well, so they kinda just listened in on it. she then revealed one of his secrets, witch lead to him saying that you and Seele were dating, and not just roomies. she then got confused, and asked f they didn´t know/bc she really fricking thought they did, oh well/the chat went wild. and when she found out they were clueless the whole time, she just laughed her ass off.

On-stream: she doesn´t have you around that much/other than in the background/but when you are there beside her, she has most of her attention fixated on you. she likes kissing, hugging and sitting with you, even if in front of everyone. and she doesn´t get embarrassed about it.

Off-stream: if possible she´s even more affectionate, the only reason is because she doesn´t want you to be embarrassed. but if you gave her permission, she would be all over you at all times, at parties, events, on stream, in front of friends and family... you get it.

she loves you a lot, even when you´re not around.

Bronya

How chat found out: she streams a lot, like a ton. so of course you´d either get home while she´s streaming or just be home in general. she´s very busy so you don´t say anything other than "i´m home", when you check on her after being out. or other times it´s you delivering food to her. in general chat mainly thinks that your just some friends living together, but thats only because they don´t know that you´re dating, and you don´t plan on revealing it right now. maybe because you either were busy, didn´t want to or you were scared of her viewers reaction/but she does comfort you, and tell you that they will accept it/.

the way they knew you were dating, was mainly because of you two being stupid. she was on a little break/since she had been streaming the last 5-6 hours, with only 3-4 breaks(send help)/and you walked into her room giving her a snack and kissed her on the cheek. that would have been okay normally, but this time she forgot to turn off the mic. leaving you to realize that after you looked at the chat, because it was going wild. you both then got embarrassed and she turned the stream off. she was supposed to stream for a few more hours but ditched the idea. and in the next week or so she now had to introduce you, when you were fully ready of course.

On-stream: she doesn´t show that much affection, since she gets easily embarrassed and looks almost identical to a tomato. but sometimes she will do cooking streams with you, and try to show off a little/that would be even cuter if you were a baker or cook, just saying(totally not trying to say anything)/but it doesn´t end that well.

Off-stream: she loves to hug, kiss and cuddle you. she feels so much more confident when you´re the only one watching, so she tries to show that she loves you as much as she can. she also feels safer when its only you and her.

she loves her job, but not as much as she loves you.

if you´d like more of these do request, luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[radio-zephyr]

【Then leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief 】

tragedy of the 999th round

id in alt :D turn up brightness/click for quality, and as always, rambles below the cut :] v

i love 999th round's characters, they are all so very dear to me. In this piece I really wanted to focus in on 999yjh and uriel, specifically that moment where yjh is wasting away from the outer god contract, and uriel is cradling his crumbling body, begging him to stay awake and unable to do anything to stop his decay. The pose inspo originally came from this photo: (disclaimer that if this photo has any really troubling connotations im not aware of, please let me know!)

i wanted to take this and make the pose a bit more desperate, mournful, tragic. the original already has such a feeling of tragedy, quietness, tenderness that i wanted to preserve, and i tried to show it in the way uriel has interlaced her fingers through yjh's hand, cradling it and lifting it so carefully as she hunches over his body, her other hand gripping his shoulder and refusing to let go.

Uriel herself is missing her wings. I wanted to show her powerlessness in the face of these circumstances. It doesn't matter who she is, what she has accomplished, in this moment there is nothing she can do to save him. The halo is frazzled, breaking apart-what can uriel do? what will she do now that yjh's gone? how could she ever let the person she loves go？

And yjh- the blankeness of his face - I wanted to have a feeling of desolation- so close yet so far, brought to ruin by his own convictions, sacrificing himself over and over for his companions, culminating here-here, where he cannot go on, wasting away. The bright starburst over his heart-he is about to regress, doomed again to his hell of eternity.

The eyes weren't originally planned, but i had to include secretive plotter somehow, just because i love how he, in his attempt to get 999th yjh to succeed, realized that he was the one who had doomed himself. Idk, something something going back in time to try and fix things doesn't work, that horror at the realization that you were doomed from the start, that you were the cause, etc. So I had to include him somehow, desperately gazing down upon the scene.

Overall I wanted to capture a feeling of the tragedy and tenderness of 999th round's yjh and uriel's relationship, this devastating moment caught in an almost gossamer thread of time, where everything is picture perfect, like a painting commemorating those final feelings. Not sure if that's what i achieved, but i'm pretty happy with the result :D

And i'm just realizing, but the colors look different on mobile vs desktop :0 its a bit washed out on desktop..hm.

Closeups (of the parts I really liked) :3 (as you can tell i spent a lot of time on the clothes. they were really fun to do :0 i think i'm starting to really figure out how i like to shade them :D)

And here’s a fun alternate version I did for fun v

[lilacgaby]

02 | ᴍᴀʀʀʏ ᴍᴇ

~2.2k

chapter select!

[name] eyes him oddly after his confession. "you despise your father so much, that you'd marry a witch just to spite him?"

"yes."

"what-- this is unhinged prince!"

"i'm well aware. but, i promise your life will be a luxury. anything you'd want whenever you pleased. all i wish is for the kingdom's reputation to change, and for the people in it to prosper. but, marrying a princess isn't enough you see, i need someone who'd upset him, who'd force his hands."

"force his hand how?"

"you're a powerful witch, that in itself would upset him. also, when we'd wed, there'd have to be a coronation of sorts first. that's when i plan to make my move, and banish him from the land."

