#and this is only one layer of it too. everything here sucks so much. i wish i was born somewhere else ugh

[daz4i]

yknow i really really try to see where people are coming from, usually. as in i try to understand why they do the things they do. but. when it comes to my country's politicians. i just can't seem to figure out how a person can disregard human life so much. like man it's one thing when you look at monarchs centuries ago who literally did not understand that other people are just like them bc they were born to think so, but these politicians supposedly all started as normal people, yet it feels like they don't see anyone but themselves, and that's just insane to me. like i have met selfish or self centered people in my life but never at this level. i can't comprehend this. they are literally like evil cartoon villains it's actually insane

[oceantornadoo]

ch3 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has an anxiety attack. price is a traditional possessive mafia man with strong opinions. comments about body image and eating habits but not from reader, her family just sucks. drunk shenanigans occur.

masterlist | next

-

The week before the wedding flies by. Simon tells you he’s already contacted a planner, which is a phone call you can’t imagine him making. Everything left to do only concerns you personally. Dress fittings, shoe shopping, ring sizing. No one expects you to want to say over decorations or location. No one asks your opinion on bridesmaid dresses or table centerpieces. The fantasy of your wedding, a princess fairytale, is shoved to the back corner of your mind, next to hope for a normal family and a love marriage. 

London has better options than Manchester, so you’re flown out on Tuesday for final fittings and a makeup run-through. Unfortunately, your aunt meets you there. She was your father’s older sister, an absolute hag who tormented your mother. Aunt Riley, a title she demands. You aren’t given the honor of addressing her by her first name. That’s not for children out of wedlock.

“I look like a piece of cake. A fluffy, tulle-shaped piece of cake.”

It turns out that Aunt Riley is the wedding planner. She’s already picked your dress, without your consent. It’s monstrous, with layers and layers of fabric at the skirt and a too-tight corset at the top. Long lace sleeves, like from an old lady’s doilies, squeeze the life out of your arms. It’s at least a size too small everywhere. Your lungs barely have room to expand. Aunt Riley states that it’s all the rage with modern brides, and you think someone must have made this as a joke. It’s a sorry imitation of an actual wedding dress, not something designed for use.

“Well, let’s hope it sweetens up Mr. Price. Heaven knows your backtalk won’t.” She huffs out, circling the platform you stand on like a shark sniffing blood in the water. “Let’s take in the waist a quarter inch. Longer sleeves, hide more of her shoulders. Can’t have the families thinking she’s a bastard and a harlot.” She orders the tailor, who scurries out of sight with her notes. You sigh, inwardly, since you can’t actually breathe right now. At least there’s a room at the Ritz Carlton waiting for you after this. The no-expenses-spared part of the wedding has a singular benefit - a jacuzzi you could get swallowed in. You only saw it in passing once you landed, but it’s been calling your name like a siren.

“And you must remember not to frown at him, it gives you lines. Are you listening?” Her voice goes up an octave, shaking you out of your thoughts. “Sorry, what?” Aunt Riley rolls her eyes, downing the complimentary glass of champagne the tailor handed her before approaching you. “I was telling you how to please your husband. You can start by wiping the frown off your face. This is a very important alliance. Do not ruin it for your brother.” Your brother. The one person in the world you’d put up with Aunt Riley for. He’s sacrificed so much for a Made life, even the freedom to love freely, so you can’t dishonor him by ruining this wedding. Your stomach grows heavy, and whether it’s the corset or her words, dread coils in your belly. You straighten your shoulders, then nod at her advice that you will not be taking. John deserves a cordial marriage, nothing more. You will not be hiding your frowns for him. 

Luckily, the tailor frees you from your prison wedding gown before you faint. Aunt Riley delivers you to the hotel with a snail face mask in one hand and instructions for a seven-day juice cleanse in another. Your bodyguards, silent men assigned by your brother, help you out of the car and then station themselves outside of the hotel. “Do this every night, you must rid yourself of those eyebags by Saturday. Start the cleanse tonight, hopefully, it’ll get you to fit in the dress. I’ll be here at 8 am sharp tomorrow for ring sizing. Child, are you listening?” You nod numbly, snatching the products in her hands before dashing to the lobby and into the elevator. “And practice smiling!” Her words are drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears.

The elevator operator knows your floor number, a fact you’d find creepy if you weren’t trying to stop an anxiety attack. Ring sizing. The dress fitting was a laugh but this is…real. A ring is a collar around your throat, it’s your name in ink on the dotted line. The reality is sinking in - John Price will be your husband. You open your door, body on auto, dumping your aunt’s products in the trash before entering the bathroom. The thought of a bath is laughable, not when you think you could drown. A look in the mirror reflects a frazzled woman in the mirror, with eyebags and discoloration and acne scars, and is that a pimple? You are not the type of woman to be John Price’s wife. You are a bastard and he cemented that fact and now you’re marrying him. You’re betraying your mother when you think about it. He and his father got you sent away and you’re here ring sizing. The logical part of your brain argues that he was sixteen, that your father acted of his own accord, but you aren’t listening to logic right now.

The bathroom walls start closing in, but you’re faster. Running like your ass is on fire out of your room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. You’re on the second top-most floor but it doesn’t matter, anything to get you out. Time flies in a blur, your vision only clearing once you reach the lobby. Instead of walking out the front, where your brother’s men are, you find a side door, escaping into a street alley. Outside. Fresh air. Now.

The sun’s set. You forgot your gun in the safe. Ditched your bodyguards. Nothing matters as you jog down a cracked London sidewalk, not stopping until you find a park. If you can call it that. It’s a strip of green grass, tucked between two buildings like someone forgot about it. You find the lone bench, tucked behind a tree, and sit, lungs heaving with effort.

You could leave, right? Abandon the contract, hightail it out of London. Go back to your mother…who will just shake her head and tell you you should have expected nothing less from the mafia families. She’ll let you stay, of course, but Simon’s still got his men following her and you would be right back where you started.

You could find a city. One without mafia, without men who think they’re gods playing fate. Get a job, a fake name. Except…how could you fake certificates without your connections? Where is the mafia not? It seems the tendrils of your captors reach across the whole British island, choking out any who disobey.

Maybe John would let you out. If you begged nicely, on your knees. He’d smirk and say he’s won the whole game, this back-and-forth that’s played out for years. Except he wouldn’t let you, not really. You’re not stupid enough to ignore the political factors involved, the whispers of the Shepherd family encroaching on his territory. He needs your brother's weapons and he won’t give them up just because you ask.

There are no options. You’re trapped, a mouse in a well-laid trap. Your breathing comes out fast and stunted, lungs rasping with overuse. You try to put your head between your legs, arms on your head like Simon taught you. Five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear…Except you can’t see anything. Tears glazing over your vision and this is the end, it has to be-

“Nice night.” A man is next to you on your bench. You didn’t even notice, too caught up in your thoughts. It’s enough of a distraction to pull you out of your mental spiral, breath still coming out too short. You train your eyes on the ground in front of you, afraid if you turn to the man next to you, you might keel over from anxiety. “Huh?” Very witty, idiot.

“Said it’s a nice night. North Star’s out, look.” You shake your head, lacing your fingers behind your head to keep your gaze down. The alternative is too frightening to consider. There’s no way he’s here, this thorn in your side. “Pick your head up and find it, sweetheart.” Even though your brain fog, you can’t shake off irritation at his demanding tone. You pick your head up, searching the sky until you find a star brighter than the rest, blinking at you like an old friend.

“Good girl. Now look, squirrel’s got ‘imself in a tight spot.” You drop your gaze and sure enough, a squirrel is fighting with a takeaway bag at the edge of the park. It’s silent for a bit, the sound of a paper bag ripping echoes through the air as you watch two foes battle. John doesn’t say a word, content to watch you squirm with the fact that he’s talked you off the ledge. You finally drop your hands from the back of your head, setting them in your lap like a prim lady and not an anxious mess. Your thumbs twiddle, itching to pick at your skin, but you can’t because there’s ring sizing tomorrow. Aunt Riley will surely notice. There’s ring sizing tomorrow…

“This has got t’ be the only spot of green in London.” You snort. He’s not wrong. “How’d you find me?” You whisper. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered JP in dark blue letters, and you dab at the tears in your eyes. “Got men watchin’ yer door, elevator an’ the lobby. Don’t trust y’r brother’s men. Knew the second ya left without anythin’ on ya. Bloody stupid, if y’ ask me.” Of course, he’s correcting your anxiety attack etiquette. Typical John Price.

“Wasn’t thinking about my weapon, to be honest. I’m surprised you came here yourself since you’ve got all these men watching me. Certainly one of them wanted to visit this lovely park.” You finally chance a look at him and instantly regret it. Starlight is rare in London proper but it somehow frames his face perfectly. Even the streetlamps cater to him, highlighting the cut of his beard and the blue of his eyes. You hand him the used handkerchief and he grabs it lightly, callused fingers brushing yours before pulling away. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched, a fact you’re hyper-aware of.

“Someone tells me my wife can’t breathe, ‘m not sendin’ my men to take care of it.” He tucks the handkerchief into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Not your wife yet.” He clucks his tongue. “Yet.” Well, you can’t argue with that. “Thanks for checking on me, I guess.” It almost physically pains you to say, especially once he grins and turns his head in your direction. “A thank you? Y’ sure yer feelin’ okay?” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest like this is a casual conversation. “I was trying to be polite. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten how to insult you.” A corner of his mouth ticks up, almost a smile. He puts his hands on his knees and rises like an old man and not someone nine years your senior.

