#anyway that’s how i got prissy

[thechildisgone]

ugh i wrote this whole post and it deleted but i realized my ten year anniversary of getting prissy passed on the 14th and i forgot!!! 😭😭😅 i usually make a huge deal of it bc idk her birthday

when i first saw her vs just now protesting the weather

[lylahammar]

Hi ✋ I have a little Marcille theory/headcanon (which honestly could possibly be canon) to share

I often see people characterizing her as the person who wears inappropriate clothes to a hike, like the girl who doesn’t know how to handle herself outdoors. And I always thought, why is that?? She’s shown to have been kinda an outdoorsy kid

I still think that characterization that people give her is incorrect BUT only partially. I was thinkin about it more and I think that Marcille is a reformed agoraphobe. She grew up playing outside all the time, until her father died and her mother said the worst thing possible to her daughter dealing with that trauma lmfao

Marcille became terrified of death, not just for herself but for others. I’ve seen people joke about how her early life timeline doesn’t have much on it, and I know part of that was because her backstory hadn’t been revealed yet when the adventurer’s bible was written so it was avoiding spoilers, but also. Maybe she actually didn’t do much before going to magic school?

When she met Falin, she was confronted with a kid who was just as, if not probably more outdoorsy than she was as a kid

And she actually got panicked by it! This interaction reads at first like Marcille being a prissy nerd who doesn’t go outside ever, which is why I think people often mischaracterize her that way, but it reads a lot different when you realize she actually used to be outdoorsy herself and is just a (probably recently) traumatized girl with a horrible fear of anyone around her dying

Anyways, it’s very clear that Falin’s carefree attitude and podunk knowledge helped her get past the worst of her fears, and now Marcille’s able to travel and go on adventures again. Which, again, makes their love hit even harder. And also the terror Marcille feels at the idea of Falin dying. Top yuri couple of all time moment

[miange1]

DONNIE DARKO

need a break from smut, breaking up, manipulation, donnie has no shame, manipulation, murder threats, readers parents are homophobic, frank mentioned like once

he didn't know what went wrong. you two were doing just fine— even if it had to be a bit of a secret from some people, he didn't mind that at all. some people mostly being the parents, no one else really seemed to mind and if they did they didn't show it too much.

but something was weird, really weird. you were acting so distant, finding excuses to dodge any affection or any kisses of his when he could give them to you.

what was going on? were you upset with him..? why were you avoiding him so much?

he asked you time and time again, and you swore it was nothing but he could tell that it was something. what were you hiding from him.

"my boyfriend fucking hates me.." he muttered, laying down on the therapists couch while fiddling with his fingers. dr. thurmans eyebrow raised, taking out her notepad as these sort of talks were rare with donnie. "and why is that, hm? why do you think so?"

donnie's nose crinkled a bit, eyes downward and almost as if he was trying to hide the fact he was gonna cry.

"dunno.." but he did know, he knew damn well you lost feelings for him. you no longer loved him. "he jus' isn't loving me anymore, and—" his voice cracked, face plunging into the soft cushion of the pillow beneath him. "i don't know.."

he missed you so much. missed your voice, your smile, your lips when you'd kiss him. and so much more. why did you leave him? this wasn't fair. he was planning on taking you out today, trying to make up for whatever shit he may have done but you didn't tell him.

and you just pulled him somewhere and made it some sort of official break up. "what.. what?" he felt himself disassociate, not even paying attention to anything you may have said to him.

your lips were moving but he heard nothing. his vision felt like a rewinded vhs player, many things flashing at once and loud static played at his ears. "no." he shook his head, grabbing tightly at your shoulders. "no, no. why? don't leave. no." he repeated those things, not letting you go no matter how much you had pulled.

he couldn't remember much after that. all he knew was that you were gone. he couldn't just let this go, he wouldn't. you were the only one for him, the only one he could be with. there was no one else for him, he would go insane without you.

next day he saw you with a girl. holding hands with her and everything. smiling with her and looking so much more happier with her than you did with donnie. the best you two could do was slightly brush fingers when walking next to each other, smile all you wanted too though.

what did she have that he didn't? really. what was it? did he need to become some prissy little blonde girl? loud mouthed and ear piercing voice? is that what he needed?

the entire day he wouldn't stop looking at you, when you looked back you instantly saw him already staring back. his eyes were sad, and filled with anger, guilt, and confusion. he felt like there was more, you wouldn't just leave him like that. for some girl either.

i mean, you were clearly not into women— this all just seemed so fake.

this was stupid. no, not him sneaking out to find this girls house, that wasn't stupid. what was stupid is that you had to choose her of all people. she was no better than donnie, she was like every other girl. she was nothing special.

he let himself slip in between the window of the blondie's room, snickering to himself as he thought. 'dumb bitch left the window open.'

the sharp metal object he held in his hand was being gripped as if he was choking it, his knuckle churning white and aching. he barely bothered being quiet, he wanted her to wake up anyways.

the bed creaked under his weight, a bit of dirt from his shoes staining her sheets whilst he straddled her. he felt the invisible wall blocking him from you, if he just got her away then that wall would leave as well.

her body would squirm a bit before her eyes shot open, and her first instinct would be to scream so donnie harshly slapped his palm to her mouth. "make a sound n'd i'll cut your tongue out.." he made it clear he had a weapon, showing it to her.

"or maybe," he inched the edge towards her eye, her breathing quickening and tears starting to leave her eyes and stain her cheeks and donnie's fingers.

"i can carve your eye out." his lips slightly inched up, almost as a smile yet it was a bit crooked. "frank would like that..he wouldn't be so lonely.." he still had the object in his hand, but moved it away from her eye.

"you're going to leave him alone— don't give me that fuckin' look, you know who." he was getting ready to snap her neck. he wanted to so damn badly. "by the time i leave this room. you will be out of his life."

it was starting to rain, thunder booming and clashing as trees would bang against his window. he was still awake, book in his hand that he wasn't really reading. he was just looking at it, as if he was waiting for something.

a knock came at his window. there we go. he instantly sat up, looking over to see someone— to see you.

he clicked the little lock at it, moment you had stepped inside you forced yourself into his arms and started bawling. barely coherent 'i'm sorrys' reached him, and he resisted every urge to smile.

"i— i should have—" he wrapped his arms tighter around you, shushing you a bit and kissing your forehead. "what..what happened?"

it took you a moment to get yourself together, and when you did you noticed the state you had put donnie in. "shit, i got you all wet." yeah, in multiple ways then one.

"um..donnie first i just wanna say—" he kissed you. he didn't wanna hear what you had to say because he already knew. what's her face told him what he needed to know, called you to "break up" and left.

"don't talk. please." he walked you back onto his bed, leg in between your thighs as he kept the kiss going. the flow of it got rougher and rougher, like the two of you were trying to morph yourselves together.

like you relied on each other, and you would for as long as the two of you could.

[grimsonandclover]

Write write write

filthier the better

Sending all the love 🫶🍑

What He's Made For

Sub!Patrick Zweig x Dom!Fem!Reader

Eeuuuhhhhhh I'm sorry, just been thinking a LOT about just having enough of Patrick's shit and taking it out on him. Turns out, it's exactly what he was aiming for.

I'm writing this in a horny, ovulation-fueled daze so it's not going to be great or even good but its what I need. not proofread at alllll

consider this a foreplay part one since it ends abruptly because i need to post this before i pass out (im so tired). i need the horny freaks of this fandom to let me know if a part two is desired because I WILL write it

MDNI

1.1k words

This is entirely self serving and I'm opening up to you guys. This is me sharing. No more 600 word angst and fluff it's time for PERSONAL FANTASIES. kind of a 180 after i JUST posted that little la chimera fic lmao

You're fighting, you don't even know what for. Patrick's been pushing your buttons, getting on your nerves, and testing your limits all night. God, fuck, he won't stop. Every little word from him, all day and now night, is spoken with the pure intention of pissing you off.

"Did you really ask him about the weather?" He'd scoff on the drive home from a party. "You're miserable at small talk. Really, it's embarrassing."

The walk to the apartment elevator: "And those shoes. You've been whining all night like a fucking baby. I told you not to wear them, but you'd rather be a prissy little princess than listen to me." You're silent, breaths quickening as your fist clench around your apartment keys in the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick up. "They're ugly, anyway. I don't really get why you insist on wearing them."

Unlocking the front door, fumbling and struggling because it's hard to see through the boiling water behind your eyes. "Do you need help with that? You had, like, what- one shot of tequila the entire party? Didn't think you were such a lightweight, can't even open a door. God, you're a mess."

Once the door is open, and a sickly smug smirk is plastered on that stupid face of his, you shove him in. The action is abrupt and unexpected, Patrick stumbling back and catching himself on the entryway wall. You almost miss the smirk returning to his lips. Who cares, it's time to speak your peace.

His back is on the wall and he stays where you threw him as you rip off your coat. "What the fuck is your problem, huh?" The coat is thrown to the floor and he blinks as you fist the collar of his stupid button up. Since when does he wear these, anyway? "All fucking night, you're in my ear like a bitch. Do you need a leash?"

He's been playing with fire so far. "Woof." Patrick grins.

The taunt makes your eyes narrow and glare harden. "You think it's funny? I've got a migrain because of it. I'd be in the middle of talking to someone and you'd start your shit again. That's what's embarrassing, not my small talk."

"You're like a child, how you beg for my attention. A dog. Is that what you are, Patrick?" You tug his collar and his breath catches. Drool pools in his mouth and he swallows, eyes zeroed in on his mouth while he still smirks. "Are you a misbehaving dog?"

He doesn't answer you, just giggles. In a sudden move, your hands are on his shoulders and you're pushing him forcefully to his knees. It's only because he doesn't anticipate it that it works. In a flash, your hand is gripping a fistful of curls at the back of Patrick's head, yanking it to make him look up at you. His mouth falls open, a soft gasp escaping from it. Yes. Finally.

"Are you," The words are spoken through your teeth, and this time he really is on the brink of drooling. "A fucking dog? Or are you going to start behaving like a man?"

His grin spreads again from ear to ear as Patrick slowly shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

Oh, that does it.

Your fingers tug his head further back and he gasps again at the slight sting of his scalp. Your other hand comes up, and before he can blink, a crack is heard through the entryway.

Patrick's cheek is red and stings so badly he can't feel the pain on his scalp anymore. It's so delicious he moans. He never knew until this exact moment that he liked to be slapped, lucky you.

"Wrong answer." He shivers at your tone, the blood in his body rushing to his cheek and to his dick. "Are you going to behave?"

"No." He whispers, eyes fluttering as he anticipates the next stri-

Oh, fuck. Patrick can feel a wet patch form in his boxers when you do it again-- he hasn't cum in five days, and Patrick's hyper aware of it now. The sound that comes from his mouth is almost pornographic and anyone else listening would swear that he must be at least getting his dick sucked and not just slapped around. The hand that slaps him moves to his mouth, index and middle finger shoved forcefully until you hit the back of his tongue. He wants to suck them, so he does, but then you shove them even further back until he gags a little. This isn't for him to enjoy (though he is anyway).

"Shut the fuck up." You sneer, fingers in his throat and hair, taking back the power he's had over you all night. They way he looks on his knees, peering up at you like you're his god with tears in his waterline and-- shit, that smile is still there. "I'll make you behave, then."

The hand in his hair lets go, pushing him back by the forehead till he hits the wall with a thunk. "Look at me."

He already was, but Patrick angles his head again, this time on his own, to better suit your needs-- especially when you tell him to open his mouth and you have a grip on his cheeks. You lean down the tiniest bit for better aim before collecting spit in your mouth, then spitting it into his. "My fucking mouth. Don't ruin it with all that cheap talk, acting like you don't know who owns it.

"Who owns it."

Patrick's got stars in his eyes as he swallows, so lost in you he forgets to answer-

A smack across his cheek again, another filthy moan. "You- you own it."

"Own what?"

"Me-- my mouth, my body, fucking all of it. It's yours."

"It's mine." You nod, gripping his cheeks again until his lips pucker. Patrick's drooling. "Mine. Don't use it against me, or I won't be so nice."

If this is you being nice, Patrick doesn't know what he'd be willing to do for mean. Every word you say, every tug, your spit in his mouth-- it all sends shivers of pleasure down his spine and through to his dick, aching and tenting in the shorts he wore to practice and then to a party. He truly is as filthy as you make him out to be.

You grab his hair again just to shove him in between your thighs, the material of your jeans rubbing harshly against his face and the irritated skin of his cheek. Patrick can smell you through it. He feels punch-drunk. This is what he was made for. This is his true purpose, not tennis.

His large palms slide up and down your thighs, hungry fingers begging at the button of your jeans. Off. He needs them off.

You let him peel them off you, not for him but for yourself. You need him to show you what he's actually good for. Why you keep him around.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Ron weasley - Opposite teams

Summary: You play a match against your boyfriend, who's a very sore loser. wc: 2k

Seeing him on the pitch shouldn't have had such an effect on you, especially considering you were playing for the opposite team. The gear looked good on him, and confidence was beaming off his skin, but you were one of the best chasers at Hogwarts, priding yourself on how rarely you missed a shot. "Pull yourself together Y/N!" Flint yelled at your frozen form, still in shock of what had happened. It was all because Ron had flashed you that stupidly gorgeous smile when you were about to score that you hesitated - hesitated enough for him to read your body language and predict your next move, easily catching the quaffle when you threw it. Even your boyfriend had been surprised, well aware of how good you played from years of watching you on the field.