"so, just getting him off the throne isn't enough."

todoroki sighed, flipping his hair out his face as he continued to explain. "no, i'm afraid. if i want to achieve my goal, i would need a complete and utter renovation of the kingdom's proceedings. my father would never allow it."

she hummed, picked up the things she dropped, and squinted her eyes in suspicion. "so, you're saying id get to live as a queen for the rest of my life, with nothing in return?"

"that is exactly what i am saying."

"and what if i refuse."

"well, id do nothing. id marry a princess from another land and would be moved to rule over there. leaving this place in ruins, with a tyrant still at the helm."

[name] sighed heavily. this was a to think about. but, after a moment of reflection, and thinking of the good life the villages would lead if this succeeded, she finally said something "okay, im in, but i have conditions!"

"obviously, please do tell." he said, leaning up against his horse.

she crossed her arms. "i want to be able to continue practicing my magic. and i want the effects of our marriage to be seen in this town immediately."

he raised an eyebrow. "that's all?"

she nodded. "yes, just treat my town nicely."

he sauntered over to her, lighting grabbing her hand that wasn't holding the basket, and kissed it lightly.

"well, then, thank you for your help, future queen." he brought her hand down and stayed holding it as he guided her over to his horse. "do you have any belongings? i can send a guard of mine to go pick them up for you."

"oh, yes i do! most of it is packed up anyways, so it'd really be a great help."

he signaled to the red-haired knight, who promptly picked up the boxes and set them in the cart behind his horse, along with the basket she'd held earlier. inside the cart, there was also a number of remedies that were addressed for the current queen.

before todoroki helped her onto the horse, she wrote a note addressed to her three friends that explained her situation. she promised to write to them frequently in the note as well, and asked them to do the same.

after, she ran quickly, stuck it on the tavern door, and dashed away back to the horse. todoroki helped her onto the back of it, climbed on it himself, and set her arms onto his waist for security.

"hold on." he said, before telling his horse, aptly named snowflake because of it's shimmering white color, to start galloping.

the sun was going down, but the time wasn't what she was focused on at the moment.

what occupied her thoughts was the huge, glamourous castle that was coming up in the distance. banners of blue surrounded the area announcing the kingdom's claim, as a large gate encapsulated it all.

the greenery complimented the fencing, moss and vines were tastefully grown around, as well as blossoming flowers and breathtaking types of trees she'd never seen before.

her breath was taken away as they grew closer and closer, every building, brick, and path was put together with more thought than her entire town.

she was so caught up in it, that she didn't even realize todoroki was speaking to her.

"[name], hey [name]?"

"oh, sorry todoroki, i was just.. looking at everything. it's really gorgeous."

"you may call me shoto from now on. and, yes it is quite beautiful. would you like to know the best part?"

"what?"

"you and i will own all of this soon."

her eyes sparkled at the realization. this would all be theirs to maintain and uphold, to spread to the rest of the kingdom.

to her town.

"that is very cool."

"cool? but it's quite hot outside."

"oh! it's village slang, for uh.. amazing."

"oh, okay." he pondered thoughtfully, looking back at her for a brief moment. "you'll have to teach me more then, i'd like to get to know you better.

after all, we will be married soon."

she flushed at that. "yeah, we'll get to know eachother well soon enough."

after they passed through the gate, with the attendants bowing at todoroki and her as they passed though, she decided to ask him what exactly would happen before the coronation. "so, shoto? what will we be doing before your plan comes to fruition."

"oh, we're going to spend about a month together testing our compatibility. it's tradition."

she felt the air leave her lungs. a month? she had a month to convince some randoms she didn't even know that she deserved to marry a prince?

"you couldn't have told me that earlier?"

"you never asked."

"that was rhetorical. just, who do i have to convince anyways? is it you?"

"yes, but also my family. don't worry though, i think my siblings will enjoy your company. my father though, he won't.

and that's what i'm betting on."

"thanks shoto."

"you're welcome." he said, not catching her sarcasm."

the rest of the ride was silent as she leaned against him, admiring the lives of the nobles. they all seemed so carefree, girls walking around in their fancy gowns, carrying satchels full of gold to spend. boys, carrying satchels of gold and using them to play games. the older folk, who lazed around, not lifting a finger. it was peaceful here,

she wanted that for the people back home.

when they finally reached the castle doors, shoto got off the horse first, then gently lifted her down. an attendant came quickly to take snowflake to their barn, and the red-haired knight was quickly dismissed.

as they walked inside, she immediately felt out of place. although her outfit was considered high-class back at the tavern,

here she swore she saw similar fabric used for the one of the dogs' rug.

the pristine atmosphere was set off by the odd feeling of tenseness that washed over shoto, and as they entered the dining hall, she soon realized why.

king enji todoroki, was a tyrant in his very own home.

the much smaller throne next to him at the dinner table was empty, but other chairs that were awkwardly spaced out considering the width of the table were filled by three siblings, each looking less happy to be there than the last.

she grabbed his hand, as if in support. the king's eyes glared at her at the motion.

"what is the meaning of these? why would you dare bring a peasant into our home shoto?"

"father, i'm marrying her."

as the king choked on his own spit, his siblings all took the initiative to look at her. the only one with black hair suddenly spoke, "way to rip off the bandaid shoto."

"you cannot be serious shoto, we've spoken about your idiotic actions, but this is too far!" the king spat, his eyes crazed as he slammed his chalice full of wine on the table.

"i am serious, i will announce it on my eighteenth birthday, and we will be wed a month after."

"you--"

"that's so sweet shoto. i'm happy for you." his sister cut in, smiling despite the harsh atmosphere.

"you take after touya! each of you serve to annoy me, why can't you just marry who i choose? a respectable princess, and not this-- this swine!" the king slammed the table once again.