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.” He holds out a hand for you to take and you do, immediately dropping it and stepping away once you’re up. “What won’t be?” You ask like you don’t know. He gestures between the two of you like it’s a given. “This. The wedding. Marriage. ‘M not yer new jailer, sweetheart, I promise.” In a moment of vulnerability, you swallow and turn away, trying to find the North Star again. The clouds hide it, light pollution preventing you from your search. “You promise?” You whisper, almost to yourself. 

“I do.” He says it with the same conviction you imagine he’ll use at the ceremony. A slight pressure touches your shoulder, the ghost of a reassuring squeeze, and you turn away from the sky, eyes focused on his suit jacket. “Let’s get you back. ‘S nippy out here.” You nod mutely, and that’s that.

-

Friday is your hen-do with your Riley cousins, getting drunk at a Price-owned club called Midnights. They’re a bit catty but you can’t blame them for the environment they grew up in. You’re given a mission of getting absolutely smashed, enough to forget about your impending wedding. Drinks after drinks are put into your hand, and you’re pretty sure every type of clear liquor is now in your belly. The music has seeped into your pores, veins thumping with your last night of freedom. Like you ever had any at all.

“Are you excited for tomorrow night?” A distant third cousin whisper-shouts into your ear, waggling her brows at the insinuation. You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your fifth martini before answering. “Not really.” She groans, tugging her sister into the conversation. “Come on, I heard he’s great in bed.” Her sister nods with blown pupils, almost spilling her drink on your white dress. “He fucks like an animal. My friend Marie fucked him and,” she hiccups, almost losing her train of thought. “She said he made her come like, five times. He never fucks the same woman twice though. Wonder howitllbewithyou…” She slurs the last sentence, trailing off until she perks back up at the DJ’s change in song. “This is my song, we have to dance!” She drops her drink to tug you onto the dancefloor and you go laughing, thoughts of John Price drifting away as you dance like no one’s watching.

Mafia girls get a bad rep. Your cousins are called innocent or shallow, but they’re the best company you’ve had in years. You soak up all the estrogen in the room, knowing you might never have this kind of night again. It’s exhilarating, to have fun while knowing you’re in a place where you can’t get hurt. At least five Riley bodyguards surround the dance floor and no annoying brother is telling you what to do. You even slipped Aunt Riley, telling her you were doing a spa night at the hotel. If this is what being Mrs. Price is like, it might be worth it.

“Come on, bathroom break!” You swim in a sea of pink bridesmaid party dresses, only on solid footing once you’re in the bathroom. There’s no line, thankfully, but a group of three girls are writing on each other in the corner with a…Sharpie?

“Temporary tattoos! Do you want one?” They offer with beaming smiles - the camaraderie of drunk girlhood. Before you can open your mouth, your cousin snatches the marker and turns you to face the mirror. “No peeking.” The back of your dress is low, almost to your ass, something a Made Man would never approve of. Good thing none of them were invited. Sweaty hands hold you in place as the marker scratches over the skin of your back. She finishes by smacking her lips like she’s eaten a good meal. “Ok, go look.” You turn in the mirror and blink once, twice. You might be drunk but not that drunk, right? Because there’s no way she’s drawn you a tramp stamp in the shape of a heart with the initials JP written in loopy handwriting. It reminds you of a certain handkerchief and you shut that thought down before it settles in.

“Wanker!” You squeal. She throws the marker back to the girls before making a run for her life with you hot on her heels. You’re grinning the whole time.

-

John does not have a stag party. He was planning on taking the night for himself, leaving Gaz in charge of overseeing the dozens of clubs he owns and watching for trouble. He’s just sat down with a bottle of scotch, aged ten years, he’s been aching to try when his phone rings.

“Price.” His voice comes out gruff, probably due to lack of sleep. Since the night he found you on that bench, he hasn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Can’t even take a midafternoon kip. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, the knowledge that you had an anxiety attack because you’re marrying him. He didn’t realize how much you hated him. He hopes it’s only dislike, not fear. If you’re scared of him, there’s not much evidence in his favor. He’s got a list of bodies that could fill a village, and there’s blood in the cracks of his palms. Not exactly husband material.

“Sir, we’ve got an…issue.” Gaz doesn’t continue, which is one of Price’s biggest pet peeves. “Spit it out, Garrick.” Gaz sighs on the other end. “Your fiancee is here at Midnights, doin’ her hen do. Bunch of Riley girls swarmin’ the place. They’ve got guards, but I thought you ought t’ know.” Fuck. Midnights is Price’s biggest club, the easiest to get lost in with its three floors and dark hallways. Because of the layout, it’s definitely on the dirtier side of his business. It’s where he takes clients he doesn’t trust. It is not the place for his fiancee. Wife in twenty-four hours.

He abandons the unopened scotch with a sigh, grabs his coat, and calls his driver. It’s one of Nikolai’s men, renowned for their discreet nature and speedy driving. Luckily, he’s staying at a flat near the church, so he’s only a few minutes away from the club.

“Good evening, sir.” John nods his head in acknowledgment, then dials up a contact on his phone he’d rather not talk to. “You didn’t think t’ tell me she was out?” His tone is firm while Ghost murmurs to someone on the other end. Probably Soap if John had to put money on it. The man sounds a bit out of breath. “Whatdya mean she’s out? Ain’t she doin’ her hen do at the hotel?” Fuck, you didn’t even tell your brother. At least you took guards with you. “She’s at one of my clubs with ‘er cousins. She’ll be safe but Jesus Ghost, ya need t’ be on this. Be glad I’m ‘er keeper now.” Simon swears under his breath. “Her aunt’s s’posed t’ be watchin’, guess they gave her the slip. She’s smart, not gonna run. Check in an’ let me know.” Like John’s going to take orders from a man who can’t even keep an eye on his sister. Someone needs to lay down the law.

He’s at the club in minutes, greeting his bouncer before going in. Gaz meets him at the front, guiding him to the second level so they can look over the crowded dance floor. Sure enough, John spots a few bodyguards at every corner, suited men who are firmly not dancing. It takes a second, but the white outfit you’re wearing makes it easier to spot you. You’re surrounded by girls in pink, presumably your cousins. Before Gaz can comment, he heads down the stairs, pushing his way through the crowd. Even on the verge of blacking out, people recognize who he is, stepping back to make a clear path to you.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” It’s not the smoothest delivery he’s ever had, but the image of you is pissing him off. Smudged lipstick that he’d rather not think about and sweat dripping obscenely into the cleavage of your dress. It’s white with a dip in the front, giving him a generous view of tits that are about to be legally his. You’re so drunk that it takes you a second to recognize him, a fact that irritates him even further.

“Dancing! Ever heard of it?” You smile and that’s how he knows you’re wasted because you’ve never smiled at him like that. All teeth like you’re genuinely greeting him. Fuck it. He grabs you by the waist and you squeal. Unexpectedly, you’re docile in his arms, following him willingly as he pulls you off the dancefloor and into a quieter section. When he removes his hand, which ended up on the small of your back, it’s…black? A closer look reveals that it’s marker ink.

“The fuck’s on y’r back?” You gasp, then turn so he can see. A surge of blood goes straight to his cock, too fast for him to remember this is you, the Riley brat. There’s a heart with his initials above your ass. It’s a little smudged but the insinuation is clear. It’s something he’ll see tomorrow if you’re in his bed. Which he’s not even sure he wants. He thinks.

“My cousin did it, not me I swear. I would not have drawn that, trust me.” You gush, turning back around. You overshoot and almost stumble, but he reaches out just in time with a steadying hand on your waist. You frown, then shrug.

“Ya didn’t tell me where ya were goin’ and you slipped your aunt. That’s not,” you cut him off by swaying your hips, clearly more into the music than his voice. His grip tightens as he gets a better feel of the fat on your waist, a sensation he didn’t know he needed. “That’s not acceptable. Don’t do it again.” You roll your eyes, then pull back out of his grip. There’s a black smudge on your dress now, but you don’t notice. “Yessir.” You even mock salute, smirking. “You gonna end my last night of freedom? Put me in timeout? Thought you weren’t my new jailer, John.” You draw out the syllables of his name to show your irritation. Your sentence references the promise he made, the one he’s already regretting.

He doesn’t even know what he wants by coming here. He’s a Made Man, and can't have his wife running around freely. And he needed to know you’re safe, sure, but then what? This is his club, there are no worries of any enemies. He’s vetted every manager and knows every bouncer and bartender. You should have told him, that’s true, but he’s not going to drag you out and make a scene. You’re owed a last night of freedom. So why does he want to stay and get a drink, watch your hips sway on the dancefloor without a care in the world? It must be something in the air, some drug residue that’s got into his system.

“Just- tell me next time. And from now on, I’ll be assignin’ y’r guards. Y’r goin’ t’ be my wife, need t’ be under my protection.” You snort, then sip your drink. “Sure. Can’t wait to be Mrs. Price as of tomorrow. You done throwing a hissy fit?” In a moment of teenage retaliation, he takes your drink and throws it out in a nearby trash can. An angered gasp escapes you.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart. Try not to look too hungover.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to a pounding headache and a stern Aunt Riley. 

“Cheer up, you insolent child. It’s your wedding day!”

You groan and shut your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

-

did reader and john just have a moment??? or two???? wedding is next :)

-

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[witherby]

ALREADY?? UH, PRAYING FOR YOU!!! YEAH YOU CAN DO THIS!! Let the voices win frfr. . .

Can't wait to read it... Mweheheh..

★🍋‍🟩

Mother Hen, A/B/O Edition

Or: the one where Hal reminds the Batfamily they are loved in little ways.

"Mornin, Alfred," Hal yawned, barely conscious as he shuffled into the dining room.