"Wow! It seems as though L/N is too charmed by her boyfriend to get a good shot, this is a new one folks!" Begins Lee, rousing up those in the bleachers. "And it looks like Slytherin Captain Flint is calling for a time out! Good choice I'd say!" It was already embarrassing enough that the entire school knew the time out was being called because you were too hot and bothered by your boyfriend, but your face flushed a dark red the second the Slytherin team turned to look at you in disappointment. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know what got into me, he's just so- I can't be the primary shooter I'm sorry!" The entire team looked back at you as you rambled and you felt your face get impossibly warmer realising you were gushing about your boyfriend to six teenage boys. "I'm sorry." You muttered.

"Y/N's right," Starts Flint again, "She shouldn't be the primary shooter for this game..." His voice trails off and your gaze drifting to where to Gryffindor team stands. You can see them laughing for a moment, and Harry pats Ron on the back - the reason you missed literally couldn't have been more obvious and they were having a field day about it. "Got it Y/N?" Your head snaps back to Flint, looking at you with raised eyebrows. Your face goes blank, your mouth opening as though to say 'what' but nothing comes out. "You'll switch places with Nott as secondary." Malfoy says quietly to you, and you perk up "Yes, got it!" Flint doesn't look convinced, but calls time out to be over anyway, and everyone gets back on their brooms.

"Stay focused or I'll knock your boyfriend off his broom!" The remark is clearly aimed at you, but is loud enough for both teams to hear and you glance at Ron, whose face has blanched at the comment. You turn away from him, trying not to smile, and the whistle blows. Nott scores time after time after time, and you can see your boyfriend's confidence decreasing while his anger increases. Nott passes you, high-fiving you on the way back to his post. "Good strategy change by the Slytherin team, it seems that they're back - OHH AND MALFOY CATCHES THE SNITCH, GAME OVER EVERYONE!" You're relieved to be off your broom when the game end and you sigh deeply, rolling your head in a circle to try and stretch a kink in your neck out.

You finally join your team, earning pats on the back by them, and teasing comments "Well he's not gonna be happy about that one." and "Good luck getting laid tonight." The comments follow you all the way back to your dorm since Pansy walks with you back to the common room. "I don't even know how that happened though! You never miss! Like you can't be so attracted to someone that, well that happens. He's going to be in such a prissy mood, good luck with that."

The party in the common room is in full blow when you finish showering and getting dressed. You're clad in a tight black mini-skirt with a red crop top, something your boyfriend will hopefully appreciate. "I see what you're doing." You're interrupted by Draco, who eyes your outfit once before handing you a drink. "I think you underestimate just how capable I am of getting my boyfriend in bed, Malfoy." He grins, shaking his head "Well if you have the effect on him that he had on you, I doubt it'll take much." You scoff in amusement, the jokes will never end. "Hey if Marcus asks where I am, don't tell him I'm sleeping with the enemy." But Flint is already beside you, muttering "Cheers" under his breath, so you scurry away quietly, starting your trek to the Gryffindor common room.

The Gryffindors' party is completely different. The music in the background is quiet, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team sits together, each player with a drink in hand while they talk. Others seem to be having more fun than them. When Ron spots you walking towards him, he rolls his eyes, clearly upset. His teammates, on the other hand, greet you kindly, some even joking about the slight incident on the field. You stand in front of Ron, putting a knee on the couch between his legs to support yourself when you put your hands on his shoulder, leaning into his body.

Despite Ron's free hand coming to the back of your thigh, he still mutters "I'm not in the mood." though he leans into your touch when one of your hands comes up to play with his hair. You tilt your head down so your lips barely graze his ear "You're so hot when you're angry." Ron stiffens, looking up at you, but your head is already dipping lower so you can press kisses on his neck. He shivers at the cool touch of your slightly wet hair on his collarbone, and his eyes flutter close for a moment. When he opens them back up, Harry is grinning at him and wiggling his eyebrows. Someone wolf whistles, but he doesn't know if it's directed to you. He feels your teeth graze the spot you've been sucking on right below his ear and he sighs, trying to disguise his pleasure as annoyance, pushing your hip away from him.

Yes, he wants you, but he has to at least pretend that he doesn't for a while longer because he's still angry, and wants you to feel as though you need to try a little to win him over. You've played his game before, and you know what follows. When Ron nudges at your hips one more time, you separate from him, tilting his chin up so he can look at you. He's putty in your hands, but you like to give him the illusion of being in control, so when you kiss him, it's a soft, almost desperate kiss. "Ronnie," you plead "Please." And that soft whisper is enough to make him begin to stand up. You back away, pushing your bottom lip forward and making doe eyes at your boyfriend to stop yourself from grinning in accomplishment.

His shoulder brushes past you and he begins walking up to his dorm, but when you catch up with him, snaking your hand in his, he only holds your hand tighter, so you know you've won. Ron's door slams shut behind you, and immediately, hands are on you, pushing you against the door and groping your ass while he kisses you aggressively. The kiss is filled with angry passion, and Ron's tongue is fighting against yours for dominance. Both your arms are thrown over Ron's shoulder in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer to you so your tits are pushed up into his chest. The hands on your ass move to your front, sliding up your crop top and cupping your tits, while Ron pulls away from the kiss to attack your neck.

Moans are immediately escaping your mouth in soft breaths, your back arching into Ron's hands, pulling and massaging at your breasts, teasing your nipples. His teeth bite at your neck, and one leg comes to shove itself right between your thighs and you jerk up, an electric shock being sent right through you. At your loud gasp, Ron looks down to where his leg connected with your cunt, and his hand immediately pushes your skirt up to find that you're not wearing panties. "What a little slut. No underwear under a mini-skirt? You're practically begging." He grunts, and you whine, grinding your pussy against his thigh. "Just for you, Ronnie."

The comment seems to make him happy, at least happier than he was before since he starts working on taking your top off. "Get this skirt off now." He mutters, his attention back on your tits the second they're exposed. Your bra drops to the floor at the same time your skirt does. Ron pulls away from where he was leaving hickeys on your tits, and takes a moment to oggle at your naked body. You falter under his stare, a hand coming up to grab the material of his t-shirt. "Ron?" At the sound of his name, he looks back up, taking an impossible step closer to you and pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss. "You're so fucking amazing." He mutters between kisses, all of his previous anger seemingly gone "Don't deserve this. Don't deserve you." Before you can react to his words, his hands are wrapping around your waist and carrying you to his bed, where he immediately shuts the curtains of his four-poster.

He wastes no time pressing his clothed cock against your naked, which has you moaning his name, bucking your hips up for more friction. "Take it off, take it off." You beg. He complies, chuckling at the sight of your hips bucking up, but takes his time stroking his cock once it's finally freed. His demeanour completely flips the second he pushes into you; his hips snapping at a faster pace than you can keep track of, his hands grabbing both your legs to pull over his shoulders. The angle is perfect and with the way his cock is hitting the right spot with every stroke, you're sure you won't last ten minutes.

You're tightly gripping the bed sheets and you're almost positive that your eyes are going to get stuck at the back of your head because of how hard they're rolling back. "Mmph, bloody hell you feel so nice." The compliment only spurred the pleasure inside you and you moaned louder, bucking your hips up for something more - anything more. Ron's hand comes down to your clit in a harsh slap, and quickly starts putting pressure on it, watching as you squirmed underneath him at the extra friction. His pace sped up and your legs started to shake on his shoulders, a sign that you were clearly close. Ron's hand begins rubbing quick circles on your clit and hips start erratically jerking into you as he releases his load into you, triggering your very own orgasm.

Ron rides out both your orgasms, stilling his movements when you put a hand on his chest. He pants, his chest heaving with every breath he takes as he takes your legs off his shoulders. "Christ, that was too much exercise for one day." He mutters, looking down at you when you open your arms wide for him. He falls into your awaiting arms and mumbles "Can't sleep. Need to clean you up." You moan, shaking your head at him. "Just five minutes."

[sluttsumu]

let me live my fratboy!inarizaki dream okay?

chars: ‘tsumu, osamu, suna, & kita

nsfw — mdni, tw: corruption

fratboy!atsumu who is literally the worst person alive, but he’s hot and a good fuck so it makes it okay, okay?

he’s fucked every girl from his fan club and every bimbo on campus but that’s not what satisfies him at all. prissy, hard-to-get girls with their hymens still intact really turns him on. why? because he enjoys the chase of a women who won’t instantly fall to her knees for him. secretly finding information about his next target so he could casually end up in the same study period, or walking along the same path just so he could talk to her. it could be labeled kind ‘stalkery’ but he labeled it as persistent, because at the end of the day once her manicure was clawing at his back it’s mission accomplished, and onto the next. “you didn’t think i actually wanted you? did you” he’d chuckle in the faces of the girls who looked at him with tears in their eyes, he figured that in the end they would end up blaming themselves for fucking a known whore anyway.

fratboy!suna whose an old money nepo-baby, in which he flashes his parents cash to attract gold digger, wannabe future housewives.

slut is an understatement, calculated whore is a better term. as a psyc major he’s the king of gaslighting and manipulation, AND THE GIRLS EAT IT UP. unlike atsumu he somewhat puts in the effort to finding a girlfriend, but there’s always a new one…every month. being sly and cunning is genetic according to him, it’s also the same way he manipulates girls into not wearing condoms. “c’mon pretty, how’re gonna give me an heir with latex in the way, hmm?” and it works every time. every selfish, greedy girlfriend he’s had falls for his antics in hopes to marry their way into his family, and give him a baby. let’s just say the only “compensation” they got was from a therapist or him buying them off to get a plan b the next morning.

fratboy!kita who is literally so smart he manages to y= m (x+d)^2 + k, girls into his bed.

it’s all so innocent at first when he offers to carry a certain girls books, and that turns into him sitting next to her in class. it’s cute from a far, isn’t it? when in reality he’s just singled out the classes bimbo in hopes to tutor her. day by day he’d observe while sitting next to her, as she’d glance over at him to catch him staring from time to time. she thought that he was maybe admiring how pretty she was or caught on to her perfume of the day, but that was never the case. in his mind he was practically drooling over the way her tits spilled out of her shirt, or when they had a test and he could tell she stayed up all night because she looked completely fucked out. after her whining a few times about her grades he offered to help, which just turned into him making her that much dumber by fucking her over his desk till she was babbling. “stupid girls fall into stupid traps” he’d say, and the fact that he did this every semester meant that he was always right.

fratboy!osamu who is literally the most nonchalant asshole known around the entire campus.

osamu was too persuasive for his own good. he could never hold a solid relationship or friendship with anyone of the opposing gender, why? because he ends up fucking all of his female friends, and then ghosting them not even 24 hours after. his tricks were the same with every girl, and a night out with him always turned into the walk of shame the following morning. the only notifications any girl would receive from him afterwards is a copy of their intoxicated sex tape which most don’t remember making and a follow up message saying “my friends think you look really good on camera btw”. confronting him after study hall the next day wouldn’t change a thing, simply because the only response he’d give was “do i know you?”

SLUTTSUMU 2023

[princessbrunette]

thoughts on jj x bunny!reader ??

oooof, yes. i think it’s time we revisit the au where it’s bsf!jj and kook, prissy, well groomed bunny!reader.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

you’re total opposites. yes you want to fuck eachother. yes you’re both oblivious to this.

your parents were never a fan of the pogue boy from the start. especially your father. he didn’t like the way that dirty pogue with the big smug smile would shake his hand at the door when he’d come round to pick you up, still wearing that black backwards cap and an expression that said ‘i’m probably balls deep in your sweet innocent daughter. you’ll never know.’ they’d scowl when they’d watch you disappear down the driveway with him, clutching his arm, practically rubbing all up on him in your tiny skirts. sometimes he’d even look back at them with a cheeky grin, like he just couldn’t believe it either. it was obscene, but they couldn’t stop you. you were soft, yes — but what bunny wanted, bunny got — and it just so appeared that bunny wanted to slum it with some blonde stoner from the cut, so for now they’d have to bite their tongue until you learn your lesson.

jj can’t spoil you like he wants to, no— he’s broke, and plus there wasn’t much you didn’t already have. but he’ll be damned if he didn’t give you the princess treatment, it was the least he could do for perving on his sweet, innocent best friend who knew no better (right?)

what this entails, is never having the power to tell you no. you need picking up from a kook party because you’re too tipsy and he certainly doesn’t trust rafe cameron to see it to it that you’re safe? he’s already outside, and has been for twenty minutes. you wanna learn how to smoke weed because you’ve never done it before? it’s better off he teaches you anyway, right? he would put his foot down with you, clearly needing some guidance and ‘taming’ if you will, but it’s harder than it seems.

“please, jayj?” you cling to his arm stood at his side, plush tits pressed against his bicep and eyelashes batting up at him routinely.

“nah, don’t do that.” he groans, shutting his eyes.

“pleaaaase?”

“you know it’s like, really not fair to pull the doe eyes on me. disappointing you is like… choking out a baby rabbit or something.”

“so you’ll come with me?” you muse hopefully and his eyes flutter, bordering on a roll as he licks his lips.

“fine, okay? fine.”

“weak.” john b passes by, clucking his tongue with a smug head shake.

“weak and pussy whipped.” pope follows him, bringing his can to his lips.

he’s also always getting looped into all of your girly shit somehow. “lets uh, keep this our special little secret, yeah cupcake?” he’s likely to say from your bedroom wearing a robe too small for him with cucumbers on his eyes, a victim of your ‘spa day’— which he secretly agreed to because he saw the potential of some possible feel-ups. maybe a massage, or showering together. not this shit.

you’ve also heard the phrase. “aint no way you’ve tied a pink ribbon to my bike again, princess.” more times than you can count. again, girly shit.

it does pay off though, the pogue tucked up in your pristine bed when your parents are out of town, whistling jokingly when you arrive back from the shower with just a towel tied round you.

“ooo—wee, aint that a sight.” he calls and you giggle, walking over to his side.