"that's enough father," the white-haired boy spoke. "shoto made his choice, during the trial period we can find out this girls character."

the king took a drink of wine as if to calm himself. "yes, there's no way a peasant such as that will gain the full interest of shoto. he'll boot her out in a week."

"oh, and another thing. she's a witch."

the black-haired brother started laughing, as the kings veins almost popped out of his head.

"she's a what?"

"a witch?"

"she's to be executed as all witches are! i know she's not working here! are you trying to murder me shoto?!"

"well, you can't execute her now. if shes shotos fiance, technically she's servicing the royals, and can be kept alive, according to your own rules father."

"correct fuyumi. father, please calm down, maybe this is a turn for the better. witches used to be our main element before that law was put into place, and besides, maybe she can assist mother."

[name] swore the king, for a split second, put on a face of disgust at the mention of the queen, but quickly hid it.

"i.. suppose so. witch, heed my warnings. i do not respect you, i do not like you, and if any action you take is to conspire against me, i will strike you down myself." the king said, before dramatically leaving.

after they were sure he was out of earshot, they each commented on her. "way to go brother, i don't know what you're planning, but you sure pissed him off. now, introduce that fiance of yours officially already." the scarred man complimented.

"oh, of course. this is [name], she's a village witch i've been seeing for a while." he lied.

"hello [name], it's amazing to meet you! i'm fuyumi, i rule a territory out in the west."

"greetings [name], i am natsuo, its a pleasure. i rule a territory out in the east."

"hey witch, im dabi officially, but when you become a royal, ill let you call me touya. i rule up in the north."

"nice to meet you all." [name] said, bowing to them.

"there's no need for that, you'll be joining this family soon enough." natsuo commented.

"yes, please treat us casually. now, care to explain how you and shoto met?"

[name] froze, crap. she needed her story to match up with shoto's-

"can't you see they're tired from their travels fuyumi? let's just question the hell out of 'em tomorrow."

"touya! language! but i suppose you're right."

"i always am." he shrugged. "you two love birds go huddle up for the night, we'll be here for majority of this month, so we got plenty of time to question these two."

"yes, please go rest."

"okay, i'll see you all tomorrow." shoto said, before gently guiding her out the room.

"you'll have to teach me your slang quicker than i thought, i didn't understand a lick of what my brother spoke back there."

"ah, of course shoto. but, where will i be staying?"

"in our room of course."

"what-"

"this month, even though it doesn't start officially til' my birthday, is about testing our compatibility. my parent's marriage is very.. complicated. i don't want to become like them, so i feel we should start act with the normal acts now, like laying together."

"oh, of course shoto. that makes sense."

"unless you'd rather not sleep with me-"

"no, no that's not it at all!" she said, waving her hands around frantically. "i was just surprised is all."

"ah, okay. well, here we are."

they entered a luxurious room as big as her house, a large bed covered in silk sheets and pure cotton cloths was the centerpiece to it all, with a chandelier and furs on the floor just to match with it all.

yeah, she was definitely out of her element here.

she was then guided to the bathroom, which was the size of an entire bathhouse. a large tub, with real gold installed on it, was matched by glamourous sinks and showers.

"i've prepared some sleepwear for you to adorn to sleep."

"thank you shoto, this is just-- crazy."

"uh.."

"it's in a good way."

"okay, well i'll leave you too it."

she had the best shower of her life, treating herself to the expensive soaps and rags at her disposal. the real heaven on earth was how she felt when she slipped into her silk robes, she had never felt anything so soft.

until she laid in the bed, which was the real most comfortable thing she'd ever been in. shoto joined her soon after, and took the initiative to pull her into a hug.

she relaxed into it, and wrapped her arms around him as well.

they fell asleep holding eachother, and the whole time she thought about how natsuo was right.

maybe her presence here was a turn for the better.

prev | next!

[spyder-junkie]

Hi! I Hope You’re having a great day/afternoon/night! Anyways could I request some Hobie brown x Fem!Quiet!reader who dresses dark but has colorful hair? Headcanons please! Feel free to ignore this request! :) -🐈‍⬛anon

HOBIE BOWN x Fem!Quiet! reader w/ colorful hair

Side note, it makes me so happy when you guys specify what anons you are with the little emojis

Firstly, Hobie loves your sense of style, If he can wear anything of yours, he’ll often go dipping in your closet for new things.

And your hair?? He adores it.

He thinks the contrast between your style and your hair is so unique.

He likes that he can always spot you in a crowd

If you dye your hair yourself, He’ll brush up on those kind of techniques so eventually he can do it for you.

It makes him so excited to see you when he knows he did your hair.

“Id make a damn good hair-dresser, yeah?” He’d tease, laying foils on a section of your hair.

He cares about his free forms a great deal, and wouldnt risk ruining them by dying his own hair.

BUT

He will test different temporary color sprays, chalks, and creams so he could match with you some days.

Matching a couple streaks of his hair with yours quickly becomes his favorite couple thing.

Well really anything he gets to do with you is his favorite thing.

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.4k💠 Released: October 5

Previous | Next… | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: I think this might actually be my favorite chapter I've written so far. I had so much fun writing this part!!

C.W:  None

Tags: @nixalozt

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵)

𝟐 || 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

(Alternate Reality/First Meeting Theme: Rise From the Ruins - Lost Traveler)

Your eyes snap open, and your heart pounds as a wave of disorientation washes over you. Bright neon lights assault your vision, and you instinctively squint, shielding your face with an arm. You're on your feet, standing in the middle of a sidewalk, but this is no area you recognize. The sounds, the smells, the very air around you—it's all wrong.