"Good morning, master Hal," Alfred greeted. He watched Hal slowly sink into a chair and placed his food in front of him. "Drink options this morning are fresh-squeezed orange juice, a fruit smoothie, or a glass of milk."

"Hmm..." Hal blinked heavily and gently grabbed Alfred's arm before the beta would withdraw from setting his plate down. He brought his wrist to his face and gingerly nosed it, breathing in the scent of jasmine tea with a tired smile. "Um...Juice s'fine...thanks a million..."

"Of...of course, sir." Alfred pulled his arm back when Hal let him go, disappearing into the kitchen with pink ears.

--

"Alright, got all my things. This weekend was fun, but I gotta head back to Blüdhaven. The precinct has been leaving me a concerning number of voicemails, so I can only imagine the circus I'm gonna find."

Dick shrugged his duffel bag over his shoulder and gave his brothers all a quick squeeze or noogie. Bruce gave him a hug, briefly encompassing him in dark chocolate, and told him to stay safe. Hal did the same, but gently nosed the gland at his throat, pushing packsafelove through his usual, airy scent.

"Go give 'em hell, kid," he said, drawing back. Dick pressed a hand over his neck, feeling a flush of warmth, and almost shyly bid goodbye to Hal before he left, clearly unused to such easy Omegan affection.

--

Jason awoke with a scream in the middle of the night, vision briefly overcome with green, green, green, and darted out of his room before the others could come in and crowd him. His scent left a trail of thick, bitter, omegan fear behind him, until he made his way into the library and tucked himself behind a bookshelf to calm himself down.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound of his own, ragged breathing. Everything felt like too much. His skin felt too tight. His body felt too heavy. His mind felt too busy. He needed it all to stop. He needed a grounding tool. He needed —

Jason sucked in another sharp gasp, and scented a calming, summer breeze. It was faint and unobtrusive, somewhere distant, but he latched onto it like a faint beacon of light amongst a raging storm. He chased that scent like a lifeline, until his skin stopped feeling tight and his body stopped feeling like lead and his mind finally started to slow and settle.

Then he crawled back out from the bookcase and approached Hal from where he was lounging in a chair across the library, an unobtrusive but clear position of support whenever he wanted it.

He didn't have to ask before Hal's arms opened up, wrapping tightly around Jason, and he scented his neck and cheek until the last of his tremors died off.

Safelovesafe, Hal pushed into his scent. Safelovesafe.

Jason rested his head on Hal's shoulder, trusting him to support his weight. Lovesafepack.

--

Tim hadn't managed to get out of the manor fast enough to avoid Hal snatching him up and nesting him during his pre-heat.

"This can't be helpful to you," he muttered, squirming from under the three layers of blankets Hal had burrito'd him into. "I'm a beta, remember? I can't smell any more interesting than a ream of paper."

"You're one of my pups. Shut up and deal with it," Hal said, throwing yet another blanket on top of Tim, before spooning his bundled body to his chest and nosing at the back of his neck so self-soothe. "You smell like coconut, by the way. And me, now, but your base scent is coconut."

"I don't own anything with coconut in it..." Tim mumbled. "Hey, I don't have to stay here, right? I'm gonna get heat stroke if the answer is yes."

Hal just kept nosing at the back of his neck. Tim tried to ignore how nice it felt and relented to his fate with a sigh.

--

Damian pushed his father's hand away when he went to feel his temperature and curled up further into his blankets. He already knew he was feverish; there was no need to touch him to confirm it.

"I think you're gearing up to present, buddy," Bruce told him. "I was thirteen when it happened to me, too, and your scent's been changing the past few days."

"Great. Is it gonna be this uncomfortable the entire time?" Damian groaned. "I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm hot again. I'm thirsty. Everything hurts. I think I'd rather fight off a hundred assassins in the League again."

"This should help," Hal said, knocking on the door frame to announce himself before walking in. He was holding a bundle of clothes, several articles plucked from everyone in the house, and started tucking them under Damian's blankets. "What do you think you're gonna be?"

"An alpha, obviously," Damian practically sneered, "like father. I have all the traits and qualities of a pack leader like him. What a stupid question."

Hal and Bruce exchanged a glance over Damian's shivering body, communicating wordlessly in the way only long-time lovers could. It was sickening and annoying.

"Spit it out," he hissed. He caught a whiff of cedar and followed it to Dick's hoodie, bringing it to his face and nuzzling into it. He was about to present so he could afford to do embarrassing things for a short time, like find comfort in the scents of his pack mates.

"Nothing, champ. Just hope you feel better quickly," Hal said, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "It shouldn't last more than a day."

"And if you need anything, someone's always gonna be outside the door keeping track of you," Bruce said, leaning down to nose against his temple gently. The comforting scent from his alpha helped abate some of the discomfort Damian was feeling, and he almost reluctantly nuzzled back before rolling over.

Two sets of footsteps made to walk out of the room, but Damian sniffed around his nest and frowned.

"Jordan," he called. Hal stopped and immediately returned to his bedside.

"Yeah?"

"...there's...nothing of yours is in here," Damian muttered, avoiding eye contact as he thrust his hand out expectantly. "Hand your shirt over immediately."

Hal laughed, but it wasn't mean. He obediently tugged off the t-shirt he was wearing and handed it over, and Damian added it to his collection before settling back down.

"You may go," the boy muttered. Hal hummed and grabbed his wrist again, nosing against it, and Damian didn't put up any resistance despite the flush staining his cheeks. "I'm not a babe in need of reassurance! Leave me!"

"Sure thing, kid. I'm taking the first shift, so holler if you need anything," Hal said.

Damian waited until he left the room before bringing his wrist to his neck and rubbing the Lantern's scent against his glands. It smelled like lovepacklove.

Maybe being an Omega wouldn't be so bad.

[miaoua3]

(pairing: jun x f!reader)

fuck studying, here comes some dry humping and making out with jun cuz i need that man like i need oxygen

you weren’t sure how you two got to this point but you certainly aren’t complaining. what was supposed to be a relaxing movie night soon turned out to be a hasty and hungry make out session with jun.

no less than 20 minutes after starting the movie had jun lightly kissed your forehead affectionately. he was just sitting there on his couch, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders and with the other across your legs that were resting on his lap.

he started out slow and innocently enough, landing a sweet kiss to your forehead. then a sweet kiss to your temple. and then an intimate kiss to your cheek. and then not so sweet to your jaw.

you leaned your head back to look at him, forgetting entirely about the movie playing on the screen. jun looked right back at you, eyes kind of hazy and lustfull. the eye contact went for a few seconds.

and then he was kissing you.

the kissing started out slow and intimate, his lips sucking on your bottom lip lightly.

but then he used his hand to angle your head better, his tongue invading your mouth fully.

next thing you know, jun is using his hold on your thighs to manoeuvre you onto his lap, pulling you against him. his hands had mind of their own, going from caressing your back to squeezing your ass harshly, making you gasp and moan in his mouth.

he couldn’t stop groaning, the hold you had on his hair making him go crazy, forgetting everything about what it is like to have shame.

as he was repeatedly grabbing your ass, you started unconsciously rocking back and forth into his hands, which jun appreciated very much so, groaning and moaning every time your clothed pussy rubbed across his hard on.

the tv is now just a distant sound in the background, your mind only focusing on rolling your hips and jun’s hand on your ass, squeezing and releasing it periodically.

jun doesn’t let you be the only one putting in the effort, rolling his own hips upwards, wishing that the layers between you two would disappear but also kind of enjoying the torture.

your hands grab onto his cheeks, nails lightly scratching his flawless skin as you gasp, feeling your end near. realising this, you just start rolling your hips faster, throwing head back as you moan loudly.

jun himself isn’t too far behind, using his hold on your ass to set the rhythm that he wants, gasping as he feel himself right on the brink of cumming.

jun only has time to gasp “i’m cumming” against your mouth before he feel himself finish, creaming his pants while his head is thrown back, pretty moans leaving his mouth.

you yourself cry out as the orgasm hits you like a strong wave, jun’s hold on your the only thing keeping you from falling backwards. seeing that you’re overcome with your pleasure and that you could hurt yourself if you lean too far back, jun just pulls you into himself, hugging you closely as he nuzzles into your neck.

you breathe heavily against his ear, completely spent and relaxed from this little escapade. after a minute or so, you pull back to look at jun.

his big brown eyes greet you, looking at you as if you were all the stars and the planets in his universe. completely speechless that you are really his, jun just pulls you into a kiss.

he continues kissing you, now fully intending for it to stay innocent and romantic. pushing the thought about how uncomfortable his wer pants feel, jun fully focuses on the taste of your sweet lips.

after a minute or so, he lets your lips part ways naturally, his chocolate eyes greeting you yet again. pushing hair put of your face, he continues looking at you adoringly, affection and love pouring out of his eyes.

you yourself not being able to hold your affection back just lean back in, kissing him again like it’s your first time ever.

because kissing jun always feels like that-new, exciting and full of love.

[swapmeetsimming]

Nail Art Set + Freebie!

The nail art set is up for EA! Here is a direct link to the public preview on Patreon with more pictures and information! The freebie is at the bottom

Or, here is the information all here if you don't want to click:

The Set has way too much tiny clutter items. If I had half a brain, I'd have done what other people do and made clutter "groups" instead of making everything individual.

Like always, all simlish text was made with the wonderful fonts from https://franzillasims.tumblr.com/

The set features a "travel" workstation on two variations. The open version is a mini-desk, and is fully functional as one, and is base-game.

The closed version is basically a tall end table. it has six small deco slots on the top, surrounding the handle.