“not ashamed of anythin’ around you, jayj— just that comfortable. look!” you pull the towel off, giggling and doing a spin as you reveal your still dripping naked figure, pretty much the blondes wet dream presented before him.

it’s safe to say he nearly loses composure, but he’ll settle for you riling yourself up based purely on his reaction and praise, writhing your naked body on his lap only fifteen minutes later, humping him through his sweatpants.

“th—this isn’t normal for best friends, jj!” you mewl, body still warm and damp as he paws at you anywhere he can get his hands on.

“sure it is, sweetcheeks. don’t even trip.”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

[mossyivy]

Ballet Shoes and Bulletproof Vests

CW: Recovering from alcoholism (Leons just trying to better himself man

Words: 1k

A/N: 👛anon I've had brain rot because of you. But I still love you pookie.

Blue leotard... Gunmetal blue, his favorite shade. It was almost like you were trying to send a signal through the glass windows of the studio attached to the apartment building gym.

Every weekend for the past few months he'd come down and workout for a two hours without issue. Until you moved into the building a month ago. Walking through the gym in leotards and the same skin tone tights straight into the small studio space.

Leon picked up quickly that you don't seem to be doing mindless pirouettes, pliés or chassé. You practiced the same routine, which means you probably do this for a living. Or at the very least a hobby.

He tried his best to not come off creepy but sometimes he couldn't stop from staring. Leon rarely found beauty in life anymore, something he was trying to fix. His sponsor suggested that life could be worth living if you find something meaningful to live for.

Besides surviving or being a living breathing weapon.

At first, the staring was for more "primal" reasons, but it soon turned to him admiring how gracefully you could move. How sharp your movements were. The clean movements were mesmerizing and very distracting. It certainly didn't help that you were pretty either. But every time you stopped and turned back towards the windows, Leon would turn away immediately. Scared you'd think he was some kind of weirdo or worse...

A pervert.

You were probably way too prissy for him anyway. Why bother window shopping?

You're too pure, jumping around in white satin ballet slippers and him in bulletproof vests with tactical gear. Your worlds can never mix, you're too different. Far too different.

So, with his better judgment, Leon got into the habit of changing his routine and getting up at the crack of dawn like in his army days. Just to go workout first thing in the morning. Leaving the gym as you were coming in.

But one morning you didn't come in as he was leaving. And as usual, he stops at his mailbox, fishing in his jacket pocket as he walks into the main lobby.

And there you were. Stood in front of the mailboxes, sorting through a few envelopes with your tiny mailbox door hung open.

Shit... This is gonna be awkward.

Leon approaches slowly, walking up to his mailbox and ripping his keys out of his jacket pocket. Something round flies out of his pocket with a clatter as it hits the floor. You lift your head to see the green chip rolling across the floor, quickly you step past him and pin it under your shoe.

Leon stares, realizing he forgot to take his chip out of his pocket after his meeting last night. Too tired from a long day at work to remember before passing out in bed as soon as he got home. He can feel his neck heating up, he hasn't even said a single word to you, and now you'll know he's an alcoholic trying to get his life together.

And he's sweaty and gross?!

What a fantastic first meeting...

You bend down, grabbing the green chip from the floor as you walk back. Giving it a glance, you hold it out for him. Slowly he raises his hand, chest tightening as he nods a “Thank You” while taking it.

"90 days is a big accomplishment, you should be proud of yourself." He stared for a moment, fully expecting a dirty look or pity.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. I-I am." His lips drew to a line as you walked back around him, shutting your mailbox and locking it. He gives you a glance as you grab your bag from the floor and give him a small smile.

"You're from 3D, right?" You question, his eyes glance at his mailbox, his lips part slightly. Brain trying to process how you knew his apartment without even talking to him.

"Yes?" His eyebrows raised, your eyes fixed on his uneasy response.

"Hmm." She looks him up and down, almost like she's trying to size him up. Or even taken him in completely.

"A little scruffy for my taste, but you'll get the job done." His nose wrinkled as you stepped past him, and headed for the door.

"The hell do you mean by that?" You turned your attention back to him, smiling again.

"The old ladies in the building, they talk about everyone. Well, anyone interesting at least. And they said you're pretty cute. I'd have to agree." He feels his neck burning again, embarrassment of another kind seeping into his collarbone and rising to his cheeks as he smiles a tiny bit.

He was never great with women.

"Thank you..." He clutches the chip in his hand, running his thumb across the bumped out embossing of the metal.

"And um... I know we don't know each other," you step forward again, gesturing to his hands, "but I'm here if you ever need to be talked down... 3 years for me, still have my bad days, but it gets easier with time. I promise."

He looks a little surprised, not expecting you to know his struggles in some way. He just nods, watching you lean to the side, looking behind him and turning back to leave again.

"Congratulations again on 90 days, Leon." You smile, pushing the door open.

"Whoa, wait. What's your-"

"2B!" You yell back without turning around, watching you leave through the doors leading to the gym. His head swivels, looking at the mailboxes. Seeing your name printed a piece of tape stuck to your mailbox.

His mind wanders, thinking of you as he pulls his bills from his mailbox. A folded over flyer was wrapped around the envelopes. Pulling it off the envelope, he gave it a long look. Your face staring back at his as you're leaping in a beautiful flowing white dress and veil.

Giselle printed in fancy font under you pointed toes along with show times for next weekend.

Staring for a second, he thought, pondering over the words of his sponsor telling him to try new things.

Maybe he should try theater.

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[flor4de4amor]

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

click for palestine | read before engaging w my work+acc

warnings: smoking, drinking, party setting

summary: you’re the basketball manager of abby’s team. you hate her, and for why? she can’t help but notice you’re at the same party as her.

She’s a tough player. She bleeds stark crimson, screams confidence, and demands respect on the court. She owns the court and the crowd. As captain of the team and star player, she constantly has girls throwing themselves at her.

“Abby can you sign my tits?”

“Abby can I take a picture with you?” 

“Abby will you go out with me?”

Abby. Abby. Abby.

While, it’s an ego boost, huge, ego boost, she can’t lie and say it doesn’t get boring. Which is why, she absolutely adores you. Team manager, pain in her ass, and absolutely gorgeous. 

Always rolling your eyes at her, cutting her off when she speaks, “forgetting” to film her for the team’s social media. You work overtime to stay out of her way, but that only riles her up more. 

Now she’s got to piss you off. Get in the way of your shots of video, flipping off the camera in group pictures so now they’re totally useless, causing problems so you get in trouble. God, you’re so uptight. Can’t you learn how to have a bit of fun? Fucking stick up your ass. A good time has never hurt anyone.You’re the only one who gets her acting this way. Before you started the Anderson smear campaign, she was a dictator of a captain.

So imagine her surprise, when she sees Little Miss. Prissy at the latest frat party. Miss. Stick Up Her Ass, has quite the tolerance it seems, as she admires you smoking a thick blunt coaxed with a solo cup. She sucks her teeth, closes her hand into a fist, and runs over her knuckles with her thumb. Ms. Perfect, isn’t so perfect after all. 

She can’t help herself. She starts walking towards you, with that stupid smile on her face. “Hey L/N,” she says, looking you up and down. You look upwards at her, glancing away from your phone, and rolling your eyes. You grunt in response and offer a sarcastic smile for supplement. “You really gonna be that way?” She raises her eyebrow and presses her tongue against the side of her cheek.

You gulp down the remainder of your drink, and place the empty cup in her hand. “Yes, I’m gonna be that way with you Abby.” Bitterness is laced throughout your voice. 

She grimaces, though there’s no threat in the sound. “Fuck I ever did to you huh?” She questions, leaning into your frame. It’s too loud in here. Mo Mamba is playing for the eightieth time. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to get in your personal space.  Abby discards the plastic cup while speaking, aimlessly throwing it on the floor. If she had been trying, she probably would’ve landed directly in the trash can. Well, if the hosts had half a brain to even set up a trashcan in this stupid trap house.

You lean further back and fail. The back of your skull hits the dry wood with a soft thump. Abby’s cornered you against the wall. “Nothing.” You sigh. Alcohol glued to your breath. Eyes red and lidded, your lips jutted slightly. You’re too pretty to hate her. It’s a crime!  

“Nothing yeah?” She steals the blunt from your hands, holding it between her thick fingers. “So what’s your fucking issue with me?” She holds the drug to her lips, her arms still boxing you close to her frame.

You look her up and down. “I’m a mandated reporter y’know. I’ve gotta tell Coach you’re smoking.” 

She laughs heartily. Her breath fans against your face, and you smell the Fireball on it. “I get someone else to take my drug test for me, anyway.” She winks at you. You’re attempted to cringe, but maybe it’s the lack of space or your intoxication but you feel heat rushing to your face.

You’re complied to roll your eyes at her comment. “I also have to report that.”

She smiles, licking her lips. “Let me know when you send in the complaint.” The blunt still dangles from her hands and lingers on her lips.  

“Let me know when you’re gonna take a hint and stop teasing me.” You regret the words out of your mouth as soon as you say them. 

She inhales, ghosting impressively. “You wanna be teased?” Her smirk growing, “I’ll show you teasing. Anytime. Just say when L/N.” 

You laugh, tossing your head back, carefully so you don’t hit the wall again. “You’re so not my type,” you state firmly.

“That’s what they all say,” she takes another hit, now blowing rings.

You take the blunt once it leaves her lips. Snatching it from her fingers and capturing it within your own. “You’re being greedy.” You take a large inhale, holding for a minute. Once exhaling, you blow the smoke in her face.

She feigns a pout. You smile and take another inhale. But once ready to breathe out, Abby closes into your face, parting her lips. She gladly inhales your exhale. “That was practically a kiss.” 

“Gross,” you retort, but the smile on your face betrays you. 

“Gross yeah?” She wets her lips, staring heavily at yours.  You nod intensely. Your eyes find their way to her pink lips. “Hm, I’ll show you gross.” She kisses you, softly at first. When you don’t fight her, and in fact moan, she slips her tongue into your wet mouth. You follow suit. Her hand finds its way to your hair. She pulls away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. “Thought you said I was gross?”

“Cause you are,” you say attempting to keep up your facade. 

“I’ll show you how gross I can really be,” her hand coming up to your face, smushing it. 

You swat away her hand, killing your soul a little in the process. “Absolutely not,” you reply without a hint of conviction in your voice. 

“Our secret hm?” 

When she says it like that who’re you to deny? “Fine. But don’t let me end up on the long list of names of girls you fucked.” You toss your blunt into one of the forgotten drinks. 

She pinches your ass, hand finding its way to your waist, leading you out the door. It’s gonna be a long night and embarrassing practice run on Monday.

divider by: @dollywons

[josephquinnswhore]

haven amongst the chaos - arthur morgan x female reader

summary: he finds solace in you.

word count: 2.1k

content warning: mentions of readers controlling father, arthur has low self esteem.

Arthur Morgan.

The name of the notorious outlaw with a large bounty, wanted posters plastered in many cities West and East, the man that your father critically despised and scolded you for even being seen with.

Not only were you seen with him in the small saloon of Rhodes, word has it from your father’s buddy, you’d been frolicking with the outlaw. Stools pulled close, your shoulders touching, his hand on your knee.

How could you allow such a prosperous act?

But once turned into twice.. turned into.. well—how many times? You’d stuck by Arthur’s side for months now, like a thorn he can’t remove. It’s unusual for someone to stay by his side like this. After Mary—he thought he would never feel for anyone again, but with you… things felt different.

Arthur was starting to understand a sense of you. The reason you did things, in a way of similarity and familial confines that almost reminded him of Mary’s father. He would never be good enough, the likes of you. For any father wanting their beautiful young daughter to wed.

But unlike Mary, you didn’t care about what your father thought. Didn’t stick by his drastic and old age morale. This is the way of the world now, you admired Arthur for that. To be able to live this unique lifestyle and have so many people around him in a family commune with a still sight and hopeful spirit.

The camp itself was beautiful. A dozen or so tents, many horses and a few small campfires. As wonderful as you remember, anyway. You’d made a few friends here, Mary-Beth, Molly, Lenny, Charles, hell—you’d even befriended Kieran.

That in itself was enough for Arthur to start being kinder to Kieran, it started with a nod of the head, a small smile and now frequent greetings in passing by. Thanks to Arthur and you.. the boy had earned his place among the rest of the gang.

“Hey,” his voice is low and his broad shoulders cast a looming shadow over your resting body. Sprawled out on the small sleeping bag you’d purchased off a small merchant nearby. One palm is holding your cheek and the other hand holds the page of the book steady for you to read. A small blue flower sits beside you, one he’d watched you pick this morning.

“Thought I told you to get off that old thing. Ain’t no good for your back y’know.”

The sides of your lips tug upward at his concern. The ruffles of your dress shift as you look up at him. “You worry too much, Arthur. I ain’t prissy like those girls in Saint Denis. Sleepin’ on the ground ain’t much of a bother to me.”

With a roll of his eyes he offers you his large hand, one that envelops yours completely as you take it, closing your romance book, you set it into your satchel, the small colourful flower you’d been grasping onto finds it’s place beside the photograph of Arthur’s mother.

“You sleep on the cot from now on.” He insists, eying you to see if you’d defy his request, but you don’t.

“I suppose me lyin’ on the ground ain’t the only reason you come pokin’ around?”

His cheeks are dusted with a light shade of pink, and you were right. He did have other intentions.

“Well I.. I was thinkin’ of headin’ out for a fish. Pearson is whinin’ he ain’t got enough food to keep cookin’. Wanted to see if you’d be interested.” His hand rubs the back of his neck nervously. “But maybe I shouldn’ta asked, suppose it’s stupid to ask a woman out fishin’ ain’t it?”