Around you, towering skyscrapers reach high into the sky, their surfaces beaming with neon lights and shifting holographic ads. The streets are crowded with people—some with brightly colored hair, others with cybernetic enhancements replacing limbs, eyes, even parts of their faces. Hovering cars zip by overhead, leaving behind jet trails of blue fire where their tires should be, and a low hum of machinery fills the air, blending with the pulse of strange music emanating from hidden sources all around.

Your mouth goes desert dry as you quickly realize you have no idea how you got here. It's like a dream, in the way that they just simply begin directly in the middle of a particular scene. No context, no frame of reference, just there.

"Where am I?" You whisper to yourself, taking a cautious step forward.

People move past you without so much as a side glance, their faces illuminated by the neon lights that flicker from every direction. Your heart races as you try to process the chaos around you, but everything is too much. Every sound, every flash of light, it makes your head spin.

Okay okay, think.You force yourself to take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to try and center yourself. You're dreaming. That has to be it. This can't be real. It's just one of those dreams where your mind knows you're in one. A lucid dream, that's it. You've never had a lucid dream before, so it's probably natural your'e freaking out like this.

But when you open your eyes, the world is still there. As real as the ground beneath your feet. And that's when you hear it.

"Unidentified citizen detected."  A cold, mechanical voice announces from behind you.

You turn around abruptly, pulse quickening, and your eyes lock onto a mind boggling scene. A...midsized robot. It's floating off of the ground eye level with you, painted white and navy blue, with a neon red holographic badge that shines above its "chest". The whir of its internal engines barely audible above the noise of the street.

"Please present identification," It states, its robotic voice creepily polite.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Identification? I-I don't—..." You stumble back, mind racing. Identification? What kind of identification? What am I supposed to do?! Your hands instinctively go to the mini purse hanging from your shoulder, but of course, you had nothing. Nothing but a lipstick and lip liner in there. No wallet, no ID, nothing that made sense in this strange, futuristic place.

"Uhhh, I don't have anything," You stammer, panic rising in your chest. "I don't know how I got here, but I need—"

"Failure to present identification will result in detainment." The robot interrupts, its glowing red eyes making you anxious as it hovers closer.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can feel the eyes of passerby's on you now, the slight glances, and low murmurs. They all seem to know exactly what's happening, but no one's bothering step in and actually help. You're on your own here...

So, you do the only thing you can think to do in this situation: run.

Without another thought, you take off bolting, weaving through people as fast as you can. Your breaths start to become uneven pants, your heels making your feet sting with every hard step.

From behind, you can hear the sound of the robot tailing you, "Halt! Unidentified citizen!"

Yeah, I think the hell not, you think to yourself, dodging a flying car that nearly grazes you as it zooms by. Your lungs begin to burn as you push yourself harder, but you still have no idea where you're actually going. Every street looks the same—slathered in neon lights, holographics, and cluttered with unfamiliar, strange faces. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but nothing makes sense.

Suddenly, a figure emerges on what looks like a motorcycle from one of the alleys to your left, just a bit ahead of you. They pause at the opening of the sidewalk, where the alleyway leads to the main road. Directly in your way.

You let out a small yelp as you clumsily skid to a stop, but end up just crashing right into the person. Reflexively their arm grabs you, catching you by your waist before you can really hurt yourself. You hang there, thrown over his arm.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing as if the entire situation is amusing to him.

You stare up at him wide eyed and panting. But then, as your eyes meet his, you feel your breath hitch.

The man holding onto you is...impossibly beautiful. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a loose half-up, half-down style, the top half dyed a striking shade of purple, while the lower strands gleam blonde in the city's neon glow. His striking lavender-colored eyes are framed by long, dark lashes that gaze down at you with a half-lidded, cool—almost sultry intensity.

Your eyes drift over to the earring dangling from his left ear, catching the light as it sways gently. And damn, he's got tattoos too. They're roses, with pretty intricate designs crawling up both arms and disappearing beneath his shirt, then peeking out around his low collar, hinting at even more ink across his chest.

For a brief moment, you actually forget where you are and your current situation, your mind completely consumed by the strong magnetic pull of this man. You stutter an incoherent sentence, thoughts a jumbled mess while your eyes continue to roam over him, caught in the intensity of the moment. But the distant mechanical whir of the cyber police snaps you back to reality.

"I—I'm being chased! There's a robot—"

"I can see that." He says casually, glancing back where you had been running. The robot is closing in fast, its red eyes glowing brighter as it hones in on you. "Looks like you got yourself in a little trouble."

"A little?!" Your voice cracks with desperation. Ok, he's gorgeous but you don't have time for his chill, cool boy attitude. You need more urgency. "I gotta get up outta here!"

He grins. "I can help you with that." Without another word, he sets you down over his lap, an embarrassing position. His grip is firm but not painful, and his leg raises from the ground to the bike as he starts to rev the engine.

"Wait wait, hold on! I can't—I don't do bikes!" You cry out, shaking your head frantically. Quickly your hands struggle to reach down to the hem of your short, silver dress, trying to pull it down enough to where you don't flash both him and anyone else coming by.

"You don't have a choice." He says before the bike shoots forward past the robot officer. The roar of the engine drowns out the high pitched scream you let out.

The chase begins.

The city is a blur around you, neon signs, holographs, and towering buildings fly by as the motorcycle rockets through the busy streets. You grip tightly on the man's shirt, heart pounding in your chest as a mix of fear, and admittedly, excitement courses through your veins. You can hear the mechanical sounding police sirens of the cyber cops from behind, but this man doesn't seem even a little bit concerned.