Both versions have 11 swatches. Make sure to have bb.useobjects enabled to access all the slots! :)

A small rolling cart. six slots on each layer. 4 swatches.

An UV curing lamp. This turns on and off, and only glows from the inside. 3 swatches.

An Arched desk lamp. This is so cool - I would have loved one when I was customizing dolls and minitures! Glows only from the bottom and slots onto the desk!

Two neon lights. The pink one is a false light, it kind of has the illusion of glowing, but just looks pretty. The blue one is an obnoxiously bright light, that illuminates everything around it. Looks best outside! ^^ The blue one is free now!

A handheld nail drill with bits, or a dremel if you are familiar with the tool. :) The drill and bits are separate items, both in 3 matching swatches.

A dust vacuum/collector - this is absolutely necessary when you a using a drill and filing nail tips. It sucks up all the harmful residue the drilling creates. 3 swatches.

Tissue/wipe dispenser. 5 swatches.

And a whole TON of clutter.....

A stand for displaying and working on nail tips.

A nail brush and clippers.

A set of cuticle tools.

A set of files and buffers.

A set of fine brushes.

A small glass for ...something.

A small container of glitter.

A magnet wand for cat-eye effects.

A tube of nail glue.

A bottle of gel polish with 20+ swatches

A bottle of Base/Topcoat/Matte Effect. Three swatches.

A set of polishes that can also slot into the workstation top.

A set of nail stickers. 5+ swatches.

A roll of metallic detail tape. 3 swatches - silver, gold, rosegold.

A little round storage wheel for rhinestones.

A toe separator.

A pair of fine tweezers for setting tiny details.

An orange cuticle stick

You can get the obnoxiously bright neon light as a freebie, right now!

It's at the bottom of the Public preview post!

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[newluvrs]

Anton ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: JUNO - CHOKER word count: 1.8k

“is this okay?”  

The room is hazy from the glow of your bedside lamp, the smell of weed perforating your room as a result of your shitty roommate hotboxing your apartment last night.  Your hoody is pushed up over your hips at present, everything feels sticky and hot from too much body contact with too many layers of clothing on.  The sheets are kicked down by your feet, your legs at present hanging over Anton’s shoulders.  His lips are all swollen, having spent the last half an hour lip locked with you.  At this point in your relationship(?) neither of you had gone past make outs coupled with grinding and feeling each other up.  When he started to kiss down your body you felt nervous, but your need to be touched screamed louder than any doubt in your brain.  

“Please.”  

You know Anton asked for reassurance more for himself rather than you, his own nerves and excitement getting to him.  It was one of the first things you had noticed about him, and something you adored, how he could be simultaneously awkward and self-assured.  Like he didn’t need validation from anyone, but he so badly wanted yours.  

“please what?”  

Okay now he was just fucking with you.  

“Anton.”

“I was only joking..”  

He flashes you his boyish half-smile, pulling your sweats off as he does so.  His hair is all fucked up from his beanie and the amount of times you’ve ran your hands through it in the last half-hour.  You can only imagine your own hair looking mussed as well.  But none of this matters when he settles between your legs at the end of your bed, face to face with your boy shorts.  He glances at them, then at you, half-amused half extremely turned on.  

“Sorry if you were expecting lace.”  You let out a scoff, trying to hide how vulnerable you feel right now.  Now you really were thinking to yourself maybe you should have dug out your nice underwear, the ones reserved specifically for situations like this.  

When he doesn’t answer, you look away from him, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.  It’s quiet for what feels like too long to you.  Neither of you making a sound, the only thing playing in the room being your playlist accurately titled “music to kiss boys too.”  You’re starting to feel really fucking awkward, even with the heavy bass of the current song thrumming through your body. 

“Anton-“ 

Your cut off by your own gasp when you feel him lick you through your shorts.  His arms are wrapped around your legs, helping you hold them up.  He bites the inside of your thigh, making you buck your hips towards his face.  

“you’re so pretty, and you don’t even have to do anything.”  

He stares at you now, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

“you could wear a trashbag and I would still think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”  

You turn away from him again, a blush taking over you.  You can’t remember the last time you felt shy, it’s always you who makes him feel flustered.   Showering him in compliments endlessly about how cute you think he is.  How hot you think he looks doing simple everyday things.  You liked watching the way he stumbled over his words after, his face turning a pretty shade of pink.  You didn’t ever feel like you needed compliments, or at least you never voiced your need for them.  But now, laying here under him, it’s all you want to hear.  

His fingers dip under your shorts, groaning when he comes into contact with your wet heat.  Your hips shift in his hold, trying to move closer to that single touch.  He giggles at this, pulling his hand from your boxers. 

When you open your mouth to complain he finally gives you what you want, putting his mouth back on your cunt.  The material thin enough for you to feel his tongue prodding at you.  It’s taking you everything to restrain yourself from fucking up into his face.  Especially when he starts sucking on your clit.  Your hips jerk up, your hands balled into fists and coming up to grab at your pillows, resisting the urge to pull his hair.  

“Fuck, Anton please.”  

Your voice is so whiney, a breathless edge to it.  He pulls off of you briefly, bringing one of his hands to thumb at your clit as he speaks.  

“What is it baby?”  

When you look back down at him, you realize his hoody is also still on, making this whole thing look hotter but also making you wonder why you’re the only one half-naked.  

“I- fuck, please.”

He’s still rubbing at your clit, making it hard for you to talk, upping the speed when you open your mouth to speak.  You know that he knows this, and you know that he thinks this whole thing is fucking hilarious but god you just want more so bad right now you don’t even care.  He decides to throw you a bone.  

“Want me to pull your shorts off?”

You’re so embarrassed right now, all you can do is whine, covering your face as you nod your head.  

“Sorry, what was that?”  

He mumbles this into the side of your thigh, trying to hide the shit-eating grin adorning his face right now.  You feel like you’re going crazy.  

“Anton, I swear to god-“

“I’ll pull them off if you admit you look sexy in them.” 

His request throws you off-guard, he speaks up again as he takes in the confused look on your face.  

“All you have to do is say that you think you’re sexy.” 

“you can’t be serious.”  

When he stares back at you incredulously you realize he is in fact serious.  

“okay i’m sexy, now pull them off.”  

He tsks, rolling his eyes as he moves to pull his hand away from you.  You could scream you’re so frustrated.

“please just take them off.”  

“not until you give me what I want.”

Before you can protest he goes back to lapping at your clit through your panties, the fabric starting to turn obscenely wet from the combination of his spit and your juices.  You toss your head back, hands scrambling against the sheets now, the sudden stimulation overwhelming.  You look down at him again, noticing for the first time how he humps against the mattress as he goes down on you.  You whine out his name again, pleading with him to give you what you want already.  

“Sorry baby, I can’t hear you.”  He mumbles into your pussy.  

It’s just not enough, its everything and its so much but its not enough.  Your hands fly to his hair now, unable to stop yourself from humping his face.  In between your whines you could swear you hear him let out a ‘cute’.  Desperation overtakes you, fueled by the need to get off. 

“’m sexy.”  

You say it so quietly he can barely hear over the obscene sounds of his mouth sucking on wet fabric.  

“baby?”  

He glances up at you, and he nearly cums in his sweats right there.  Your eyes are half lidded, cheeks pink with your hair all fucked up, whimpering as you still have a grip on him, trying to fuck your hips up into his face as he pulls off of you.  

“I look so sexy….”  

You sound embarrassed as you say it still, but it’s good enough for him, just happy to have you look so fucked out and shy just because of him. 

He sits up briefly to pull his sweats down to his knees before he finally, finally, pulls off your boy shorts.  It’s obscene the way they stick to your cunt, completely drenched from the previous activities.  For the second time tonight, Anton nearly cums again just from finally seeing your pussy.  He spares a glance at your face and you just look dazed and breathless, too needy to be touched to think of anything else.  

He settles back between your legs, letting out a groan at the way his cock feels through the thinner material against the mattress.  He runs a thumb against your clit once, just to see the way it throbs when he pulls away.  

“s’cute.”  

He plants an opened mouth kiss to your cunt, not even complaining when you move your hands back to rest in his hair, gently guiding his mouth back to your pussy.  You could cry when you finally feel his tongue come into direct contact with your clit, letting out an obscene moan into the thick air.  From there the two of you fall into a steady rhythm, you humping against his face as he humps against your sheets, both dazed and mesmerized by the other, just watching.  When he brings two fingers to your entrance, you’re so wet theres hardly any resistance when he slides them in.  You cry out as he crooks them up, pushing and pulling them slowly in and out of you.  He’s gentle as he does it, just petting your insides, feeling the way you squeeze around him.  He pulls away from your clit to rest a cheek on the inside of your thigh, just watching his fingers stroke in and out, watching the way you cling to them not wanting to let him go.  

“anton.”

“mm.” 

“m’gonna cum.”  

He smiles at this, moving to suck on your clit again with an “okay baby.”  

You cum exactly like that, watching your boyfriend fuck your mattress as he presses against that gummy spot inside you, lapping at your clit.  When the stimulation becomes too much for your tired body you push his head away from between your legs.  He moves away from your cunt to rest his head on your thigh, just staring up at you with starry eyes as he speeds up his movement against the mattress.  You reach to bring his hand up to your face, sticking your tongue out to suck on the fingers that were previously inside you.  He lets out a full body shiver, groaning and cumming as soon as you wrap your lips around his fingers.  

“so sexy y/n,  pretty baby.”  

When his hips still, you both lie there, catching your breath.  In the midst of your panting you notice your playlist keeps looping on a single song, you wonder to yourself how many times its played before you noticed.  Quietly, so quietly you can barely hear yourself, you ask.