“I’d be delighted to join you,” the tenderness of your voice catches his attention, his gaze now of disbelief.

“You will? I mean.. alright, good. C’mon, I’ll help you mount that oversized horse’a yours.”

Your hands fist the ruffles of your dress and lift them off the ground, new boots that Arthur had gifted are now covered in mud from the overnight rain. His hand hovers over the small of your back, ignoring all the curious and confused stares from each person you pass.

His horse, Bodecia, was hitched next to your own. Your horse.. was giant, really. A Hungarian Half-bred, dapple grey. The colours of white and grey mix in a spotted pattern, sparse her face, which was mostly white, with a grey nuzzle. Costly, too. $150.00, but worth it. She was a loyal creature.

Your pride and joy, Marbelle. Her white mane was styled into six separate braids, as well as her tail. The mount was well cared for, well fed, and perhaps.. a little underused for what she was bred for.

A war horse, known for their fearlessness, used for a realisable steed in battle.. but Marbelle—was a spoilt thing. She refused any one else who tried to saddle her up, who attempted to mount her, she’d buck them straight off, Arthur included.

“Hey girl,” the greeting isn’t complete without a soft pat on her forehead, and reaching into your small leather satchel to hand the horse a wild carrot. Appeased, she nestled her large nuzzle into your chest.

“Damn thing won’t work a day in it’s life now, you got her spoiled.” Arthur’s hands grasp your waist, and he lifts you with ease into the saddle, before mounting Boadicea.

“She would work if I wanted her to.” The man scoffs, readjusting his dark hat.

“Sure.” His voice is full of thick sarcasm. “Come on, Kieran showed me a good spot.”

As you follow Arthur, your horse trotting beside his own to match pace, the silence is something you’ve grown to appreciate. The soft call of a songbird, the scattering of loose roughage from the rabbits that you’d inadvertently spooked. It was a life you’d always dreamed of, away from the suffocating life your father had set for you.

Work in the gardens, scout the town for a successful, wealthy and likely old-aged man, and inherit all of his riches when he eventually dies. Where was the adventure? The sense of fufillment?

Being surrounded by it all, and Arthur, reminds you exactly why you chose this life.

“Seems like you’re warmin’ up to Kieran.”

He grunts. “Gettin’ a pain in my ass, but he works hard, and the kid sure can fish.”

The look on his eyes tells you all that’s left unsaid, he’s warming up to the kid, even if others didn’t quite trust him, shunned him and isolated the young man from the rest of the gang.

“Seems like he’s takin’ a liking to you,” it was a keen observation.

“Then it seems the kid’s as brainless as he looks.”

He pulls up the reins on Boadicea, and slides down off his saddle. His arms are already outstretched to catch you.

“You ain’t worried I’ll fall?” He grins at you, stepping closer to you.

“Ain’t gonna let you fall Princess, now c’mon.”

Lifting one foot out of the stirrup, you awkwardly fall into Arthur’s arms, who catches you before you or your pretty gown could hit the wet sand.

There’s a thick tension between you, unspoken and true. “Thank you for not letting me fall.”

“Ain’t nothin’.” His hands hesitate to release their grip on your waist, and turns to his horse to get his fishing rod, attached was a premium lake lure, meant to catch the largest smallmouth bass in the lake.

Meekly following behind, not owning a rod of your own, you take a seat on one of the nearby rocks and perch, flipping to an open page in your book as he silently fishes, the only sounds you hear are the whizzing of the reeling fishing line, and small splashes of the fish in the water.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your index finger follows where you’ve read, not to lose your focus on the intriguing plot.

After many pages, Arthur had bagged a few fish, and turns to you.

“You wanna actually learn somethin’ out here or you wanna keep your nose in that silly romance novel?”

Closing the book and shoving it into your satchel. Your boots sink a little into the wet sand as you walk toward him.

“What exactly are you gonna teach me, Mister Morgan?”

He guides you to stand in front of him, and places the fishing rod in your hands. His chest is flush against your back, and arms entangled in your own. “How to fish, woman.”

“Hold it like this, when the fish bites, pull the rod upward like this, toward you, tire it out, when it stops swimmin’ then you can reel him in.” He demonstrates how to flick the line into the water, and reel it in.

“Think you can manage? Ain’t gonna get it right the first time, an’ it takes patience. Which I ain’t so sure you got much of.”

How hard could it be, right?

“Sure, I got this.”

After many, many failed attempts to successfully catch a fish, and many bites, almost all escaping.

Finally, you’ve hooked one. “Good, this is good. Don’t rush it, only reel him in when he stops fightin’ otherwise you’ll snap the line.”

With the instructions ingrained, you fight the fish and when the line stills, you reel the fish in as soon as you can, and sure enough.. it’s a tiny 3 pound smallmouth bass, alas, a fish.

“Arthur, I did it!” The glee in your voice is salient, and Arthur can’t help but share your joy.

“Knew you could do it,” he utters. Out of his own satchel, he pulls out an old hand held camera, with little film from a small job back in Valentine, he quickly snaps an image of you proudly displaying a large smile and a small fish.

Shoving the printed photograph and camera back into his satchel, he helps you to unhook the fish. “Tricky business, an’ if the hooks get stuck in ya finger they’re toilsome to remove.”

When you arrive at camp, Arthur helps you off your horse, before walking off to deliver the full sack of smallmouth bass to Pearson. With a bit of effort, you manage to unsaddle Marbelle, and groom her as you did every evening.

Brushing the mud off, feeding her some oatcakes, and patting her.

By the time you get back to the tent you and Arthur share, he’s in the cot lying down, boots off. Which you would expect to mean that you’re lying on the ground in your sleeping sack, but it seems to be packed away.

“Packed away that sorry sleep sack ‘o yours. Told you I want you off the ground, didn’t I?” He looks up at you and a surge of confusion assails through you.

“So you’re sleepin’ with me, up here.. if ya want.” The offer was low, almost sheepish, but you caught it.

The offer doesn’t go unclaimed as you stand toward him, and he pulls you down next to him on the small bed, leaving no real room between the two of you, forced to share the pillow in a proximity that you could feel his warm breath on your skin and share a nervous gaze.

So much has gone unsaid between the two of you over the past few months. How times were changing.

“M glad you stayed,” he murmurs, hand reaching up to caress your face.

Looking past him, you see the photograph he had taken of you on your earlier escapade, stuck up on a crate beside his bed. Next to the image of a much younger Arthur, Dutch and Hosea, his father, and an old dog of his.

It warms your heart entirely, your hand reaches up to touch his hair, and you ensnare your fingers into the growing brown locks gently.

“I chose you, Arthur, an’ I always will.”

Arthur supposed, for once, he was good enough, for a beautiful woman like you to defy his every expectation of abandonment, of insecurity, to stand by him despite his rugged nature.

“An’ I’ll always choose you too, sweetheart.”

To have you, in the midst of all the chaos he’d been through, was like a haven.

[chopinski-official]

Chopin’s Wardrobe — What I Wore

Today I would like to share with you all the manner in which I dressed. It is interesting to see how fashions have changed over the course of 200 years. Some might say style has slipped… Anyway! Here are some details on my wardrobe:

My Suit

I liked to wear sober colours: black, mauve, blue… and especially grey. For instance, I once asked Julian Fontana to have made for me a pair of dark grey winter trousers, without a belt, which were smooth and stretchy.

Grey trousers, 1840.

At a concert in Glasgow, a pupil recalled that I had worn a pale grey suit. Which included a frock-coat of identical tint and texture.

(Left) Frock coat, 1840. (Right) Frock coat and trousers, 1852.

Under my suit, I would wear a modest waistcoat in a fabric such as a black velvet with a tiny inconspicuous pattern, something very quiet and elegant.

(Left) Provençal waistcoat with mauve silk seedlings, 1860. (Centre) Waistcoat with floral pattern, 1838. (Right) Striped waistcoat, 1850-70.

My preferred shirts were ones made of cambric or batiste fabric. They had small mother-of-pearl buttons, two breast-pockets, and could be bought for 14 francs.

For my cravat, I would wear muted colours during the day. Usually, I would tie it in a bow. However, when performing in a formal setting, I would wear a broad, white silk cravat.

Winter Clothes

To keep warm in the winter months, I wore a thick redingote or over-frock coat, as can be seen in this daguerreotype of myself from 1849.

(Left) Wool coat, 1840. (Centre) Winter costume. Paul Gavarni, 1846. (Right) Frock coat. Wool, trimmed with silk velvet. 1820-1830.

At one point, my sickness rendered me so sensitive to the cold that I wore three flannels under my trousers.

Underpants, mid-nineteenth century.

Accessories

Because I had small feet, I often found shoes uncomfortable. I mourned the day, Moos, my shoemaker died. No one made my shoes like him.

1840s men’s shoes.

On my head, I would always have my hair curled, and, when outdoors, I would wear a top hat. I bought my hats from Dupont’s because he made them lightweight. They were originally made of beaver felt but, by my later life, they were made of silk plush.

(Left) Top hat made of beaver felt, 1830s. (Right) Top hat made of silk plush, 1850.

My outfit was only complete with white gloves. Without them one would not be in good taste. Kid gloves were common, but I also liked wearing Swedish (suede) gloves. Always in white.

Evening gloves. 1848.

A pocket handkerchief was also a necessity.

Finally, I had a miniature pocket watch. According to one concert-goer, it was “In shape no bigger than an agate stone, on the forefinger of an alderman.”

Where did I shop?

I bought my top hats from Dupont’s at No 8, rue de Montblanc (the previous name for rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin). I lived on this street myself, both at No 5 (1833-36) and No 38 (1836-38).

(Left) 9, rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, the fabric shop across the street from the milliners, 1840s. (Right) Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, 1858-1878.

My shirts came from No 37 in the Palais Royal galleries, on the theatre side.

(Left) View of the Galerie d'Orléans in the Palais-Royal, 1838. (Right) Jardin du Palais Royal, 1840s.

The white suede gloves could be acquired from À la Corbeille de Fleurs, Houbigant’s shop at No 19, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

(Left) The corner of rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, 1820-1840. (Right) Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 1814-1885.

There were also many shops along the Grands Boulevards. This is where I got my trousers made by my tailor, Dautremont.

(Left) Boulevard de la Madeleine, 1799. (Right) Boulevard des Capucines, 1830.

Boulevard des Italiens, 1840s (left), 1835 (right).

So…

As you can see, in spite my reputation for being picky and perhaps… prissy, with regard to fashion and furniture, I was far from what was called a dandy. My dress was never over-the-top and nor did I put on the airs that were so pertinent to dandyism. My desire, if anything, was to be refined and respectable. Although, perhaps my efforts to do so were occasionally cause for frenzy or distraction.

[six-eyed-samurai]

HEHEHEHEH >:3 all im saying is rindou x popular!reader? like bratty and full of herself. REGINA GEORGE. REGINA GEORGE READER. but not actually

SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING I JUST WANNA KNOW WHATYOU THINK AND IF YOURE WILLING TO WRITE IT OK LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MY WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP OF THE PERFECTLY WARM HOT COCOA WITH THE SMALL BUT REALLY TASTY MARSHMALLOWS <3 (almost typed mushrooms LMAAOO)

A/N: PLEB MY BELOVED TERIYAKI PEACH I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG YOU ALREADY KNOW MY EXAMS AND SHIT BUT RAAAAAH ALSO I NEVER WATCHED MEAN GIRLS (the number of people about to murder me rn) SO I HOPE I'M ACCURATE, PLEASE ENJOY IN RETURN FOR THE VIP I LOVE YOU TO PLUTO AND BACK (Did someone say mushrooms? Well, I am a fun-guy- get it? GET IT?!) WARNINGS: Swearing and breaking the fourth wall. Nowhere says the Haitani brothers attend high school, but nowhere also says they don't, so here they do.

🌸First of all, let this be known that the one and only Haitani Ran came up with that title and is responsible for the whole story below (or so he claims, because I did about 80% of the work typing this out).

🌸Anyways.

🌸You meeting each other was probably inevitable - the Haitani brothers the head delinquents of Roppongi, you the literal head of every single popular girl clique.

🌸Do you hit off at once? Absolutely not. You made a very cutting comment about Rindou’s hair, even after your terrified girlfriends (minions) warned you about who he was and similarly Rindou called you a wannabe with fake Prada and your makeup was smudged.

🌸What a great start to a friendship! From that day onwards every time you both caught side of each other it was snarky jab after snarky jab at each other’s hair, clothes, shoes, speech, grades, lunch, anything you both could think of.

🌸Rindou hates you because you’re just such a prissy, spoilt princess brat with hella nice hair. You just hate him because who does he think he is to insult your fashion taste? So what if he’s a total bad boy delinquent? What about it?

🌸Ran thinks it’s hilarious. Rindou cannot not talk about you even when you’re not around, even if it’s just the repetitive complaints of your usual petty annoyingness, and gee, Rin-Rin, are you really that obsessed with them that you even still think about what colour their nail polish are in the middle of a fight? It’s almost worth missing a nap, Ran decides, when he can record Rindou spluttering out protests and declarations that you’re the ugliest, nastiest girl he’s ever met.

[Ran turns the camera to his face] I think my brother is a kindergartener afraid that girls have cooties. Sigh, he was supposed to be the more mature of the two of us.

🌸Even your traitorous girl clique were shipping you both! Even after you told them to shut up! Ugh! You don’t need them to stalk out his socials, you don’t need them yammering about how you always greet him in the corridors (”Did a dog shit on your shoes, Haitani?”), you don’t need them taking pictures/photoshopping you both together. Just, ew.

🌸Once again, so what if both your rivalry was turning into a…really weird obsession?