He weaves effortlessly through traffic, cutting sharp corners down narrow alleyways. It's like he's used to this, like he's done this plenty of times before. You have never felt such a rush before—the danger, the thrill, the stranger you're currently clinging to with no idea where he's headed.

The robotic voice of the cyber police bots echoes behind you again. "Unidentified citizen, halt immediately. You are in violation of city law 375-B. Submit for processing."

You look behind you, letting out a deep gasp as you spot not just the one, but six other cyber-police bots dashing after you two, their red lights flashing ominously in the night. "We're gonna get caught!" You holler anxiously.

The man scoffs out a laugh, his voice steady and unbothered. "We're fine."

He revs the engine again, picking up speed as he tears down the street, dodging past hover-cars and otherworldly pedestrians who barely have enough time to jump out of the way. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your ears as he jets down a long, open road that starts to lead out of the heart of the city.

The cyber cops, however, are relentless. They summon for reinforcements, and more drones whir loudly from above, scanning the streets below for the both of you with beaming night suns. (Night sun: High intensity search light).

Just then, the commanding voices of the cyber police bots change its targeted focus, speaking in creepily perfect unison, "Citizen 0843-77, you are wanted for multiple offenses. Including illegal racing, tampering with city surveillance systems, and evading arrest. Pull over immediately!"

"What?!" Your eyes widen, jaw nearly hitting the floor. First of all, not only did they just put his business on straight blast with his citizen number, but they even went and aired out a whole entire list of criminal offenses! That's why he's so unbothered! And that's why he's zooming through these streets like he's used to running from cops!

The man chuckles, the kind of reckless laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. "What, you think you're the only one who's good at gettin' into trouble?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, your body can't help the surging rush of adrenaline—and honestly attraction—that came with his carefree attitude. It's like he thrives on chaos. And now, crazily enough, it's starting to rub off on you.

You let out a loud "Oh shit!" as he turns around a tight corner, the bike tipping dangerously close to the ground before he righted it again, speeding down a dimly lit alley. Your stomach flips as the narrow walls flew by your face in a colorful blur.

You look out again. The cyber cops are still chasing behind, but their movements have slowed. Then, they hesitate at the edge of the city, their glowing red eyes flickering as if unsure how to proceed. The night suns, after a couple of seconds, turn off as well, and it feels strangely symbolic of a battle victory.

"They stopped following us." You breathe out in disbelief.

The man nods, finally easing off the throttle as the city lights fade into the distance behind you. "They can't follow us out here. 'S outside their jurisdiction."

After what feels like an eternity, the bike slows, and he comes to a stop at the edge of a long-abandoned overpass. The once-bustling infrastructure now crumbling and overtaken by unfamiliar nature. The neon glow of the city still lit the sky behind you, casting an eerie light over the desolate area. All kinds of plants crawl up the sides of ruined buildings, and what's left of the streets are eerily silent. Dead.

Your heart is still racing as he turns the vehicle off, and you stumble off the bike, legs visibly shaking.

You turn towards the man, who's already chilled out leaning against his bike, watching you with that same unserious grin. "You okay?" He asks as he holds back a chuckle, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You narrow your eyes at him, chest heaving. "It's not funny; hell no I'm not ok! I have no idea where the hell I'm at, or how I got here, and we were just chased by a bunch of freakin' robots like it's the damn apocalypse! And who even are you?! Are you, like, deadass a criminal?!"

Finally, he chuckles, running a hand through his wind tousled hair. "A thanks would'a been nice. I'm Wakasa. By the city's standards I'm definitely a criminal, and as for where you are...well, that's a little more complicated."

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. "What do you mean complicated?"

Wakasa shrugs with a grin. "You're in Neon City, sweetheart. It's a small planet in galaxy KE-411. Not exactly your usual vacation spot, I'm guessing."

You stared at him, jaw dropped and mind reeling. "A pla-...it's a what?! This city is a whole planet?!"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' with a smirk. "All this is Neon City." He says, gesturing around lazily with a hand.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, hands shaking as you rub them along your temples. "Hell no. No no no, that—this can't be real. I gotta be dreaming! I'm dreaming for sure, you're-...you're not real—"

"Trust me Doll, I'm very real." He muses. "But hey, look on the bright side. You're here now. Might as well enjoy it." He adds with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug.

"Enjoy it?!" You gape at him. "I'm a fugitive on a whole 'nother freaking planet! The only thing I'm trynna enjoy is me getting the hell up outta here!"

"Hey, suit yourself." He raises his hands in surrender, pushing off of his bike and swinging one leg over it, "Good luck gettin' home."

"Wait!" You call out instantly. "W-Where're you going?! You just gon' leave me out here?!" You scrunch your face up in appall.

"Thought you said you don't do bikes?" He raises a brow teasingly. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Well...I'm willing to do bikes if it means I'm not alone." You reply sheepishly.

"Come on." He nods his head towards the bike. Your face lights up with relief, quickly scurrying over and hopping on the black motorcycle behind him.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name yet."  He says, just as he starts the engine of his bike. 

"Oh yeah, you're right. My mind's all over the place, sorry. I'm Y/N." You ramble, shaking your head at yourself.

He repeats your name, nodding a little before he says, "That was kind'a a cool way to meet, huh?" 

You think it over for a second, replaying the extremely hectic, action-packed way in which the two of you happened to meet each other just a bit ago. "Yeah, I-..I guess that was kinda cool." You shrug, chuckling lightly. 

The motorcycle slows to a stop once again, and you look around at the deserted area in mild confusion.

"We're here," He announces, cutting the engine.

You blink, still a little disoriented. "Here...?"

It's like a field of nothingness out here. There's small patches of grass scattered all around, but other than that it's just debris from old buildings, roads, and such.