“you really think I’m pretty?”  

You’re looking away again, trying to come off as nonchalant to ward off the vulnerability.  You hear shuffling from the edge of your bed.  Then his hands are gentle on your chin, pulling you in for a kiss.  This one is sweeter than any of the ones before, his mouth gentle against yours, fingers delicately placed on the sides of your face to keep you in place.  When he pulls away, he leaves one more kiss on your forehead.  

“the prettiest.”  

[flomelias]

mortal kombat ; them giving head!

requested by no one! afab reader. includes tomas, mileena, & johnny cage. warning for nsfw. fandom masterlist found here. ♻️ . . . author notes: reuploading this from an old account of mine :p had to make this new house a home somehow. enjoy!

tomas vrbada!

— probably has a map of your pussy etched into his brain. he knows every square inch of your body as if it was his own, so it’s only natural. he loves eating you out just as much as you love getting eaten out. tomas is more than willing to stay in between your legs for hours on end, making you cum over and over. if you get off, he gets off. that’s all he cares about. hearing you moan and feeling your legs squeeze against his head is just a bonus.

— he loves to serve you, so he doesn’t mind doing whatever you ask him to do. he’s extremely skilled all on his own though, so tomas doesn’t necessarily need any guidance. he’s a sensual lover for the most part, slowly dragging his tongue across your clit and occasionally pressing kisses to it, as if to worship you. with him, it’s all about building up to something a bit more.. exciting. you’ll notice the change of pace once he slides his tongue inside. he’s never really rough unless you specifically request for that, but he’s not exactly slow like he was before.

— his tongue will dart in and out, teasing you almost. tomas has a not-so-small thing for bondage, but if his hands happen to be free then he’ll hold onto your thighs, gently rubbing circles into your skin with his thumbs when he’s not busy gripping for support. the assassin also enjoys when you have your legs on his shoulders or wrapped around his head, urging him closer to your already wet pussy. he tries to keep noises to a minimum but occasionally you’ll hear him licking and sucking anyway.

— tomas finds it extremely cute when you squirm and buck, forcing his tongue deeper into your cunt. trust me when i say he’ll lap up everything like a dog once you cum. he doesn’t let any drop go to waste unless it’s there to decorate his lower face. as you pant, he’ll slowly lift his head up, a small grin on his face. he’s got a hazy but happy look in his eye despite the fact that the lower half of his face is coated in a light layer of your cum. “mm.. you look so pretty,” he’ll murmur, admiring you while you admire him. tomas will never get over how gorgeous you always look after an orgasm.

— he’s surprised though to feel your hand against his head, urging him back down to your pussy. silently, you ask him for another round. when you feel his tongue playing with your clit again, you know the answer’s yes.

mileena!

— though she doesn’t enjoy receiving oral sex much, she’s more than willing to treat you to the time of your life. she’s eaten people more than she’s eaten people out, so she only has a small amount of knowledge on how things work. even if she had all the experience in the world of giving head, though.. well.. mileena has never eaten you out before. you’re different. you’re special.

— she’s curious as to what you like. do you prefer things to be slow and sensual or would you rather her be rough? would you like her to spit on your clit, as if she’s disgusted? would you enjoy her softly blowing on the sensitive bundle of nerves laid out beautifully in front of her? these were the things that go through her mind as mileena spreads your legs, taking in everything about your pussy.

— she’s almost experimental at first, kitten licking your cunt as if to tease you. she likes the way your legs shudder against her. when you whine, she grins. you moan and groan every so often too. she decides that she likes hearing you like this, desperate for her touch. she does more to hear your noises, letting her tongue play with your every flap. she may even gently nip a few times— she’s learning a lot from this. she learns that you like it a lot when she teases, though you tend to whine and beg for her to do more. when she does do more, mileena quickly learns that you’re prone to bucking into her like an animal. she doesn’t particularly like that so she just holds you down the best she can.

— if you can learn to control yourself then she’ll let her hands wander. she’s a boobs type of gal, truth be told. she enjoys touching your breasts when she can reach them. if she can’t, that’s okay. your ass will do just fine for now. she’s a little noisy down there, but she’s sure you don’t mind… your hand grips her hair as you let out a final moan, releasing yourself all over her tongue and mouth. mileena pulls back, forcing you to watch as she tastes your cum almost curiously. she licks her lips, staring you in the eye. it’s.. good. she uses her thumb to wipe her lower lip before licking up any excess from your wet folds.

— she lifts her head again, looking at you and soaking in your pleased expression. “again,” she says, telling you more than asking you. despite her bossy tone, she pauses on the way down, waiting for your confirmation. it’s only once you say yes that she eagerly begins to lick at your pussy again.

johnny cage!

— he eats your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth. i’m not joking. there’s a hint of desperation in the way johnny noisily sucks and slurps at your cunt. he’s a little rough but he never does more than you can handle. ask him to calm down and he will. his hands will hold you gently while his tongue goes to work on you, nearly abusing your clit. every piece of your pussy is given ample amounts of attention.

— cage can’t help but love the way you writhe against him and all the noises you make. the way you grip his hair and squeeze your legs against his head as his tongue navigates your insides makes him harder than he already is. he didn’t even know that was possible! he wonders what he’s done to deserve such a heavenly chorus of moans from you, moans that get increasingly louder with every move he makes. ah, johnny adores you. every jerk, every shudder, every whimper, every moan— he adores all of it.

— he’ll convince you to sit on his face at least once. he wants to be nose deep in your sweet, sweet pussy. god knows he deserves it. he’s had such a long day and it would mean so much to him.. please, just this once? he’s strong enough to take it and you both know that. it doesn’t matter your body size, really, he doesn’t care. he’ll hold onto your ass as you sit, grinning all over himself. cage enjoys this position a lot more than most others but if you’re not into it then he’s willing to leave it behind in his daydreams.

— it’s only after he licks up every last drop of your cum that he lifts his head up, a lazy grin on his face accompanied by hungry eyes. his mouth is messy because he doesn’t care enough to clean it. johnny takes a moment to appreciate the hazy look in your eyes, the way you pant like a dog in heat in an attempt to catch your breath. “one more round?” he’ll ask, smirking up at you. it’s amazing how he always manages to fluster you, even from in between your thighs. “i promise i’ll be gentle. i just want to taste you again.”

— with cage it’s more often than not more than one ‘round’. he always likes it when you beg for him to fuck you despite the fact that he’s made you cum several times already with just his mouth alone. he loves the desperation in your voice but even more so he loves that he’s the one to make you feel this way. johnny thinks that if he can’t pleasure you, then he’s not doing his job right. after all, he’s yours just as much as you’re his.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Boss’ Office

Garp x female Reader

Warnings: INCEST PLAY!!!! (No blood relation!) Use of name Grandpa!

ONCE AGAIN INCEST PLAY!!!!

vaginal penetration, chokehold with reverse cowgirl to backshots, dirty talk/teasing, exhibition/voyeurism, age gap, pet names, office sex, boss/subordinate

Another warning !!

⚠️ INCEST PLAY⚠️🙄

*Author's Note: Posted this on my old account but had it saved so decided to post it again 🩷🤤*

*banner*

Slushing wet noises and slapping skin filled the office space. Light layer of sweat on your skin as your muscles tightened and pussy fluttered.

“Yeah you like this old dick don’t chu sweet thing? No one your own age can handle a little minx like you. You need a man like me fucking this little cunt how it should be.” Garp grunted into your ear as he held you in a head lock. Sitting on his girthy cock had you shaking like crazy, thighs trembling on his lap.

Hand rubbing at your clit under your black tennis skirt, toes curling under your knee high socks and Oxford heels. Your nails clawing at his furry thighs to hold yourself steady. “Nngh! Ahh! Yess! I-I love it! Please grandpa! Please~! D-don’t stop!” Your begging was everything to your boss that pounded you down onto his thick cock.

Ridged veins rubbing against your sensitive walls making you twitch and spasm around him. “Grandpa~!” Your moans so loud it filled his office easily making his all male staff jealous and harder than you could imagine. Some running to the bathroom for a quick nut off or others saying fuck it and wacking at their desks. The man in his cubicle right across from Garp’s office was fisting his long veiny cock as he looked at the show.

“Fuck princess~ they love coming to work cause of you, you know that right?” Garp grunted against your ear making your eyes roll back. “They love seeing their dirty old boss fuck his pretty granddaughter.” Garp kept saying such taboo things that made your brain dizzy in the best way possible.

“Especially him. Look at how excited you made him, his cock is leaking so much for you princess.” Garp breathed out as he turned your attention to the young blonde man with curly brows. Pretty sure his name was Sanji but at the moment your brain was too fucked out to recall.

Sanji’s long cock was aching as he watched your pussy being split apart. Angry red tip oozing drops of cum making you whine as you watched it drip down the length of his cock. A loud moan leaving him as he watched Garp pick up your skirt so he could see the view of his cock entering you.

“Bet he wants to fuck you so bad.” Garp groaned as he rolled his hips up in time of pulling you down. Your screams high pitched as he knocked it out of you, cockhead beating your cervix up deliciously. “He probably wishes he could come in here and use one of these slutty holes you got.”

Garp’s own brain going dizzy from the lewd words he kept spilling but he couldn’t stop when he had you like this. Drooling on yourself with your tongue hanging out like a bitch, his bitch, in heat.

“I know for a fuckin’ fact that he does.” Garp snapped, “But that’s- Too. Damn. Bad!” Garp growled as he stood up, pushing your chest into the desk with a heavy hand.