🌸You were pretty sure you hated Rindou with a burning passion, but one day you caught yourself studying your figure in the mirror, judging - judging?! - your own outfit by his standards: what sort of comments would he make this time? Is he going to jibe that you had finally found a skirt shorter than you? Are you actually wondering if he’d like it?!

🌸You CANNOT be seriously breaking one of the sacred rules of no pink on Wednesdays right now either just because Rindou had once made a muttered remark this being the only thing that looked good on you.

🌸Rindou was quite certain as well that if he could, he’d run a bus over your snobby ass but…here he was, cringing at whatever made him stop by the roadside asking if you needed a ride home since it was raining. Not because he cared or whatever. He hoped you got soaked to the bone sitting on the back of his motorbike. And that your hair gets messed up from wearing his helmet.

🌸You treating him to the boba cafe that nearly opened the next day was also strictly returning a favor so you didn’t have to owe your biggest nemesis. In fact, HE should owe you for making you wash his stupid jacket that he had forced you to wear that night as protection from the storm.

🌸Rindou sasses you right back, but yes, he supposes he owes you another drink. And another. And another. And another.

🌸At this point it’s so obvious the only reason none of you have admitted you’re practically dating already is because of your egos and reputations.

🌸That is, until one day when you’re strolling home by yourself and scrolling on your phone to scoff at Rindou liking your latest photo, A FEW DAYS AFTER YOU POSTED, you’re cornered by several members of a gang with a grudge to settle with the Haitani brothers - what better way to do so than to target Rindou’s girlfriend (see, if they were targeting Ran, they’d have to target every girl in the neighborhood, playboy that he is).

🌸Now you might be a prissy mean girl but that don’t mean you can’t kick ass physically. One of them made the stupid mistake of trying to grab your arm and EW, WRECKED YOUR NAILS? You slapped him pretty hard for that…and the rest too, with your new handbag, which made you even more pissed off, because hello, that shit was designer?!

🌸Also, congratulations, you've managed to make them all extremely self conscious while unconscious with your jibes about their appearances.

🌸Unfortunately that can't help you when more of them show up and you're outnumbered. At least you're going out with a bang…but not in the way you think when Rindou’s motorbike suddenly plows through them, engines revving, an irritated expression on his face.

“The only one who gets to piss my girlfriend off is me, so hands off.”

🌸Most people would've thanked him once he was finished knocking them all out but you immediately start berating him for taking so long in arriving.

”You really took your sweet time driving here, so of course I just decided to head home myself! I didn't need you to accompany me!”

He rolls his eyes because if he ignores your ungratefulness he can see your fingers trembling as you picked the items fallen from your bag, evidence of you still being shaken up. This (bratty) behaviour was just your…coping mechanism? Or maybe just typical you. “Then how'd you get surrounded so easily?”

“How was I to know people wanna beat me up today?!”

“You know what, stuff it and get on the bike. I'm taking you home whether you want me to or not.”

You stuff it and get on the bike. Rindou only uses that tone when he's worried.

🌸Aaand then it's only when you're on your doorstep do you realize what he had said.

🌸Rindou sees you frozen and raises an eyebrow. “What is it this time?”

“You called me your girlfriend.”

“So I did. You're not? Aren't we going on dates and everything? Sorry, “outings just between the two of us”?”

“We never talked it out or agreed on anything official!”

“I didn't know we needed to file a form and get a stamp of approval in order to go out.”

“OMG, you're so annoying I can't even - fine, I’ll…be your girlfriend. The moment you get a better haircut.”

…

“WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE! Ugh, gotta go redo my makeup now.”

“Stop talking about my hair then, before you look at yours.”

He's still smirking as he leaves.

🌸So now Rindou has not one but two divas in his life. He can't decide which of you is the lesser evil, because on one hand he has Ran killing his wallet with all his dye jobs and on the other you're demanding his wallet for that new pair of heels he's pretty sure will break in less than a day.

🌸What are dates like? You dragging him off to clothing/shoes/jewelry stores, mall dates where you empty him of all cash on dessert and boba, going to the latest trending cafe while you judge everyone around you, spill all the gossip at school and naturally, talk about yourself (Rindou secretly eats your cake and zones out when the last one happens).

🌸If you've seen that reel of someone digging a hole in their cake to secretly reach the other person's cake…you know what Rindou does now.

🌸However both you and Rindou's favourite kind of date is when you're just driving around aimlessly in your shiny sports car with the wind blowing through the windows and the only fights are over your music choices: popular ones from Instagram (you) and whatever strikes Rindou's fancy.

🌸Has Ran attempted to gatecrash your dates and plead to drive your car? Absolutely. Have you let him? No. It's one of the few things you and Rindou agree on.

🌸You can be pretty annoying with that full of yourself attitude, “camera eats first!” mindset and double meaning words, but it's only annoying because Rindou has to go clean up your messes and apologize - apologize - to whoever was dumb enough to incur your wrath lest you get into trouble (for the millionth time). You'd never admit it, but you'd stopped directing any of that bxxchiness at him a long time ago.

🌸For anyone that did something wrong to Rindou though? Hell hath no fury like a woman with an ego bigger than Jupiter and a protective instinct for her man.

🌸If Japan has prom, you both would be crowned king and queen. If someone's hosting a party, you both would be the ones rocking the dance floor. If any of this happened, it's because you forced Rindou and he can't say no, however much he grumbles.

🌸First kiss was probably during some heated argument in front of everyone and Rindou claims he only instigated it because he wanted to shut you up. You reveled in the gossip that came with such a scandalous affair but yes, he took you very aback with the “Because I love you, dumbass?!”

🌸(Ran recorded everything and posted it on his super secret fan account following his favorite crack ship, the two of you.)

🌸Rindou doesn’t strike me as the jealous type. He KNOWS, however full of shit you are, you ain’t going to leave him for any of those losers just staring at your ass. To him they’re just minor annoyances, like flies - bothersome, but easily dealt with. Besides, who’s crazy enough to take THE Haitani’s girlfriend?

🌸You don’t get jealous much either, or so you claim. It’s quickly proven false whenever you snap spitefully at any girl who dares to lay a manicured hand on him - you won’t even tolerate your own girlfriends. You’re proud of the fact he’s so attractive, but that makes you even more possessive, because some deep, dark, insecure part of you is afraid he’d leave you for a similar girl, because surely there’s no difference between you and them. Just petty, bratty, arrogant mean girls.

🌸”I’m just going to get this tattooed on you, because for the hundredth time, sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you for some airhead bimbo. You’re more than just a face, and yeah, you really need to get off your high horse sometimes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

🌸The sappy moment is ruined when you sniffle and slap him lightly for making you cry and ruin your mascara. Rindou sighs (how many times has he sighed throughout this piece of writing already?)

🌸Average conversation between you and Rindou:

“I’m not surprised he got beat up with that kind of hair…is he trying out a new style from the slums?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t even throw a punch properly.”

“I bet you put him in his place, bae.”

“I’d kill myself if I didn’t.”

🌸And if the person in question overhears?

“Oh…we were just, you know, discussing your ah, state of hair. Bad hair day? Thought so.”

“That black eye really goes well with it, don’t you think?”

“Now that’s why you’re my boyfriend.”

[fizzing-imagines]

Teenage Dirtbag Part 1 | Steve Harrington x Teen Mom! Reader (x Billy Hargrove)

Notes: I love drama atm, I hope you enjoy :) (Pls don't let this flop)

Warnings: Teenage Pregnancy, big hint as a sex scene, swearing, alcohol, smoking

Words: 4.2k

You hated yourself for this stupid crush. Finally, you had everything together between school, your child and your family life, and then this dumb crush came along. It wouldn't even be that bad if it wasn't on the Steve Harrington, the infamous King Steve who's hardcore-crushing on Nancy Wheeler. While you were happy enough that he even took you into his friend group, considered you were a 16 year old teen mom to a 3-year old, you truly didn't need to see him pin over her whenever she was around. Despite them not being an official couple anymore, he wouldn't stop looking after her like a feral dog.

"You don't happen to be free for that project tonight, do you?", Steve asked while walking next to you. You bit your lip while thinking if you could make it work while fishing your car keys out of your bag. "Maybe. My dad's at work, so he can't look after Prissy.", you told him. "I don't know if a two-year old around is the best homework environment." But Steve just shrugged. "I don't mind her around. Besides, I've been annoying you about meeting her for a while now." After unlocking your car door, you threw your school bag in the passenger seat. "Right. Well, if you come at 7:30 she'll be in bed and we have time to do our assignment. But she'll wake up in between at some point." He nodded at your words. "Alright, I'll see you then."

You drove straight home, where your daughter was already waiting at the door. "Hi, mommy!", she squealed as she jumped into your arms. "Hi, baby.", you replied before giving her a kiss on her cheek. "Did you have fun with paw-paw today?" She nodded her head while you carried her inside. "We were in garden, and we picked our tomatoes, and cucumbers, and carrots." Your father greeted you in the hallway with a kiss on your cheek. "We put them in the kitchen, you can use them for dinner later.", he told you. "How was school?" Prissy wiggled from your arms and ran off to the living room. "Good. We got a group project assigned today, so my partner is coming over when Prissy is in bed." Your father looked a bit concerned. "And they know about Prissy?"

"He's my friend, dad, they all know about Prissy. It's not like I could keep her a secret anyways, I'm out with her all the time." He simply smiled at your words and squeezed your shoulder. "I'm just worried, is all." He walked over to the fridge to grab his dinner for work. "Alright, I'm off. See you tomorrow, don't stay up to late." He kissed your cheek once again before walking into the living room to say goodbye to Prissy. "Bye pumpkin, don't cause too much trouble." Your daughter told him goodbye, you heard the door shut and then the tiny footsteps of Prissy running into the kitchen. "Mommy, can we play teaparty?"

You spend a good hour playing teaparty, princess castle and then house before it was time to make dinner. "What do you want, baby?", you asked your daughter while looking through the fridge. "I can make you veggie sticks from the cucumbers and carrots you picked with Paw-Paw. And some tomato soup, maybe?"

"I love tomato soup!", she exclaimed before trying to pull up a chair for her to stand on. For some odd reason, you got a child who loved fruits and veggies. Not that you'd complain, but it wasn't what you heard from other moms. You helped her to get the chair so she could watch you cook.

After dinner, you got your daughter ready for bed. Not only was she a veggie-lover, but also fell asleep quickly. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of her conception, she made it easy for you. At 7:30, she was already fast asleep when you saw Steve pull into your driveway. "Hey.", you said as you opened the door for him. "She's sleeping, so we can't be too loud. But I have some leftovers from dinner if you're hungry." Both of you went into the living room to do the assignments with some veggie sticks and cans of coke.

"God, I hate history.", Steve said as he sat down on your couch. You plopped down next to him while chuckling. "It's not that bad. I mean, the only thing you really have to do is memorise it."

"I know, that's what makes it so awful." Both of you laughed before opening your history books. "At least we can pick one, that's nice.", you mumbled while skipping through the pages. He did the same, but neither of you found a good topic this quickly. "Well, my dad has some books on saints. Maybe that would be an option. How about Joan D'Arc?", you said after a while. "Who's Joan D'Arc?", he asked with a confused look. His question was met with a questioning look. "She was a martyr and is the patron saint of France. Do you actually don't know who she is?"

"Why would I know about a french martyr?"

"Everyone knows Jean D'Arc, Steve."

"I don't."

You rolled your eyes before getting up and grabbing the books from the shelf in the living room. "Sometimes, I can't believe that you're real." You opened the first book from your father extensive collection to give him a quick rundown. He leaned in closer to you so he could properly read, but it made your heart beat faster. Why did you have to have this stupid crush? And why did he have to smell so good, too?

"I think I can work with that.", he finally said. You grabbed a pen and your notebook to start writing. Two hours into mostly working, with some occasional off-rail gossip, you heard tiny footsteps upstairs. "Mommy?", Prissy said from the top of the stairs. Before you could get up, she caught a glimpse of Steve and ran downstairs. "Who are you?", she asked him while crawling on your lap. Your crush looked at you, then back at Prissy before speaking up. "I'm Steve.", he replied awkwardly. "He's my friend from school.", you added. Your daughter crawled off your lap and closer to Steve. "Boyfriend from school?"

"No, just my friend.", you corrected, despite it pulling at your heartstrings in a bad way. "Baby, we're doing homework so I'll bring you back to bed. Say bye-bye to Steve." She waved at him before walking back upstairs with you. Luckily, it took barely 20 minutes before she was fast asleep again.

"She looks just like you.", Steve said as you sat back down. You smiled at his comment. "Thanks. She got the hair colour from her father, but everything else is my carbon copy." The next question was one you have heard many times before. Honestly, you were really annoyed by it at this point, so you just took it away. "Her father's not in the picture. He robbed a gas station and is in jail, so I have full custody. In case you wondered." Steve looked into your eyes with a concerned look, but he had to admit that he did wonder that. "I'm sorry. That's...unfortunate.", he replied. You shrugged your shoulders and leaned back with a can of coke in your hand. "She's surprisingly easy. Unless I don't feel well, then she just copies my feelings like some kind of mindreader." He laughed a bit and leaned back at well. This felt oddly natural to you, and although you didn't know he had the same feeling. "You know, I always wanted kids. Like, six little Harringtons." You laughed at that statement, until you realised that he was 100% serious. "I didn't think I'd ever meet someone as crazy as me.", you admitted. Prissy was a dream child, and the sole reason why you wanted many more kids. "Really?", Steve asked, a bit surprised. Nobody, not even Nancy, wanted so many kids. "Yeah, I mean, Prissy is honestly a poster child. Six, seven, I'll even take eight." Now Steve was the one laughing a bit. "You're actually insane, (Y/N).", he said while leaning foward to take his can of coke. "Oh, by the way, if you don't have any plans for Halloween with Prissy yet, do you maybe wanna go to a party with me?" He said it so casually that his wording confused you. Why with him, not with us? "Aren't you going with Nancy?", you asked, even though you really didn't want to hear anything about Nancy. "It's...I'm trying, but some stuff happened." You sighted at his words, partially because they weren't what you were hoping to hear. "So you'd rather go with a friend?" This time, he sighted. "A friend, a date, who really knows." Your cheeks went red at his comment. Was he really asking you out? "I'll, uh, I'll ask my dad and tell you tomorrow."