Wakasa smirks as he gets off the bike, holding out a hand to help you down. "This is the underground. No one'll find you out here—not the drones, or the city officials. We're completely off the grid."

You hesitate for a moment before taking his hand, your fingers still trembling from the adrenaline of the night, stepping off of the bike and looking around once more at the ghostly surroundings.

Wakasa guides you over to what looks like a run-down bunker, hidden from view by the tall, overgrown greenery. A single, faintly glowing neon red sign hangs above the heavy, rusted door: "The Underground".

You swallow hard, mind racing. You had been running on sheer panic this whole time, but now...now there's a strange allure to all the danger, the unpredictability of this place. The neon city had felt overwhelming and suffocating, but here in the shadows—or the underground rather—everything feels raw. Real.

Wakasa leads you to the door and knocks in a rhythmic pattern—three short knocks, a pause, then two more. A small, mechanical green eye slides open above the door, scanning them both before letting out a low whir. The door creaks open, and the two of you step inside.

The interior of The Underground is nothing like you could have ever imagined. The nightclub is dark, save for the faint glow of scattered, mismatched neon lights, casting all kinds of shadows across the cavernous space. A low, synthetic beat murmurs from deep within the walls, vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. Smoke hangs in the air, swirling lazily like fog as the dim lights catch it in neon pinks and purples, and greens. The room has an ethereal quality, like something out of a dream.

The bodies packed tightly on the dance floor move together as if they share some kind of secret knowledge you'll never know. Lost in the foreign music and flashing lights. Everyone looks so confident, so sure of themselves, and here you are—spending the whole night... just shook, for lack of better words. You find yourself oddly fascinated.

Everything about this place—from the gritty, broken-down aesthetic outside to the futuristic, slight boho-meets-retro feel of the inside, to the people who seem to fully embody the space, calls to you. It's the complete opposite of everything you've ever known. But instead of feeling lost, left out, or even intimidated, you rather feel...invited.

Wakasa smirks down at you, noticing your awestruck reaction. "A little different from your usual night out, huh?"

You scoff out a laugh, "Very different."

"Come on." He says, leading you further into the club with a hand on your lower back. "Let's grab a drink. The more relaxed you are, the better."

You approach the bar—a long, marble-like counter, behind which stood a half human male bartender with mechanical arms and glowing lime green eyes. Wakasa calmly orders you both drinks as you blatantly stare from the bartender to the other "people" in the vicinity. For some of them, it's hard to tell wether they're actually human, half human, or just a straight up robot.

For other's, like the bartender, it's obvious. The people here didn't really match the look of Neon City's citizens. They're edgy, harder, rebel-like people who maybe don't actually belong to the city above ground. And yet, they have this je ne sais quoi about them, a quiet confidence that draws you in like a moth to a flame.

Wakasa smirks as the bartender comes back and sets two glowing drinks before you two, giving him a short "Thanks". The liquid inside shimmers a bright, electric blue, casting a faint glow that dances across the metal bar.

"This one's for you," He says, pushing the glass toward you. "'S called Bliss."

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the drink with both curiosity and hesitation. "Bliss?"

"Yeah," Wakasa nods, amusement flickering in his eyes. "It's...well, let's just say it makes things more simple."

When your drinks arrived, you can't help furrowing your brows at the glass, your gaze scrutinizing as you swish it around. "Ok, but like...what is it? Why is it glowing?" You ask skeptically.

"Just try it. It's good; goes down real easy. Promise." He assures cooly.

You immediately note the way he deliberately did not answer the actual question, being what the drink is. You watch him take a long sip of his own, waiting for any crazy reactions. Yet it never comes.

If this were any other situation, you wouldn't dare take a drink from a man you didn't know, but this entire situation is different, technically. The memories of this wild evening flicker through your mind as you continue to slowly swirl the blue liquid around in the glass.

Wether you remember exactly how you got here or not, you're here now, and maybe this really is exactly what you need. A nice break from the constant, monotonous grind of working on music and slaving away at your officially finished record label internship.

From the endless rejection emails, the constant cycle of disappointment after someone you put your trust in fails you, from the pressure you constantly put on yourself. This nightclub, this scene—it's so far removed from your world. Removed from your cramped bedroom that you've made into your home studio, electric keyboards taking up way too much space, notes app filled with unfinished lyrics, and neighbors arguments picking up through your studio quality mic you saved two and a half months just to afford.

So, fuck it. You allow the glow of the blue liquid to lure you into temptation.

Hesitating for only a moment, you take a tiny little sip, bracing yourself for some kind of strong burn or sour taste. But that proves to be for nothing. The drink is cool and sweet—floral almost, and it sends a sensual shiver down your spine. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading outwards like liquid sunshine. Instantly you feel your nerves begin to relax, your racing thoughts slowing down as the pulse of the club's music seeps into your bones.

You feel good. Really, really good.

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

could i request some hcs for dabi? Id like to know what you think life outside of the fight against heros would be like for him and the reader. please and thank you!

Ofc, ofc, ofc. I’m a lowkey Shigaraki girly but Dabi is finger licking good 😌! Please enjoy :) cw: suggestive...

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I imagine the reader has their own apartment and doesn't stay at the LOV (unlike Dabi)

I feel like the reader could really either be a hero or a villain

only saying that since I doubt they'd sell an apartment to a convicted felon

I feel like Dabi would have so many ways to come into the apartment for sticky situations, etc.

For example...