“Scream whose pussy it is.” Garp snarled out, jealous but the desire to be watched always battling each other. “Let everyone know that this old man is the only one that can touch you. I wanna hear it.” You tried to nod but it was a pathetic attempt.

“Grandpa Garp ! Ahh nghhh ohhh yesss~ yes grandpa~ puhlease~ don’t ahh stop!” Voice hoarse from the pleasure of how deep his cock fucked your cunt. “So big! Fuck yes! Feels so fucking good! Ahh ha Nngh yesss right there Garp! No one can -ahhh fuck- no one can make me cum like you!”

Your squishy walls sucking him in with every thrust that he gave you. One of his large hands held both of yours behind your back, using it as leverage to pull you back. Other hand reaching around to hold your face to look at the onlookers.

Everyone knew when the ceo started making you answer questions that he was trying to make you cum. All the men looking over to see the expression. Men of all ages and types looking at you as they fisted their cocks in hunger. Garp loved seeing the want in their eyes and the power that he held in knowing he was fucking your cunt and not them.

“Yeah only I can make this pretty pussy cum huh baby girl” Garp kissing along the side of your neck making you whine. Moans slipping at the feel of his balls slapping into your aching clit.

“Garp fuck! Yesss~! Your cock is so big!” You screamed out loud with dreamy eyes, “Feel you so deep~”

A proud smile and a glare painted on his face that made the men shiver at their shameful release.

“Grandpa~ wanna cum~ pleasee~!” You pleaded as your pussy fluttered around his meaty cock that bruised your insides. Your juices spraying all over his cock pulling him in deeper. “Yess! Cumming~!” You moaned out.

Garp kissed the side of your face as he felt his cock twitch. Grunting as he fucked your cunny harder. “Good fucking girl.” Thrusting in your pussy to help you both ride out your orgasm.

Groaning as he sunk in deep before painting that cunt white. “Such a good pussy baby.” Garp grunted as he kissed your neck.

His eyes glared at the man watching from the door, “Beat it! GET BACK TO WORK!”

Turning to face you he kisses all over your drooly face making you giggle, “The only one that gets to slack off is the office princess who’s stuffed full of my cum.”

Making the man laugh as you hit his arm playfully, “GARP~!”

“Careful saying my name like that doll you’ll make me hard again.”

[anastasiabowe]

okay okay but i NEED mike praise. like him abusing your hole and telling you how good you are for him. his hands being everywhere instead of one place to show you how beautiful you are. omg im drooling 😻

Mikes cock plunged into your spasming cunt with ease at this point, you’re so out of it, the only thing in your mind is “Mike!” Your body moves on its own, and your voice is hoarse and tired from the screaming and cries from how Mike has been taking care of you.

Mikes voice was shaky and loud, you were getting closer and closer to your release with every moan and groan he let out.

“So fucking good, so fucking good, so fucking good.” He sounded like a broken record, the only thing on his mind was you, you, you.

Your pussy, your face, your body, your broken moans, your tears, your nails in his back, all of it made him feel on cloud nine.

He just couldn’t get enough of you, he kissed your lips, sucked your tits, bit your neck, he was basically feasting on you, and worshipping you like his own personal goddess.

“Doing so good f’me, such a good girl.” His words of praise sent you into another world-rocking orgasm. Your hips pulled from his never ending thrusts, and he only moved with them.

“I’m so close baby, you wanna make daddy cum?” You nodded to his more so rhetorical question.

“Then be a good girl, and stop tryna run.” He paused his thrusts, and readjusted his position. He went from laying between your legs and fucking you, to sitting up, your legs both on his shoulders, and him hitting a new angle.

“Aha!” You moan at the new position.

“Yeah? That feel good? Good, wanna make my baby happy.” He was covered in sweat, and looked so tired, but this is the moment he worked so hard to get too.

All of the edging was not in vain, he was about to cum, and cum hard.

“Ah- fuck, I’m gonna cum baby, want it inside?” You nodded continuously.

“Cum inside me, daddy!” You cried out and he damn near passed out from the feeling of your pussy.

“Giving you want you want, baby, such a good girl for me, y’deserve this, deserve everything!” He came inside of you, and you came with him.

When you think he finished, there was so much more left, he kept slowly fucking you through his long orgasm.

“Almost done baby, being so so good, gonna treat you real nice when I’m done.” He pumped into you a few more times, and his thrusts finally ceased.

He slowly pulled out, and watched his milky white cum deep out of you. Of course, like always, he takes 2 fingers and pushed it back inside of you.

He slowly layer your legs down, and on wobbly legs, headed to the bathroom to get a warm wet rag.

He cleaned you up real nice, like he said, and himself, and then finally laid in bed with you.

“Can’t tell you enough how good you did baby, always impressing me. Need t give you some award or something.” He whispered in your ear. He then kissed below you ear, kissed your neck, kissed your jaw, your cheek, and finally he kissed your lips, as softly as he could.

He didn’t want to break his baby, you know?

Check HERE for more!

[palioom]

day twenty-six - overstimulation

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 702

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; overstimulation, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving)

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

“My Prince, please- Ah!” 

He could get drunk off of her sweet wails alone, grinning above her as he ripped another orgasm from her, only her third this night. Fingers expertly working her to completion, brushing over her clit again and again while his other hand pinched and tugged at her hardened nipple.

Looking so beautiful in his bed, writhing and trembling, a thing layer of sweat covering her skin, her hair stuck to her forehead. So blissed out, whining in pain when he didn’t let up.

“Please what, little dove?” Oberyn asked, his fingers dipping deeper to plunge into her wet, aching cunt instead, rapidly thrusting his thick fingers in and out of her. Stroking along her walls, not leaving her time between peaks to recover. “Speak clearly for me.”

She tried to, her mind spinning as her fourth orgasm approached fast, fisting the sheets below her, everything too much but also not enough, feeling nothing but the pleasurable pain he gave her.

Did she want him to stop? Did she want him to continue?

She couldn’t tell anymore, his fingers curling into that spongy spot inside of her that made her see stars, stroking it over and over while she cried out. Tears running down her cheeks and her eyes rolling into the back of her head as her body trembled and arched off the mattress.

“Please, please! My Prince!” Her voice was hoarse from crying out for him, breathy and high-pitched. “Gods, please!”

He smiled, his hand squeezing her breast hard before trailing down her body in featherlight movements.

“My little dove, you aren’t speaking clearly.” Oberyn cooed, saccharine sweet, taking pleasure in her fucked out state, driving her into overstimulation again and again. “Please what? I do not know what my dove needs, but she seems to enjoy what I’m giving her.”

When his fingers touched her clit, her fifth orgasm crashed into her with such a force that she forgot how to breathe for a moment. Gushing all over his fingers, vaguely aware of the wet sounds while her mind floated on a cloud, only able to whimper and moan.

“I suppose you wished for more, my lovely dove.” He said, watching in awe how she came all over his fingers, slowly kneeling in between her spread legs. “So more I shall give you.”

She cried out when his mouth found her soaked cunt, tongue flicking over her clit again and again, pulling his fingers out of her so he could lick inside of her sweet, pulsing hole.

It was too much, her hands coming up to tug at his hair, trying to move him away from her.

Her skin on fire, every touch too much, hurting her.

But he was relentless, his nose bumping into her clit as he ate her out like a man starved, and it didn’t take long until the sixth peak hit her, coming with a silent cry all while he lapped up what she gave him.

“So sweet, my dove.” He cooed, continuing his pleasurable assault as her body twitched, his fingers digging into her skin. “Your sounds, your juices, everything about you so much sweeter than any Dornish wine could be.”

Sucking at her clit, there was another one.

Seven. He finally stopped at seven, grinning down at her with the widest grin she had ever seen on his face, proud of his work on her, skin flushed and sweaty and drunk on his fingers and mouth.

Breathing hard, her mind still far away from here as she finally thought herself safe from him.

Safe from his talented body, enjoying this as much as she felt close to breaking.

“Oh, my love.” Oberyn said, making her attention return to him. Like he could read her mind, she already knew this was far from over. “I am not done with you yet. There are so many more ways I can make you cum for me. And I wish for you to discover them all.”

Eyes wide, she sobbed. Exhausted and her aching hole throbbing, she couldn’t imagine taking more than she already had.

But she would, for him.

For him she would take all the painful pleasure he could give her.

[radioroxx]

I wish to know more about the Bonnie and Siffrin double looping au. Please. Destroy me emotionally.