He went home soon after. The assignment was off the table at that point anyways, and your head was too full of Steve basically asking you out. You went to sleep, woke up the next morning with your daughter in bed (who always snuck in during the night) and got ready for school. "Prissy, do you want me to do your hair before I go?", you asked her while she was occupied with her stuffed dolphin. She quickly ran into the bathroom where you were putting on a bit of makeup. "Pigtails!", she said while getting on her stepstool. While you were doing her hair, your father walked into the bathroom with his grouchy morning face. "Mornin'", he mumbled while getting his toothbrush. "Good morning.", you greeted him while finishing the first pigtail. "Can I already ask you a question or are you too sleepy?" Prissy giggled at your question a bit, mostly because she knew her Paw-Paw well enough to know that it was a valid question. "If you make me a coffee. What's the question?"

"Since we always only hand out candy on Halloween, could I maybe go out with my friends so you and Prissy can have some Paw-Paw time?" Your wording was chosen carefully to not upset Prissy too much. She'd follow you anywhere if she could, even school, but she also enjoyed spending time with her grandpa. And your father understood your wording. He also understood that you were a teenager who deserved to go out once in a while. "That can be arranged, as long as you're home before I go to work the next day." A wide grin spread across your face once he agreed. "Thank you, dad.", you said while finishing Prissys hair.

You told Steve the very same day, and you were extra giddy once you got ready for the party. Since you got pregnant so young, there has never been a party you could've attended. Sure, you met up with friends once in a while, but it was never for the whole night and surely not with alcohol or smoking. Plus, your crush insinuated that it would be a date. For once you could be a dumb teenager, even if it was just for the night. Still, you chose a very simple costume; a pink dress that ended just above your knees and a tiara. "Mommy, you so pretty!", your daughter said as she spotted you doing your makeup in the bathroom. She's been running around the house all day in Cinderella costume ever since you helped her get dressed after school. "Thank you, baby.", you said with a smile before finishing your lipstick. "Does the princess wanna put the tiara on mommy's head?" With a toothy grin, Prissy took the hair accessory from your hands to put it on you.

"Pretty!", she said once again. With a smile, you gave her a kiss on the cheek and left a lipstick print. "Come here, princess, you gotta look at your face." You picked her up and had her stand on the bathroom counter. "See, mommys lip print is on your cheek." Prissy giggled when she saw her face and turned around to hug you. "Love you, mommy.", she said while burying her fave into your neck. "I love you, too, Prissy.", you said while carrying her out of the bathroom. She remained cuddled up to you, taking in every second of cuddling she could get while you walked downstairs to your father. A wide grin formed on his face as he saw the two of you. "Look at that, both my girls are beautiful princesses.", he said before looking for his camera. Prissy giggled in your arms, now looking up after getting in her cuddles, and laughed even more when she saw her Paw-Paw look for a camera. "I think he wants to take a picture of us, baby.", you told her with a small smile. Ever since she was born, you kept multiple photo albums of her and this one would definetly go in it.

Your father did take a picture, or multiple, of the two of you before getting you and Prissy in his car to drive you to the party. He knew that it would be a house party with alcohol, smoking and teenagers making out but he actually didn't mind. Considering you had a child at 14, he thought you could be stupid for one night. As long as you don't come home pregnant again, which you had do solemnly promise, he didn't mind. "Have fun, sweetheart.", he told you while you got out of the car. "Bye dad.", you replied with a grin, then opened the back door to say goodbye to your daughter. "Bye Prissy, I'll see you tomorrow." You kissed her face multiple times while she giggled. "I love you, baby." You finished with those words before closing the car door and waving after them while walking up the driveway backwards.

It was a bit overwhelming. You weren't an out-of-controll teenager who got pregnant at a party, this was your very first one. Many people from your grade were there, greeting you with surprised tones, as you made your way inside. Just mere seconds after, you wish you didn't. Steve was standing in a corner with Nancy right next to him. Chatting. Laughing. Looking like a couple. But he didn't see you yet, and confrontation did seem hard right now. Ot felt like a knife was stabbed into your heart, and tears build up. How could be basically ask you out on a date and then bring Nancy? And even if they didn't come together, why would he stand so close to her? Your heart was being ripped open and thrown away. Jesus, how could you be so stupid and get your hopes up?

So you made a beeline to the kitchen, where a bowl of punch stood. Judging by everyone around, it must've been spiked. And you didn't care. From stories, drinking made you forget issues so you took the possibility.

"My, my, I think I spotted a little princess.", someone behind you said. As you turned, you spotted the new kid you passed in the hall once or twice. He checked you out from head to toe with a smirk playing on his lips. "And who am I spotting?", you asked with a sly smile. He took your hand and gave it a small kiss. "Billy. Billy Hargrove.", he replied. Billy smelled like cigarettes and beer, which was oddly attractive to you. Also, he was clearly tipsy already. "You here by yourself, princess?" You nodded your head at his question before taking another big sip of the punch. As a response, he put his arm around your shoulders and walked with you. "Come on, if I don't take you with me someone else will." Steve was becoming a memory as Billy walked you outside to the keg stand. "What's your name?", he asked you as he pulled you closer to his body while getting out a pack of cigarettes with his free hand. "(Y/N).", you responded with a grin. He lit his cigarette, blew out the smoke and took it between his fingers. "Beautiful name.", Billy said before offering you his lit cigarette. Why not? You took a long drag but started coughing while blowing out the smoke. He laughed at your antics and took it back. "Never smoked before?" You shook your head at his question while still coughing. Someone handed you a beer to wash it down, and it did actually help. "What's a princess like you doing here by herself anyways?", Billy asked you while you watched someone miserably fail at the keg stand. "Someone's asked me out on a date, but now he's here with his ex.", you responded. He raised an eyebrow and looked deeply offended. "Well, he's an asshole. You're mine now." You blushed at his words, but you really didn't mind his proclamation. Although it was a drunken one. It felt good, no matter the circumstances. Again, someone failed the keg stand as you watched. "I wanna try it.", you proclaimed loudly. Two cups of spiked punch and a bit of beer was already getting to your head, most likely because you never drank before. "Alright princess, let me help you up.", he said while getting another guy to help you stand upright. You giggled before someone put the nozzle between your lips. As much as Billy wanted to focus on you chugging, he couldn't help but look at your ass that was fully presented due to your skirt not being able to hide anything anymore. Plus, you felt your tiara slip from your head as soon as you did the handstand. "One, two, three.", people around you started counting loudly as you kept chugging. Ten was the goal in your head, which wouldn't be bad for your first. "Four, Five, Six.", the others continued. While beer wasn't your thing as you realised, it felt good to have no worries for one night. And this was more fun than you've expected. "Seven, eight, nine." You felt your arms get wobbly, which caused you to get down at 11. People around you cheered, Billy put his arm back around you and took a drag from someone elses cigarette before announcing that he'd go for it as well. "This one's for you, princess.", he said while putting the tiara back on your head. You don't know why he chose to dote over you right now, but it's not like you minded. Most likely, he was trying to get lucky at the end of the night. Which you wouldn't mind, either.

Billy lasted until 22 before he got down. "Billy's our new keg king!", someone screamed while others started chanting his name. "C'mere.", he said while putting his arm around your shoulders again and taking you with him. Someone handed him a lit cigarette again, while a girl gave you a red cup that smelled like hard liquor. Billy walked through the house with you, following two guys who kept yelling that they had a new keg king. You were stupidly grinning until both of you were dragged to Steve and Nancy. "We've got ourselves a new keg king, Harrington.", one of the guys yelled. Steve took off his sunglasses to take a look at Billy, before looking over at you with a confused expression. Meanwhile, Nancy walked off into the kitchen. "What are you doing here?", he asked you while noticing Billy's arm around you. It pulled on his heartstrings a bit. "You asked me to come here, as a date.", you reminded him. "But since you'd rather take fancy Nancy, I found someone else." The grin on your face could be described as nothing but shiteating cheeky. "I didn't think you'd come.", he admitted. Billy laughed at that. "Good thing you ditched here, she's mine now.", he said before walking off with you.

Billy stayed with you for the entire party. At some point, both of you were making out outside. Right now, the sting of Steve standing you up was completely gone and for once you felt like you were actually just a 17-year old teenager. "Come on, let's take this party somewhere else.", he said before dragging you to the bathroom. Just as you rounded the corner, Steve came out with a big slam of the door. Both of you rushed by him and went in the bathroom, where you found Nancy. "Get out.", you said to her. She looked over at you, clearly just as drunk as you were, with a death stare. "You're not scary, Nancy. Get the fuck out." After she still didn't move, you grabbed her by the arm and pushed her outside the bathroom before locking the door. "You've got some fire in you.", Billy said before picking you up and setting you down on the dirty bathroom counter. Both of you kept making out with no regards of anyone knocking at the door. Before you knew it, your dress was off. When he went down to get between your legs, Billy noticed the c-section scar running across your lower abdomen. He looked up at you, but you took the question from Billy's mouth. "I had a c-section at 14.", you slurred. You expected many reactions from him, mostly him leaving you in the bathroom, but he just smirked and said: "I always wanted to fuck a mom."

You don't remember how you made it home. But you woke up in your own bed in the morning, not with Prissy next to you, with a pounding headache. As soon as you moved just a bit, you were already running to the bathroom to throw up. Why do people enjoy drinking if this is the outcome? "Hungover?", your dad teased while leaning against the doorframe. "It's gonna be fine. I'll make you fatty food and get you some aspirin." He handed you some toilet paper to whipe your mouth with, which you gladly took. "Where's Prissy?", you asked once you flushed the toilet. "I let her stay up a bit longer than usual, so she's still asleep." You nodded before he left to go downstairs. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you noticed all of the hickeys on your neck. "Fucking hell.", you mumbled before getting back into your room. Grey sweatpants and a turtleneck sweater seemed like the best option right now. Soon enough, you smelled bacon and walked downstairs. "Did you have fun, at least?", you dad asked while you sat down on the kitchen island. He handed you a glass with some asprin in it. "It was good. I met a new student from my grade, he moved here from California." Your dad looked up from the pan. "Billy? Yeah, he brought you here last night. Seems like a nice kid." Well, that mystery was solved at least. "Yeah, he's cool."

Your father made you bacon, eggs and oatmeal with some orange juice. While he set some aside for Prissy, you ate it up like you haven't eaten in weeks. "Glad you had fun, sweetheart. But you gotta recover until 3, I still have work." You nodded your head at his words. "Is it morally wrong to have a lazy day with your child? I don't think I can go to the playground today." He laughed a bit at your question. "I doubt it. Maybe go in the garden at some point, though." A smile played on your lips at his words. "I can manage that." He turned to leave the kitchen, but not without saying: "And make up a good excuse for Prissy when she sees those hickeys."

It was four and you laid on the couch with Prissy in your arms, watching the Cinderella movie. She was her favourite princess and picked the movie all by herself. You had put some cut up fruit and juice on the table for the two of you to snack on. While Cinderella was trying on the glass shoe, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it, baby.", you said while getting off the couch and slouched to the door. It greatly displeased you once you opened it, because Steve was standing on the other side.

"What?", you asked in an annoyed tone. He was honestly the last person you wanted to see. "(Y/N), I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, or at least cancelled.", he said with a look of desperation. You scoffed at his half-assed apology. "I'm not going to tell you what I actually think, Steve, because my child is in the next room.", you started. "But you can go fuck yourself. If Nancy broke up with you, because I did see her leave with Jonathan, that doesn't mean you get to jump to the next best girl." He ran a hand through his hair and sighted. "It's not like that, (Y/N), please. I...I do like you." His sudden confession didn't make you as happy as it should've. Sure, you still liked him because otherwise it wouldn't hurt so much but you were too angry at him. "I don't care, Steve. You didn't care about my feelings either."

"Mommy, they gonna kiss!", you toddler shouted from the living room. "Have a good day, Steve.", you said before shutting the door. "What, they're gonna kiss?", you said with a false grin while walking into the living room. "There's no way that they're gonna kiss!" You started tickling her stomach and kissing her face while she laughed underneath you.

After all, that she loved you was all that mattered in the end.

[reinedeslys-central]

kotlc things that I keep thinking about that are never really addressed by canon

there is a complete replica of sophie's bedroom and perhaps countless other rooms just. somewhere in a building in mysterium that the councillors just know about.

alden and other telepaths were instructed to monitor the citizens' minds for signs of dissent around the time the prentice thing was going down

they regularly torture prisoners and dissenters into literal insanity that they can't come back from

they also have a super weird prison only accessible by quicksand (????) to house said prisoners

there is an ENTIRE DUNGEON OF WEIRD LAB EXPERIMENTS DOWN BY THE VACKER HOUSE?

okay. how - how big is havenfield?

the entire thing with - is their name twix? the person dex was working with for something. why do we not get to see that more. why is dex the criminally underrated goated character and WE DON'T GET FLESHED OUT CHARACTER ARCS FOR EVERYONE

linh flooded. atlantis. linh song FLOODED ATLANTIS hello what do people think about that?????????? do they see her on the street and whisper? what's up with "The Girl Of Many Floods"? Where else did she flood?