You sit on your couch, sipping hot liquid out of the homemade ceramic cup. All of sudden, you hear sirens and then the window to your apartment open. You couldn't help but let out a lighthearted chuckle. You take another sip, listening for his footsteps. Listening to them stop, you look up, the back of your head resting on the tip of the couch cushion. Your eyes lock with his crimson blue ones that gleam mischief. You smile, place your cup down on the coffee table in front of you before turning around completely and pulling him in for a hug.

"Another run in with law?" "You know me..." "Mhm, so mischievous." He pulls his hood down and sits next to you. He surprisingly, has a bruise on the side of his face. You couldn't help but let out a gasp. "Someone got that close to you." You hold his face in your hand, looking over the bruise, still shocked. "I didn't see the fucker. It won't happen again." You finish your drink, stand up with the mug in hand and kiss him on the cheek. "You know where your spare clothes are. I'm going to bed, I have work in the morning."

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You both spar together sometimes

Though Shigaraki yells at you that your both ruining everything

Sometimes your spars end in makeup sessions or destruction

I imagine the reader with a similar quirk to him or a different one that they try to combine into the ultimate quirk combination

For example...

You both had similar quirks. Both powerful flames but different colors. His was the usual blue color and yours was a red. The spar room battlefield was getting hot as hell but you both continued on anyway. He'd come at you with everything he had and you'd do the same.

Dabi rushes at you with both hands covered in his blue flames. You plant your foot on the ground, kick him in the side and bring him to his knees. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and lean in close. "Dead." He growls but switches to a huff before holding his hand out for you to lift him up. You're hesitant but do it anyway. As you're lifting him, he picks you up by the front of your shirt and throws you down on the mat. He looks down at you with a competitive smirk and leans down slightly without bending his knees. "Dead." He mocks, laughing a bit. You glare at him before pulling his legs towards your face, making sure he fell on his back. You crawl on top of him, resting your palms on both of his knees while leaning back.

"I win...again." He sits up in a sitting position before grabbing the back of your head to bring you forward. Your lips connected together like two puzzle pieces, it was perfect. A perfect teeth-clashing kiss filled with competitive nature and need. You both disconnect, a thin trail of saliva connecting the two of you. "Now?" "Right fucking now." You push him down and bring him in again. Kissing him before taking his bottom lip between your teeth. You both were into it so bad that you didn't even hear the door being opened. "FOR GOD'S SAKES!! TAKE IT TO YOUR ROOM OR KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS!!" You both pull away immediately and sit far away from each other. You look at each other before laughing. Shigaraki didn't find it funny at all lol.

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Now reader with a different quirk is a different story...

"Maybe we should try it like... something to throw so we can be long ranged as well as close." You use your plant-like quirk and wrap vines together in a ball before placing it in his burning hands. "Are you even good at throwing shit?" "Never knock til you try." He throws the flame ball and it doesn't go far at all. You couldn't help but smack your forehead and laugh at his antics.

"You're kidding, right?" He stays silent and sits back down. "How about this..." You craft a dual spear weapon out of strong wood and vines before throwing it at him. You point at the tips of the weapon. "Light it up." He lights both sides and tests it out for a bit. You watch him practice before stopping him. "You kinda look stupid. We can look up tutorial videos on YouTube..." "...what..." "YouTube has videos on everything, including how to use a dual spear weapon. We just need to keep practicing or come up with something else." He hums in acknowledgment before twisting the spear on his palm, forcing it to go around his head. You walk over and stop the spinning with a single finger before planting a couple of kisses on his forehead and hair. "I'm heading up for a drink."

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A/n: I hope this was good enough for you! I was trying hard to come up with more shit but this is what I have at the moment.

Masterlist --> link

[aces-and-angels]

title: do not fall apart before they do. tiktok originally made by umnia_ video transcript below the cut

[ID: With the magnitude of what has been happening in Gaza in the last 8-9 months, I really hope you guys deeped it when people of color were trying to tell you to pace yourselves- because now is around the time a lot of you are going to start *clicks tongue, slashes hand over forehead* Like, there's going to be yet another tragic massacre right in front of you on your screen- and you're just not gonna react because you're burnt out. and that's when they get you. This is- this is an endurance test.

Colonialism *laughs* and- and death and destruction. Necropolitics is an endurance test. How many people can we kill before you tap out on even seeing them as people? Until you- until you don't get it. Until you just- it no longer registers. How many people does it need to be? 300,000? 400? It- they will just keep going.

They don't see them as people. So what- what avenue do they have to stop? What avenue do they have to go, "oh, my god!" Like- they don't have one. They don't see these- they see them as- they don't even see them as numbers on a sheet. They don't think of these massacres by the numbers. Everyone else has to do the numbers. They don't even see the numbers. They're thinking in terms of the spreadsheet that has the bombs and the money on it. They're not thinking about the people, ever.

200 people? Okay *muttered speech* They have this double tap thing (which is a violation). It's a war crime where they go, "We'll do a little small explosion here. Everyone will run to try and try to save everybody- and we'll do another one." That would've horrified you in October, and now you're just like, "Yeah, cause it's Israel." That's how they get you. That's how they get you! That's how they get you.

(speaker mimicking others' most common comments) Well, what are we supposed to do? They say it's a civil war in Sudan. Wha- how am I meant to boycott gold like that? How does that even work? Like- I'm being asked to boycott so many things.

This- this is- this is when people of color have told you all of the different pitfalls. It was for the moment here- this moment- where Meta keeps switching off the political content even when you switch it back on again. It's for the "I haven't seen anything about Palestine in like, four days." It's for the "they- they bombed the school and they burned all the kids inside- all the kids." And you go, "Yeah- I mean, god, Israel- just- is there no low they won't stoop to?" It's for that moment. It's for that moment. That's when they get you. That is when they get you. That is when they get you.