HI SORRY this took a bit to answer lol

thought a bit for how to answer this because on one hand i could spill literally everything i have thought of for this au up to this point (which, while a lot, hasnt actually reached some of the Angstier segments yet. i have vague ideas for those but still workshoppin’ and all). but ahh. i will save some stuff for separate askers maybe lol. for now heres some random points of no particular connection:

- i screwed up a lil in the og post by calling it a bonnie. “joins” the loops au. it is definitely a, bonnie is there from the start, au. i considered for a bit making it more of likee… they start to remember post death to the king, but that wouldve placed em in act 4, and while thats interesting i felt like there wasnt as much to explore there. yknow? (plus. bonnie death to the king is still Very much going to happen in the au. soo)

- bonnie doesnt meet loop until a couple loops in! this was partially loops decision, about being worried to meet the party + how they would react, buuut siffrin is only so good at keeping secrets from people whos memory cant be wiped through time travel, bonne does learn about loop, and insists on meeting them. the timeline is a lil vague in my head, and this interaction i dont have compleeetely planned out? but know that it takes place around the back half of act 2, after first death to the king

- speaking of loop- bon has a pretty interesting dynamic with them too :) this is before bonnie and siffrin are able to have the Talk about his eye, and while looping back and forth together has brought them closer regardless, bon still holds a grudge against them! at least, slightly. that combined with the fact that theyre talking to some… celestial beast? sick as hell star creature?? that GLOWS? bonnie takes the loop pretty easily (this is aided by the fact that siffrin seems to trust them well enough. not completely, he is ofc still skeptical of loop throughout, but its enough that bonnie will trust them too). however, you could probably imagine bonnie is much less tolerable to loops… nonsense. more willing to bite back if they say something out of hand, and more likely to react Badly if they say something upsetting. (still 50/50 of whether or not bonnie would take loops side if they say something mean about siffrin tho lol. depends on the insult. and obviously loop would never,, say stuff like that to bon). iii could keep going about them this dynamic is very fun to me

- the friendquests go relatively the same, the only difference being that it is actually siffrins idea to set bonnie up with that big feast for everyone. !! teamwork! the training session for bonnie becomes a multiple-loops thing, letting them build up their skills over time. i think with the stress of the loops, trying to figure out what to do next now that they know killing the king doesnt work- the talk about the eye and that whole freakout takes a bit to actually get to. i have ideas about how that would go too, because it would be Different and mean something New, but…. that would be so long to put here……… just know that they. still promise to look out for each other. promise to let themselves be helped.

you may be looking me in the eyes at this point with deep frowns and wondering… Pluto….. what are all these happy silly ideas, you are missing out on so much angst potential here ?? and to that i say uuuuuuhhhhhmmm i have thought about it. and look. i dont think having bonnie- or anyone really- joining in on the loops would really solve or lessen siffrins shit mental state. but theres definitely also a layer there, on top of breaking the loops, on top of keeping everyone happy, on top of figuring it out and finding out about their country and the king etc etc- theres a priority in keeping this kid happy too! he will, and has, died dozens of times in these loops, and that sucks, and it sucks that poor bon has to remember it all, so the least they can do is. try to keep things lighthearted around them. Pretend to be hopeful for their sake. encourage them to try out new recipes on different loops to see what sticks with the family! let them run their own experiments in the loops! let bonnie join in fights with sadnesses once their training goes well enough!! do their best to at least have some fun, and some time to relax. sticking to the excuse that its all to make bonnie feel better, without realizing how much thats helping themself as well.

aaand that all sorta falls apart in act four. bonnie is killed- directly, painfully- by the king, and siffrin distances himself as he is so prone to, falls back into trying to get everything done himself because hes the one whos “responsable” for it…. ah you get the idea..

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

i have nowhere to go w any character rly,, just being beaten down and SO done with everything that has gone down in ur life, ending up on someone’s doorstep in the rain, asking for a moment of peace with them🥲🥲🥲

it ain't raining cause i wanted the pathetic fallacy to provide a happier setting than our dear reader's apartment - anyway, this one was fun, and is written extremely vaguely, in terms of your chosen character.

Seeking Peace - Drabble

Written with Iruka, Kakashi, Shisui, Shikamaru, Naruto, Shino, Choji, Kiba, Sai, and Neji in mind, but could work for others.

Warnings: swearing, angst, symptoms of depression (not showering, not eating), this might suck lmk

W/c: 612

Masterlist💿

You know it's gotten bad again, when you haven't had a good cup of tea in so long, that you start to forget how a proper cup should taste.

You know it's gotten bad again, when you realize you haven't showered in over a week; you can almost see the layer of dirt that clings to your skin, matting every hue.

You know it's gotten bad again, when you can't even finish a dinner roll in one sitting, even after having forgotten to eat for two days - though your stomach whales and gurgles, if you eat one bite too much, it all comes up.

You know it's gotten bad again.

Will it get better on it's own?

Stirring your tea until you can hear not a single sugar granule on the bottom, you sip the carefully brewed mixture with purpose - only to find it tastes of... ugh.

Sitting in the shower, your arms scream with exertion while washing your hair, battling the heavy tendrils with too much shampoo to quantify - but, can you find the energy to scrub your body? Ugh.

Drawing to the fridge, you hesitate to open it.

Fuck this, I need help.

So, you pull your favourite jumper over your t-shirt, and cover your legs with black track pants. Argyle socks had always ticked you, so you thought, for shits and giggles, why not?

Shoes were all you needed, then you got your keys and your coat, ready to leave.

You know where to go.

To the kindest person you know.

He was a constant presence in your life, on the sunny days and the rainy days. His door was always open, and his shoulder was always good to cry on. With him, he brought a homely warmth. one that drew you in, one that you craved, now, more than ever.

The streets are empty, and you realize it to be the dead of night. The village was asleep, washed in a silver glow and cool breeze.

The Moon tells you that it's a little past midnight, so you'd better hurry up. You heed her gentle advice, and could feel a beam of her shine along your face as a reward.

The beautiful Moon was very kind. So kind, that there was only one kinder than she.

And now you stood at his doorstep, your muscles tired, your mouth dry, and your heart heavy. Despite your thoughts that told you to go back to your apartment, you reach up and knock gently against his door. Then, wait.

And wait.

You rest your forehead against the door. Maybe you could just sleep here, on his doorstep... at least you'd be out of your apartment.

Then the door slowly cracks open.

Standing up straight, you gathered up whatever you could, and smile at him. He smiles right back, giving you a little boost.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawns, "What's the word, hummingbird? I haven't seen you in a bit."

"I'm sorry about that, and this - y'know, given the time and all..."

"Agh, don't worry about it," he assures you with a sleep-laced voice. He holds the door open wider, and motions you in. "Do you wanna come in to have a tea and a chat, or... I dunno, we could cuddle up on the couch maybe?"

He would always understand you, he would never question you - and you couldn't have been more grateful for his mere existence in the present moment. It was like he lifted the invisible weight from your shoulders, and allowed you to draw a proper breath, for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Whatever you want to do," you reply with a small, but genuine, smile. "I just want a moment of peace... with you."

[oldiesstationlover11607]

FRAANNKKKKKKK 😫😫😫 ANYTHING FRANK PLS IM BEGGING ON MY KNEES PERFORMING A RITUAL🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

New Years - Frank Iero x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 947 (shorter than usual lol)

A/N: It's short and sweet :)

The night felt like magic, the kind of night that was almost too perfect to be real. Snow had started to fall just as the sun slipped behind the horizon, blanketing the streets in a shimmering layer of white. The air was cold enough to nip at my nose and cheeks, but not enough to feel unbearable, and I couldn't help but smile as Frank and I walked hand in hand through the neighborhood.

“It’s like a movie out here,” I said, glancing up at the streetlights, their warm glow softened by the flurries of snow.

Frank turned to look at me, his usually loud neck tattoos covered by the scarf my mom had gifted him for christmas. His dark hair was sticking out from under his beanie in all directions, and his nose was red from the cold, but he looked perfect. He always did.

“A Christmas movie, maybe,” he teased, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re the main character, though. I’m just the scrappy sidekick.”

“Sidekick?” I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “You’re the love interest, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said with a dramatic flip of his scarf, making me laugh harder.

We were on our way to Mikey’s house for a New Year’s Eve party. I had been nervous about going at first, unsure about meeting more of his friends, but he had assured me I’d have fun. “They’re chill, I promise,” he’d said earlier, his hand resting lightly on my knee. “And if it sucks, we’ll bail and do our own thing.”

Now, walking beside him, the cold air making our cheeks rosy, I felt my nerves start to melt away. Frank had a way of making everything feel easier, like the world wasn’t such a scary place as long as he was there.

When we reached the house, it was already alive with music and laughter. The windows glowed warmly, and I could see the shapes of people moving inside, holding drinks and chatting in groups. Frank held the door open for me, brushing snow off his shoulders as we stepped inside.

“Hey, you made it!” Mikey called from the kitchen. “Drinks are in here. Food’s on the table. Help yourselves.”

Frank led me through the house, introducing me to his friends as we went. They were just as he’d promised—easygoing and welcoming, making me feel like I belonged even though I was meeting most of them for the first time. I stuck close to Frank at first, but as the night went on, I found myself laughing and talking with people like I’d known them for years.

At one point, I was standing by the snack table, piling a plate with chips, when Frank came up behind me. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his arms sliding around my waist.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice soft in my ear.

I nodded, leaning back against him. “Your friends are great. I think I might like them almost as much as I like you.”

“Almost?” he said, pretending to be offended.

“Almost,” I teased, twisting around in his arms to look at him. His face was so close to mine, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. But then someone called his name from across the room, and the moment passed.

“Be right back,” he said, giving me a quick squeeze before heading off to talk to his friend.

As the hours ticked by, the party grew louder and livelier. Someone turned up the music, and people started dancing in the living room. Frank pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor, spinning me around and making me laugh until my sides hurt. It was silly and chaotic and perfect.

When there were only a few minutes left until midnight, someone shouted for everyone to gather in the living room for the countdown. Frank found me in the crowd, taking my hand and pulling me close. The room buzzed with excitement as people grabbed drinks and noisemakers, ready to ring in the new year.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown began, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Frank’s hand was warm in mine, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. I looked up at him, and he was already looking at me, his eyes soft and full of something I couldn’t quite name but made my chest ache in the best way.

“Three! Two! One!” The room erupted in cheers, but all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat as Frank leaned in, his hands coming up to cup my face. And then his lips were on mine, soft and warm and perfect, and the world seemed to fall away.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, but then he deepened it, his arms wrapping around me like he never wanted to let go. I melted into him, my hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt. When we finally pulled apart, breathless and a little dazed, he rested his forehead against mine.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the party.