What is up with the song family (tong? their name changed after their grandmother or smth got famous with their music right?) that both their children not only have two very powerful elemental abilities, but are also crazy skilled with said Talents.

why are music, art, and culture not a bigger thing? like yeah, plot, obviously, but that's just worldbuilding!!! I wanna see!!!! art hanging on the walls! Defying gravity! more sculptures! more music playing in the shopping centres!! If they have imparters why don't they have long distance radio? are there mandatory dance lessons? what's the etiquette like besides what we already know?

more animal husbandry at schools. speaking of schools: we KNOW foxfire and exilium aren't the only schools. are smaller schools more specialised? are their community colleges or academies dedicated to specific career paths? universities?

okay but the polyglot ability is SO COOL???? tell me about the archaic variants of the enlightened language. there's no way that's just the elves' one language and the other species picked it up due to their 'superiority' or wtv. the goblins have cities of gold and metal and the trolls age backwards, you're not convincing me of anything.

secret societies in the other species. that has to exist right?

.....is squall dex's mom or not? I genuinely can't remember.

anyway remember when she froze gethen's fingernails off, yeah that happened (I think)

so instead of rehabilitating teenagers who have dangerous abilities and not much control over their powers, we just do....whatever the council did with gethen, ruy, and linh ig

hey, um...are we just not going to talk about dex casually HACKING INTO A GOV DATABASE WITH SOME RANDOM BITS OF ROCK AND TWINE? he can just do that. okay. okay. that's - yeah, okay.

did he match a frequency or something? how does the signal network even work in kotlc when everyone is technically all over the world in unplottable locations and they get around by LIGHT LEAPING???

ON THAT NOTE. light leaping. yeah haha funny let's just teach our kids to casually break down their very particles and hold onto their consciousness to travel at the speed of light using quantum mechanics and crystals that are specifically cut to project light in such a way that'll take you only to a specific location nvm im not thinking more about it.

flickering? is apparently a skill you can learn even if you're not a vanisher? remember in book two when fitz got prissy at sophie for knowing how to do it apparently b4 we figured out that she's a teleporter

keefe is a fun loveable goofball and I've always been on the sokeefe train but now the more I think about it he's really um.... yeah, uh, sophie? darling, please just don't date any of these people. obv you can make your own decisions but at least not now, okay. take care of yourself hon

the fitz hate is kinda weird ngl. wdym you don't want your problematic traitor brother to move back in to living literally with your family after supposedly losing his memories and that's a bad thing? wdym your close friend/crush is hiding things from you when yall are supposed to be cognates and she's kinda gaslighting you since, forever? wdym your father's been shadily telling you to stalk this girl in the human world since you were a kid? yeah definitely he does pull some weird stints throughout the series. but the bigger things i see ppl hating on him for are. hmmmmm

the council themselves choose to lock away the government secrets and wipe them from their memories. hey, um - recordkeeping is great, obvious, but - wiping those secrets from your minds isn't gonna help you lead while accounting for those parts of history, is it? nevermind how dangerous it is when there are huge species-wide secrets that NO ONE remembers. society-threatening incident waiting to happen.

the concept of vociferators. that's just kinda funny lol even if it is weird

are their schoold for diff abilities?

what's the genetics of talent inheritance? why are 'stronger' abilities rarer? In my opinion, p much every talent is goated, I don't see why more characters aren't more creative about it.

banning talents is just a bad move. like. are you serious? how is that going to make it better? that's how you get brant. brant was a pyrokinetic, without getting into the primary issue of the whole talentless/talented discrimination discourse, the secondary issue is he wouldve been able to marry jolie as two talented elves. would he have cracked if his ability was just a bit better handled by society?

grady is a mesmer. how - that's a really powerful ability???? how do you even train to use that? what do you even use it for?

same with whatever that lady councillor is that tried to seduce alden during his own wedding. fun times, yall.

rainbow fire??? cool????

so we have the sanctuary, do we also have a gigantic library of alexandria-esque thing? a botanical garden?

according to jolie's wiki she died at twenty as a level 8 at foxfire. so... hang on a minute. okay, sure, numerically that could make sense since sophie, at 12, became a level one - but are you telling me she went through the whole matchmaking process and was planning to get married that young????

hey, here's an idea - in a relatively stable society where economy is great, trust funds exist, people work to have something to do with their lives, birth rate is generally low (now through prejudice as well as societal comfort and ease/cost of living), why are they marrying so young? WHY ARE THE KIDS STARTING THE MATCHMAKING PROCESS IN THEIR TEENS???? the elven society has p much every mark of a stage 5 developed country? help? middle-high school human geography??

if they apparently live so long, show me the funny messy family trees with couples having children generations apart.

so, trust funds of lusters??? lustres?? (which we barely ever see. why is there little-to-no use of money?) which equate to roughly one trillion USD (in value? are you. are you - um. are you....serious?) exist. but I guess inflation and relative currency value from mass money printing doesn't count in this world, as well as the fact that there's only one currency for all the elves.

I wanna see a divorced elven couple now. how does divorce law work??????

if there's such a low BR and low population and people are yet still encouraged to have less kids to 'not dilute the genes' (that's my next point btw), I'm guessing matchmaking is encouraged younger to make sure population stays stable/growing? obv you need it to ensure genetic diversity and no incest, but if it's heavily encouraged for elves to have children like this, are queer elves mandated to have children with a surrogate/other couple even if they have a same-sex marriage?

i'll probably edit this or reblog it to include more stuff (character limit lol) as i remember the books bc it's been a hot minute since i read them.

[anitalenia]

━━ 𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒔 pt. 4

━━ 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the frontier boys as random tropes. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ part one | part two | part three

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ Pope, Will, Benny, Frank x fem!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ ceo!Pope x assistant!Reader, lumberjack!Will x bimbo!Reader, bartender!Benny x fem!Reader, step dad!Frank x step daughter!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sexual content, implied smut, graphic depictions of sexual acts, fantasized sexual content, blowjobs, depictions of fingering, pussy eating, inappropriate family dynamics you definitely shouldn’t partake in, inappropriate work relationships that you definitely shouldn’t do in real life (unless you want to purrrr💅🏻), a little long just cause I haven’t made one in a while, slight dark content in Franks section

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sorry for the wait with this series, people really loved it actually, more than I thought they would. The begging for another part finally got to me, so here you go!!!! Hope you enjoy while I work on the next one 😭

━━ SANTIAGO ‘POPE’ GARCIA ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

CEO! SANTIAGO ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 desk in those cute little skirts and too tight dresses, always so busy and always so beautiful. He liked to stare out at you from his private office with a semi hard cock in his black slacks; a perfect view of your desk and the best view of you.

He could never get any work done of course, not properly anyway, too busy thinking about you and all the things you’d do for him if he asked. You always did what he asked, so eager to work and so eager to please. You, you with those black stiletto heels and those pink pouty lips, you, you with your sweet voice and your round hips — begging to be fucked good.

Nngh, just you.

He liked to call you into his office for no real reason other than his own selfish desires; he liked to see your hips sway when you walked and stare at your soft tits when you’d lean over — it’s what really got him through the tough days.

He loved to hear your soft giggles and see your cheeks go pink when he’d say something scandalously sly, something a ceo definitely shouldn’t say to their assistant, something a boss definitely shouldn’t say to their employee.

He’d take you on business meetings and lavish business trips, invite you to expensive business dinners and elite business parties, it was always business, business, business. He wanted more than that, wanted to take you out for real and show you how much of a gentleman he could be if you’d give him the chance.

Mainly, he wanted to show you how good he could fuck you, much better than any man could, show you how well he knew your body in ways you even didn’t, in ways no man did.

He’d have to clench his fists and hold himself back from fucking you on his very desk with his blinds open for all the horny temps to see — the ones who could never seem to leave you and your beauty alone, the ones who gawked at you in the break room, the ones whose grimy hands lingered on your arm for just a little too long…

That always pissed him off, having to see those puny fanboys of yours charade around your desk like prissy princesses and fight for your attention — it was pathetic and obnoxious. He couldn’t fire them like he wanted to though (unfortunately), too many lawsuits already being filed against him that he was too rich to really care about.

He had lawyers for that shit anyway.

Santiago, or Santi as he’s made you call him now, liked to watch you talk. He loved hearing your voice, seeing the way your lips moved and sparkled with gloss as you rambled on about some company he supposedly owned, pacing his office as he sat in his chair with his dick hard under his desk.

He’d clench his jaw and picture how those lips would look wrapped around his thick cock, your lipstick leaving stains all over him that he could admire later — maybe he’d even have you under his desk during meetings, sitting right between his legs with your lipstick smeared over your cheeks, and a sweet mix of your saliva and his cum dripping down his balls —

“Are you even listening to me?” You’d always scold him with your arms crossed over your chest when you’d notice his blank stare, pushing your tits up and giving him yet another fantasy he couldn’t get his mind off of.

He’d quickly snap out of whatever trance he was in, eyes flickering from your tits to your face, intense and twinkling — really thinking he was slick enough that you wouldn’t notice it. Then he’d let out a husky chuckle, his hand subtly palming his cock as he’d say, “Of course I am.”

You’d just roll your eyes and continue talking, oblivious to his arousal as he’d stare at your ass, your lips, your legs, his hungry eyes running up and down the length of your perfect body until he was so hard he physically couldn’t stand it.

But that was the norm for him.

For any other girl he had everything — the money, the power, the cars, the looks. He could’ve had literally any other girl he wanted yet he wanted you, yet he couldn’t have you.

You were so professional, always did your job perfectly and always did the right thing, the perfect assistant, the perfect employee, the perfect woman. Why, why, couldn’t you be one of those dumb slutty assistants who he didn’t give a damn about? The ones who didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were a slut, the ones who’d drop everything and suck his dick if he asked, even if he didn’t ask.

But no, you were you and you were so damn different from that and really, that made him want you even more. The fact that you weren’t a dumb girl but a mature woman, as flawless and elegant as rose petals and wine. He wanted you to break out of that persona, see your strong facade crack and crumble for him, for his love, for his cock.

He wanted to see that perfect red lipstick smeared over your tear stained cheeks, see that tight pussy gaping and wet and begging for him, see those lacy panties wrapped around your ankles as he’d fuck you hard and fast before a business meeting in just the way he knew you’d like, just hard enough so everyone could see the stumble in your walk and the tears in your eyes.

One day he was going to have that, one day. But for now he was just gonna have to stick with the lustful stares during crowded meetings and the not-so-innocent fantasies when you’d poke into his office.

One day he’d have you, one day… but for now he was satisfied with jerking his dick off in his office at the sweet smell of your lingering perfume. For now he was okay with imagining to throw you on his desk and fucking your brains out when you’d deliver his coffee in the mornings, his lunch in the afternoon, his dinner in the evenings… all the while staring at you from behind his computer with his dick so achingly hard he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

All right, he wasn’t okay with it but what choice did he have? Bosses shouldn’t fuck their assistants, but damn, he couldn’t wait to break his own rule and see how easily he could make a good girl turn bad.

━━ WILL ‘IRONHEAD’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

LUMBERJACK! WILL ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 where you went. It was inevitable really; a pretty girl like you, wearing those pink skirts like you did, wearing those 6-inch heels like you did, wearing those tight tops like you did, in a town like this? It was really no wonder why you always got stared at.

It was just unfortunate that you were too dumb to notice that he was no better than the countless men that gawked at you, he was just better at hiding it.

You were the bosses daughter — dangerously beautiful and utterly unattainable (spoiled rotten too). You were a walking, talking Barbie in pink dresses and pretty purses; a pink, glittering ditzy princess who carelessly walked around the muddy work site in those cute heels of yours — William believed you were too beautiful to walk around in the filth.

You were the sweetest little thing he had ever met too — a butterfly in a battlefield — so giggly and cheery it drove him insane. The sound of your voice in his ears, your laugh, twinkling and sweet like sparkling water; he could only imagine how good you’d sound underneath him as he drove his cock into you nice and slow so you felt every vein, every ridge, every curve hitting that spot inside you that made you squeal.

Your father was a good man, had hired Will in a desperate time when he needed someone — something, constant. Ever since then Will had always been the best employee. He was the first hire and the only one to stay when things got tough. He put in the most hours, doing the most work, being the best lumberjack he could be for your father in repayment of his kindness. So for that reason Will had earned your father’s respect in more ways than one — for being patient, hardworking, loyal.

So sometimes Will would feel bad when he’d sneak into the bathroom after a rather short conversation with you; he’d slam the stall door closed and whip out his throbbing cock to relief some of the tension you had so dim wittingly caused.

He’d fuck his fist at the thought of you bent over the break room table he had left you at, cute mini skirt flipped up and giving him a perfect view of that pretty pussy he only prayed to see. He knew it was gorgeous, knew it’d be just as pretty as you, knew he’d be fucking addicted at the first taste.

Will was patient, level headed, a loyal worker who’d never betray your fathers trust… but he’d picture thrusting his thick fingers inside you slowly and carefully, smearing cum over your warm hole and feel your wetness drip down his palm as you begged him to go faster — a pretty pink mess all for him.

He'd imagine throwing your cute little ass against a tree and wrapping your smooth legs around his waist when he was supposed to be working, telling you to be a good girl for him as he'd grope your tits and hear your needy whimpers.

He’d hold you against him as he’d push his hard cock inside your tight little pussy once you begged him enough, listen to your gasps as he’d stretch you out in ways you’d never been stretched before. He'd be sure to cover your mouth with his calloused, work torn hands to muffle your screams, have you claw his chiseled back with those glossy pink nails of yours until he bled.

He’d make you cum around his cock as he whispered every filthy thing he could think of in your ear, hear you whine and whimper and leave bruises in the sweet spots only he got to see; your father would be down the hill confused on where the both of you had gone.