And it's now no time for half measures. You've gotta be "October heated" about every single moment. And some of that means that you don't tap in until like 2 PM each day. Or you have- you cannot be guilty about the one or two things you do a day that are for you. You don't have to feel guilty about the week where you are just silent reposting and getting your mental back because at least you're doing something.

Like- that is how you maintain your humanity as they keep going. Because they can't- they don't- they won't stop. And if you can keep up with them, they run out of money, and that's when you can get them. And there's no recourse for them anymore. They need someone at every single speech going, "You're funding a genocide." They need everyone turning up to vote against them.

They- there's so many different avenues that mean you don't have to sacrifice your daily coffee and your nice little bubble bath to ruin their lives when they do this- when they kill this amount of people. You can really disrupt stuff. Even if it just means that your one action for the whole week is explaining to all your co-workers why that person who shouted at Jimmy Kimmel is an icon. That's the- that's the one.

Because finally- one day they run out of money- they run out of goodwill. They are worn down by the fact that you won't let this go, and they stop. You've disrupted their balls- you've disrupted their interviews- you've disrupted their money. Boycott, boycott, boycott. And eventually *speaker makes explosion sound* it all shuts down.

We're watching it shut down right now. That's why they're getting vicious. One might argue this entire assault is the final flamethrow of a dying empire. Do not let them guilt you into using everything you have in your power to maintain your humanity and stay in the fight. And that does not mean you have to be burning yourself out every day. It means sometimes that your only daily action is those instagram posts- those instagram stories. But you're still not stopping. No one's gonna shut you up.

Go as slow as you need to as long as you want. Do not stop. Because this is the moment. This is the moment that they're waiting for you to cave. They're waiting for you to burn out and to not- and to not see those kids as kids-- and to not see that granddad-- and to go, "What?! Another atrocity? What- another thing they're doing in the prison? What? Another thing? Ah, look at the dog! The dog they sent on the poor grandma."

You can't just be like *clicks tongue, slashes hand over forehead* and you can't just go like, "Why does no one care?!" You just have to beat them at the endurance test.

The- if you ever- if you ever-- I mean all people of color can do this for you, but if you ever need an example of an endurance test, pay attention to Palestinians. Follow Palestinians. They have been in this for a time- a length of time you cannot fathom. There are people who have been born into this who were born of people who were born into this, okay? They know endurance. Follow their lead. They're still graduating. They're still having their coffees. They're still doing their makeup, and--

And you just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Because the thing is, you can- you can maintain your sanity. They cannot maintain this. This cannot go on forever. This will end up falling apart, but only if you don't fall apart first. END ID]

[thenixkat]

i was going to refrain from it for awhile but since folks ruined my whole funky flow twice now I might as well.

Someone remind me around 5:30/6 pm whenever i actually get back home from work to elaborate on shit cause I do have shit to say on

Low facial diversity

Slavery

Fatphobia

Pasty bitch overload

In Dungeon Meshi

Cause like while I really do like Dungeon Meshi that doesn't mean I didn't notice shit

[vodid]

building upon an upcoming au with a spark color scale for.. reasons... in which the closer a descendant of primus you are, the golder your spark. pure gold is an immediate child of god. while the farther your lineage goes, the bluer it becomes

(spark range not drawn to scale. i'm sure it'd take a LOT of generations to get through it like that. but id think its easy to get through the gold; its the blue that has a wider range)

both are positive in their own ways. child of god? you are cherished. have a deep cool blue spark? you have impressive ancestry.

most cybertronians are in the far blue range as cybertron has a lot of history to it, and it could be in such a way that gold has become entirely obscure, only known through word of mouth and could have even ended up a myth to many. religion would uphold this legend (ugh y'all know i LOVE me some gold halo iconography and this would be SO fun to play with) but we all know how deep a religion runs through someone can vary, from entirely atheist to devout.

i can also see more extremist religions twisting it a little bit, in a sort of "the bluer your spark is, the farther from primus you are and thus the more of a sinner you are" and potentially to a point where your bloodline "should be removed from the world." or if you have a gold spark, you MUST have some religious duty to fulfill. primus sent you for a reason. the closer to gold it is, the more expectation there is for you to become a religious figure. this could lead to an actual pattern in differences of religious devotion between those with golder and bluer sparks, which in turn could affirm zealots even more (your spark is blue? no wonder you're not a follower of primus. shameful!)

the thing that really ruins that perspective though is the matrix. it doesn't discriminate against spark color when choosing its prime (have a gold spark? you're closer to primus. have a blue spark? your lineage has made you strong. have a spark in between? you have the past and the future with you.) even if the matrix might not be the will of primus himself, it is the will of his direct children, the original primes with sparks of the purest, untouched gold.

perhaps, despite how private sparks are (unless you are a religious figure), some may decorate their spark casing in a way that stained glass could give their sparks the appearance of a golder or bluer spark, depending on what they want. it can be easy to balance it to a silver, which can really hide which color they are

but don't be fooled, most do not care as they generally have a similar blue in the current day and age. your spark could be cyan, it could be pushing the lines of indigo, but at the end of the day, it's not gold. maybe you'll see a silver in the temple, maybe you'll see a priest with the barest hint of a gold tinge, but not many who have yellower sparks are left. (not to say NO religious figures have blue sparks. many, many do and even a prime may have the deepest blue anyone's seen)

it really doesn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things unless you're the purest of gold, which nobody is ...at least, not for a while.

now the super fun issue is: cybertronians, in a post-apocalyptic world, would have no idea if gold means a child of primus. or a child of unicron. ;3c