“Happy New Year,” I whispered back, my cheeks aching from how much I was smiling.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and music and warmth, but that moment stayed with me, etched into my memory like a perfect snapshot. It was our first New Year’s kiss, and I knew it was something I’d never forget. Because in that moment, surrounded by the sound of fireworks and the laughter of friends, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be—in Frank’s arms, starting the new year together.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[allwormdiet]

Extermination 8.3

Oh fucking boy

This isn't a really revelatory passage, it's just like. Even more reinforcement that Leviathan is a fucking beast. More dead, more downed.

Taylor the fact that you even bothered to show up is above and beyond what should ever be asked of you, you are fifteen for fuck's sake, staking your life against the defeat of a hateful animate Splash Mountain is not your fucking purview! You should be playing Minecraft or something!

"Sorry I wasn't traumatized in a way that lets me save your life" Hello??

I can't imagine Taylor gets to feel like a part of most communities, honestly. Also I'm not sure that the cape community is any kind of monolith, so whether she "fits in" with them all is kind of moot.

Byyyye, Iron Falcon.

That's such a funny thing to ask somebody, honestly.

And then this is a crazy hardcore thing to ask somebody. This arc does a lot to establish that Skitter is just straight up on another level when it comes to comfort on the battlefield compared to even veteran capes, girl will nearly get pulped by Neptune's fucking wrath and then wonder why other people died while she's still conscious

Oh, Taylor. I'm so sorry, he only gets worse the more layers you get into him.

Also. Okay so Gregor the Snail felt like a pretty sympathetic perspective on how fatphobia stings people, but the life and death of Chubster in the realm of this story... kinda sucks. Like oh no, he's too heavy for Skitter to save him, have to leave him to drown I guess. I'm not saying it's an impossible circumstance, it just feels crass to have it in.

Hey Flechette, keep up the good work girl

The thing I keep coming back to with the Endbringers is that. Okay. These things have been causing horrific damage, mass death, and world-changing devastation for decades, and they've never been killed, and only one cape has ever meaningfully made the things fuck off in the history of ever. They are considered to be the most likely cause of extinction for humanity. Every time it seems like they're winning, even in the short-term, it's just the setup for another knockdown. It's giving them hope just so the despair hits deeper. What are the odds that's on purpose? What are the odds that everything the Endbringers suffer except Scion is just play-acting for them? Selling the capes' moves like it's a wrestling match, even as they don't feel a goddamn thing.

What if it's all just a sick game to an alien god?

This is so cool and so, so fucking dire.

God that's dark

Sacrifice play. Some desperate attempt to redeem himself in the public view maybe? A genuine belief that he can make this stick? I dunno. It doesn't matter, unfortunately.

What a way to sell the fucking outrageous devastation that this monster unleashes in the span of. What, an hour? Less?

Also hey what good is all the missiles and lasers and forcefields if Leviathan is just gonna pick the whole PHQ up and smash it onto the shoreline

So many goddamn downed, it's crazy. And y'know, knowing the rest of the arc we know Tattletale's still standing but of course Skitter is fucked up over losing Tattletale, that's the last person she's got who's willing to extend a hand towards her.

Most powers are dead useless here let's be real

Hey, good job Eidolon

Fucking brave of y'all to be shooting Bakuda bombs anywhere in the same ZIP code as someone you care about, but also god it would be so cool if this had actually worked. Just fucking lock Leviathan down in time out for a hundred years or so, buy that much time? Shame it fails.

Well. I'm not gonna miss the fucking Nazis, but rip in peace Dauntless, we hardly knew ye.

Triumvirate member tagged out. Alexandria was already down for the count, wasn't she? Or she at least stopped showing up at some point, so now it's just Eidolon repping the Big Three

although I guess if you asked Eidolon he'd call it "just Big Me"

First dead kid out of the lot, I think, if we don't count Falcon dying off the battlefield. Sorry, Shielder. I think Leviathan knew you were strong enough to keep being a problem. Gotta be fucking awful for Laserdream though, watching your brother die violently in front of you is. I actually can't imagine, thank fuck.

And then Sundancer down but not out. Honestly if anyone was gonna have decent odds of doing damage I'd have given it to The Fucking Sun, but that doesn't do much for defense does it.

Fucking outrageously brutal, god.

Man. I didn't even think about the fact that this thing is silent the entire time. No Godzilla roars or shit the entire time, nothing except for the rush of water.

Clockblocker keeps coming in clutch to save the day against citywide threats... Someone please for the love of god stop putting these children in the line of fire.

Also interesting that Taylor might be the only one here whose first response is to get him out of the water, for all that he's been her enemy.

Clever.

Taylor can be really harshly judgmental at times but I'm gonna be real I'm with her on this one, Trickster what the actual fuck is your problem. Like good job I guess but what the hell.

Y'know, the fucked up thing is that Armsmaster actually isn't wrong here, and his plan could've worked if he was, uhh. Genuine about it.

Does everybody's ability to give a speech go down the fucking toilet when an Endbringer is within half a mile of them? Is that what it is?

Current Thoughts

Wildbow really fucking knows how to put a battle together. Our POV character isn't actually fighting through 95% of this entire arc (and maybe shouldn't have been fighting in that 5% but we'll get there) but you feel just totally surrounded by the death and devastation that's raining down on all sides.

Unfortunately, I think it's about time for Armsmaster's big reveal on how to lose an arm and a shitload of credibility in record timing.

[sparklyshakespeare]

the case for hyper-femme hotspur

this is my tumblr blog and this is like kind of just what we do heresies

OK so basically okay so

first of all i think anytime there is a character who is so strongly associated with an extreme form of gender expression in our collective zeitgeist (i.e hotspur and hyper-masculinity) there’s something not only extremely fun to play with but incredibly valuable about analyzing the story from the opposite end of the gender performance specturm. also canonically there are like 3 female characters in 1h4 and that sucks. also also don’t you want to see hotspur in pink glitter? i know i do and this tumblr is not a democracy!!

in this hypothetical dream sparkly version of the play, both hotspur and worcester would be women. not played by women, i mean textually explicitly women. this is important!! 

worcester should be very nancy pelosi hillary clinton-esque in the way that this is a middle-aged woman who has been taught that to be successful in her field (politics) she will have to strip herself of most of her femininity and perform a certain level of masculinity in order to be taken seriously. this creates a whole other layer to the hotspur/worcester dynamic when all of a sudden this young, hyper-feminine woman is being taken more seriously and being given more praise than someone who has worked and fought through the bullshit and done it all “right”. she hasn’t earned her place, she hasn’t had to struggle - and worcester resents her for that. (there’s like a whole dissertation to be written about how much of 1h4 changes when only worcester is genderbent, i love you queen worcester you are everything not in this version here you kind of suck lowkey)

henry iv is just a misogynist he just kinda sucks but like this is something we all knew screw that guy

ok now we can talk about hal because i know hes like the one all you little gay people care about. 

to me, it’s never made sense why the Henriad is framed as hal’s hero’s journey. maybe it’s because i’m queer (i’m like actually positive that’s why), but leaving home and finding acceptance and family from a group of outsiders who society has deemed as worthless is the path i’ve watched so many friends walk. having to leave that and return to your shitty dad because “duty calls!” and THEN leaving behind and disavowing the same community that opened its arms to you? i don’t see that as an awesome coming-of-age about learning how to handle responsibility, that’s deeply, deeply tragic. and far farrrrr too true a reality for most members of our LGBTQ+ community here (Bible Belt). SO guess where this version of 1h4 is set!!!!!! anyways, its the Medieval Revival of the ‘70s in the Bible Belt south, the Boar’s Head is a gay bar, and hal is trans. 

hal is trans-masc in some way and this needs to be incredibly explicit (like pronouns pin with trans flag on costume explicit). and then when the news breaks, when “I’ll to the court in the morning.” (we’re cutting the text so this is where that scene ends. cool? cool. cool!), hal takes the pin off. it needs to be like A Moment. it should make me cry, and i cry really easily so that’ll probably be pretty easy to do, but this is a gut punch. 

oh and lady percy is still a woman, they’re gay, because i said so. blah blah blah because look hotspur and hal really were so alike all along and look hotspur is fighting so voraciously because she’s hungry for a world where she can openly and unabashedly be with the person she loves but ultimately because i love lady percy and i love lesbians and this play doesn’t need another man. but also because look hotspur is fighting so voraciously because she’s hungry for a world where she can openly and unabashedly be with the person she loves. worcester and vernon should also both be women and have the blossoming of a relationship but be a lot more discreet about it (worcester should be extremely hesitant). now we get a cool split between younger and older generations of activists in both the feminist and the gay rights movement oooo themes oooo motifs oooo lady gagita 

as far as hal/hotspur parallels go, it’s probably pretty obvious at this point. your dad constantly praising someone who represents, at least in his mind, the ideal concept of a woman, disappointed you can’t be more like her, all the while you’re coming to terms with the fact that you’re not a woman, but he’ll never see that, so what the fuck are you supposed to do?!? it’s a LOT! but i think there’s also something to be said about the less obvious parallel. which is that hyper-femininity is NOT an attempt at ideal polite womanhood or self-Stepfordization, hyper-femininity is in fact the extreme performance of womanhood in rejection of that. hyper-femininity is queer in nature (also hotspur quite literally has a wife but i guess hal wouldn’t be able to tell that just by looking at her) there’s something to be said about the moment hal and hotspur see each other, and then the moment hal and hotspur seeeeeee each other. and go hey, you’re just like me. this person who you’ve been constantly compared to and made out to be lesser than  because you dare to be deeply wildly madly truly you is in fact exactly the same. we’re the same. and oh my god, in another world wouldn’t it have been lovely to just like go dancing together? sucks it’s not another world now we’re going to gay fight each other i guess