He’d squirt all over his hand and thighs once he was done, panting and hissing from the pleasure pulsing through his body. He knew you were right outside those doors too, right where he left you in the break room, sipping on an ice coffee — completely oblivious.

Will would take a long while to clean himself up after that, the guilt burrowing heavy in his tummy knowing your father’s office was right down the hall. He wouldn’t dare look in that direction, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to look your father in the eye for a good hour.

He’d walk out the bathroom as inconspicuously as possible and put his hands in his coat pockets, walk back into the break room like nothing had happened, like he didn’t want to fuck your brains out right then and there, and he’d lean against the door frame and give you the most charming, innocent smile you dotingly believed.

“Hey, darlin’.”

You’d look up from your phone startled, your tits spilling out of your pink top and the plushness of your thighs flared out on the bench. Your hair was shiny and glittery with cute hair clips on each side, your makeup done so prettily and perfectly he just wanted to ruin it. You looked so damn good Will couldn’t help but take a minute to admire you some more, his eyes running over you hotly, but too subtly for you to notice.

“Oh, hey, where did you go? You said 5 minutes…” You teasingly pouted up at him with those glossy, twinkling lips of yours like you weren’t making this hard enough as it was.

You’d giggle and smile at him — making his heart churn and dick stir. He’d be entranced by your tits jiggling as you did, covered in glittery perfume and smelling of vanilla and strawberries.

So fucking delicious.

Then you’d wrap those same lips around your pink straw and take another sip of your iced coffee.

God damn those lips of yours… Will would go in a daze at the image of you on your knees for him, your lipgloss smeared over your cheeks as you’d suck his swollen cock head into your mouth, patiently waiting for him to say you could take more. Sparkly pink lip stains marked over his dick and balls… it was his dream.

Will knew he was bigger than you too, in a lot of ways, was reminded of if every time you stood next to his hulking form in those cute heels of yours that still didn’t manage to reach him. He was a 6’0 mass of muscle and brawn, carved from brick and forged from stone and way too rough around the edges to handle a delicate thing like you — it’d be like putting a pretty flower petal in the brazen hands of a giant. He wasn’t sure he could have you and not ruin you.

But god damn he’d fucking try. He’d be so delicate and tender with you in ways he’s never been with another woman. He’d cherish every scar and blemish on your smooth skin and treat you like the princess you so clearly were. He’d kiss you from head to toe and lap at your pussy like a poor man worshipping a goddess — he’d be oh so lucky.

He was big, yes, but he promised he wouldn’t crush you. He was rough, yes, but even a pretty girl like you liked having a rough hand wrapped around her throat. You’d be a pretty pink angel wrapped in his gray cotton sheets, held between his mundane, trauma stained hands.

He was manly and burly, all flannel jackets and tree stained jeans and you were girly and feminine, all short skirts and glittering strawberry lipgloss. You two didn’t work in a conventional sense but nothing about his life or yours was conventional.

Your father was a good man and William was a good worker, the best employee, the best lumberjack. He was patient and so loyal, fully aware he was risking his livelihood by wanting you but yet he was left wanting anyway. You were too cute and bouncy and he needed you to bounce on his cock more than he needed a job.

He wanted to see you bare for him — bare in heart, mind, and soul because he knew there was more to you than meets the eye. There was more of you to discover beyond the pink masses and he wanted to be the one that discovered it, the one that you trusted enough to show it to. He wanted to see the real you bared to him in the middle of the night with the beautiful afterglow of what you two had just done shining on your skin — your most organic, happiest form.

“Ah, William, I see you’re keeping my girl company? I hope she’s not keeping you, she’s a chatterbox.” Your father laughed and smacked a hand on Will’s shoulder, suddenly popping up in the doorway like Will had conjured him with his guilt. A thud sounded from the smack and Will felt his shoulder sting, completely shaken out of his fantasy now.

He looked at your father and laughed that charming laugh — I want to fuck your daughter more than I need air to breath sir but no she’s not a problem at all.

━━ BENJAMIN ‘BENNY’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

BARTENDER! BENNY ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 it almost angered you. Every Saturday night the club was packed with women just hoping Benny the Bartender would look their way… it was pathetic, if you didn’t do the exact same thing.

It was routine for you, the only thing you really looked forward to in your long weeks of monotonous work and errands — Benny was new, exciting, and so fucking hot you blushed at just the mere thought of him.

He was so charming too, so good at his job by simply just existing you could see why the company had hired him. With just one dazzling smile the whole room swooned and came, even you, who so pathetically tried to act hard to get at the corner of the bar with your lonely margarita you only ever ordered — you needed to be somewhat tipsy to actually have the confidence to talk to him.

You’d wear your sexiest dresses, your cutest shoes, have your hair done pristinely and your makeup done perfectly all in hopes of Benny noticing you — you were almost ashamed that you valued his attention that much.

You’d sit by yourself, alone, at the end of the bar staring at him while he worked, staring at his face and body and just picturing him fucking you on this very bar with his snapback still on his head, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits, anywhere his greedy hands could leave their mark on.

He’d wear baseball tees and black t-shirts that clung perfectly to his abs and muscles — you even heard a rumor that he was in an underground fighting ring that gave him all those muscles and scars in the first place. The thought aroused you incredibly and you couldn’t stop from fluttering your eyes at him more than usual that night.

He seldom never wore his snapback, and while you loved seeing his full face you couldn’t deny how much you loved the nights when he left his hat at home more.

He’d have his dirty blonde hair slicked back out of his face but yet there was always that one rebelling strand that fell over his eyes when he was working… it drove you insane. And the way he’d run his fingers through his hair when he was in the middle of a busy service, the way your own hands could pull it when he was laid between your legs, nibbling on your thighs and bringing you to such an ecstasy you’ve never experienced.

He was such a natural flirt too, professional to a limit when it came to all the women fawning over him over the bar, their tits falling out of their dresses and their lips over lined with lipstick. He’d laugh that boisterous laugh of his, take shots with them like he wasn’t on the clock, and he’d charm the panties right off them and the money right out of their purses by the time he was done.

You couldn’t say you weren’t jealous.

Benny, on the other hand, was all too aware of the pretty girl at the end of the bar who never seemed to bring anyone but her credit card. He was all too aware of her pretty eyes and pretty lips and perfect set of tits in those skimpy dresses she’d always wear.

And honestly, since the first night he saw you he’s wanted you.

He’d flirt with you all the time in that southern accent of his that charmed all the ladies, but you never seemed to register it, or in other words, you never seemed to care.

You were nothing like the women he dealt with every night — you would roll your eyes when he’d tell you how happy he was to see you again, purse your lips when he complimented your makeup, and seem totally disinterested in him and whatever nonsense he had to say.

And he fucking loved it.

You didn’t fawn over him like the others girls did, you didn’t seem to buy into the whole charming bartender shtick he portrayed either. You were quiet and beautiful and sharp; you never seemed too desperate or eager for him like everyone else. Sure, he loved the attention from other women, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t, but the fact that he never seemed to have yours made him want you even more.

He’d flirt with you whenever he got the chance to, knew your drink of choice by heart now and was always there to fill it back up when it was empty. He was attentive to your needs and he swore he could be just as attentive in other settings if you gave him the chance.

You’d just sit there in the shadows, skin flashing blue and black from the lights of the club and looking so damn fine Benny wished he could drag you into the bathroom and fuck your brains out on the door, feel the music pumping through your veins as you stuck your tongue in his mouth until all he tasted was you and liqueur.

It’d be fast and hot and he wouldn’t be able to breath in anything but you and margarita salt but it sounded perfect. His big hand wrapped around your throat as people knocked on the door like you two weren’t busy. He’d try to muffle your moans for your sake but he’d also decide he liked hearing them more. It’d be cramped and intimate and it would certainly leave him breathless but god damn that sounded like just what he needed right now.

He’d be drunk on you, the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you wrapped around him so tight — the mysterious girl he could never seem to break through to no matter how many times he tried. Sometimes, Benny even felt like giving up — you clearly didn’t want him like he wanted you.

But then, at some point during the night when you were two margaritas in and your eyes were starting to get hazy, he’d look over at you and you’d be giving him the hottest, most seductive look he’s ever seen. It makes his heart pound and skin prickle, his cock ache for something.

It was the kind of look where your eyelashes would flutter and you’d stare up at him with a delectable little smirk on your face, a look that screamed take me now, take me on this bar and show everyone what you’re capable of, show these other bitches you only want me.

And he fucking wished he could. It was that look that kept him going, that look that gave him hope.

And you wanted him to do just that. To leave bruises on your skin and taint your body with himself, to leave his mark on your pussy and soul and be so deep inside you you weren’t sure where his body began and your pleasure ended, just that you needed more, more, more of it.

But Benny assumed that was the game you two liked to play — to show up every Saturday night with the expectation that one of you was going to finally make a move on the other. To see who would crack first, give in to the temptation the both of you so clearly desired but neither were confident enough to admit.

Benny, the sexy bartender obsessed with the mysterious girl who barely gave him the time of day.

You, the girl at the end of the bar wishing Benny would just take the initiative and fuck her already.

And to think, Benny did want you, wanted you so fucking badly, only you. You’re the one that he even bothered to show off for anyway; flipping bottles, being quick on his feet, being better than anyone else cause he knew you were the one watching.

He made a soulful promise to both you and him that one of these nights you’re gonna give him that damned look one more time and he’s not gonna have a choice but to prove to you why you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend to finish.

━━ FRANK ‘CATFISH’ MORALES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP DAD! FRANK ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 for a good year and a half before he met you, the young and beautiful daughter of the woman he supposedly loved.

You were grown, well, grown enough; a beautiful woman with dreams and ambitions, goals for her life that he couldn’t help but admire. But you also had this delectable snark you certainly didn’t get from your mother, an attitude that made anything remotely good about you pale in comparison — it drove him mad.

He hated to act like a father to you because he wasn’t your father — you were in your 20s anyway, it was too late for him to be anything other than Frank. He was just an older man in your life set to wed your mother, yet he really only had eyes for you, his beautiful step daughter he certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about when he was fucking your mother.

You were bratty and mean, always rolled your eyes at him and walked off right in the middle of him talking to you; you wore those short shorts he despised (loved more than he should have) and those dresses that clung just a little too tight to your body for his liking. You were disobedient and rude, but so fucking sexy he was left torn between his desires and morals.

You never cared what he had to say about anything, never bothered to listen to his rules, and never bothered to wear some god damn house appropriate shorts that didn’t shove your round ass into his face every time he walked past you.

He imagined bending you over his knee and pulling your shorts off you, gently sliding your pink panties down your thighs, then spanking your ass, hard, like the disobedient brat you were until his handprints were etched into your skin, until you were sniffling and moaning for him to stop, until you had finally learned some respect.

He wondered if you’d get wet from that simple act alone: maybe your childish attitude was all a front, an act, to really piss him off to his limits and see how far you could push him until he broke. Maybe you wanted to be punished by him, be spanked raw, be fucked hard, until tears were streaming in your pretty little eyes and you were sobbing your apologizes to him instead of running your mouth.

As a matter of fact he should do just that; with all the times you’d “accidentally” leave the door open when you were showering and your mother had gone shopping, just you and Frank and the sizzling tension between you left to fend for itself. He was a gentleman at heart but no man could deny the allure of such a pretty body like yours covered in water.

He should shove your face into his pillow and fuck you from behind so you didn’t have to see his face like he knew you’d want to. He’d hold your hands behind your back and pound you until you cried for him to stop, to go faster, that it hurts, but you fucking wanted more.

You’d probably be a squirter too, all mean girls like you were when they got stripped down to the bare parts of themselves, where they couldn’t hide behind their own insolence and were touched by the experienced hands of an older man.

Frank was a patient man, a very patient man. It took a lot to drive him over the edge but yet you always seemed to know just what to say and just what to do to really push his buttons.

Your bedroom door wide open as you changed out of your bra, your perky tits all smooth and round for him to ogle at through the hallway, your music blasting through the whole house when he was trying to get some god damn sleep, bringing over your stupid little boyfriends into his house and letting them fuck you under his roof — it was all reason enough for him to punish you.

And no, Frank wasn’t jealous. He was a grown man, what did he have to be jealous about? He wasn’t jealous when he’d hear your moans sound through the whole house, the headboard banging on the wall, the giggles you’d try to hide as you’d walk them out the door. It was pathetic. Those boys could never fuck you like he could and he knew it. He was not jealous.

You were a bad girl, a naughty girl, and he didn’t like pretty little girls who thought they knew better than him.

You never showed him any gratitude, or appreciation for taking you and your mother in when he didn’t have to, you never thanked him when he made you a hot meal, and you never listened when he’d say put gas back in my car if you use it.

He basically let you do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. There was no structure, no rhyme or reason to anything you did and he’d be damned if he was going to let a spoiled brat like you make his life any harder than it needed to be.

Your mother was an angel, all kisses and kind words and that’s why he loved her in the first place. He had plans to marry her and live a great life with her. Even when she mentioned a daughter Frank didn’t worry, he imagined an adorable little toddler with big doe eyes and a kind heart just like her mother. But then he met you, and you were no kid, and you were certainly no fucking angel.

You were a soul sucking succubus sent from the depths of hell to tempt him, to make him fail yet another marriage. You were young and he knew it was wrong to despise you yet simultaneously want you so fucking badly. He wanted you out of his house, but he also wanted you on your knees and gagging around his cock. He wanted you to shut up for once, but he also wanted you to scream his name until the neighbors knew it.

It was certainly complicated and contradicting, and with his wedding on the way he really didn’t need anything going wrong. But, he figured, if he married your mother at least he would always be around to keep you in line, right?