#artists talk some bullshit mind

[akaanonymouth]

So now I can and want to finish my winter event fic, and the smutty fics, but opening the laptop also means I have to acknowledge and actually start on the batch of translating work that's just been dumped in my emails, and my brain is absolutely noping the fuck out.

[leatherbookmark]

my favourite thing abt tumblr mass-finding out about the origins of the “poor little meow meow” phrase is a couple of people in the tags, who listen to things like, i assume, punk or rap, going “oh so THIS is what people got so emotional over? wow they wouldn’t last a day over here” or “ah, this, yeah a couple of guys from our side did it too”. refreshing

[wilwheaton]

hello mr wil wheaton when you were my age (like exactly i think) you were filming stand by me

I turned 13 during production, so if you're about to become a teenager, I hope you'll let me offer some thoughts that I wish an adult had shared with me, then?

I know this is a wall of text, and giving someone this much of your attention is a HUGE ask. Maybe bookmark this for another time, if you're not into hearing an old man talk.

I wrote this a few days before I turned 50. Thank you in advance for listening, and I wish you a life filled with joy, unconditional love, kindness, and adventure.

Hey everyone! An old man is talking!

In seven days, I will be 50 years-old. This is ... weird. I do not feel the way I expected I would feel when I was approaching 50, nor do any of my friends. The only time I feel like I'm middle-aged is when my body does some bullshit that takes me down for hours because I had the nerve to stand up quickly. And I really hate it when I have to use the flashlight on my phone to see a menu. I mean, at that point, I may as well be dropping my pants for free and singing the Old Gray Mare.

Anyway. This has been on my mind for a little bit, so I had something to say when someone used my tumblr ask me thingy earlier this week:

Q: I hope I'm as cool as you when I'm 49. I'd like to think I'm taking the right steps towards that version of myself. A: So I'm not sure I'm cool, but I do know that I don't suck, and that it's a choice I make every day. I desperately wish someone in my family had told me, or shown me by example, that getting older doesn't mean getting stupid and boring and stuffy and extremely uncool. I wish I'd known that, because I spent all of my life until I was in my 40s feeling like there was this day coming very soon when I would have to stop listening to punk, stop playing video games, put on a suit, and start yelling at kids for no good reason. I didn't know that you don't have to suddenly stop being who you are and become something or someone you hate, just because of a certain age. I know that's super obvious, but to young me, it was not. My dad was an asshole, my mom never showed up for me. Directors and people on set had been treating me like a thing for my entire life. I got yelled at for no reason from adults who knew better almost every day. Most of my elementary school teachers were authoritarian, evangelical assholes. All of these different adults, consistently, shut me down and made me feel like I didn't matter, the things I liked were stupid, and my opinions were invalid because of reasons I didn't understand because I was a dumb kid. So I presumed that when you got to be a certain age, that's what happened. I didn't want to be that, at all, and I was sincerely afraid of the day it would happen. But as I got older, I discovered that all that stuff I hated about adults doesn't automatically happen. Those adults I just mentioned all made a choice to be an asshole. I just didn't know it. I was in my early 20s when I did a movie with a cinematographer who was, I think, 45 at the time. He was the coolest, kindest, most artistic dude I'd ever known. He mentored me and we had epic fun making great art together. I remember telling him, "I'm not afraid of being in my 40s like I used to be. I didn't know you could still be cool." It's sad, that I grew up in such a toxic environment, and didn't know any of these things. So, 9 days before I turn 50, here are a couple things I have figured out: You know who sucks when they hit 49 and 50? People who sucked when they were 20 and never grew up. You know who is an asshole at 49 and 50? Yep. Someone who was an asshole as a kid and never experienced consequences for being an asshole. Hitting middle age has been awesome for me. Other than the aging of my body and its reluctance / refusal to do what I want it to do, I love everything about it. I wish I hadn't spent so much of my life being afraid that, when I hit 50, it was all over. Because honestly it's kind of just starting. The coolest stuff in my life to date has all happened in the last ten years, and I'm so grateful that it coincided with me figuring out a lot of shit so I could enjoy it.

The best part of getting older, by several thousand light years, is the part where we figure out how to stop putting up with other people's bullshit, and we contract our social circle until it's only populated with a VERY few people who deserve us. And I am incredibly grateful for these occasional opportunities to be a 49 year-old dad who can say all the things that would have been reassuring for 19 year-old me to hear (he wouldn't have understood, but 29 year-old me would have remembered, and he would have understood. I think.) I sincerely hope someone hears it and finds it helpful. Anyway, you're gonna be fine. Just remember that being cool, kind, honest, honorable, reliable, listening and showing up … they are all choices. If you want to be cool when you're 49, make the choice and set the example for someone to follow you. Treat kids the way you wanted to be treated when you were young. Listen to them when they offer you the privilege, because that means they trust you, and you have credibility with them. Be a mentor. Be supportive. Show up. Make a choice to be the person you need in the world, and never stop being that person. Start today, and when you're nearing 50 like I am, hopefully you'll remember who you needed right now, so you can be that person to someone else in the future. You're already asking the right questions and taking the first steps. I believe in you. You've got this.

Okay, if you've come this far, perhaps you'll follow me a little bit more, and read a thing I wrote about talking to students just a tiny bit older than you, which contains my core values.

Be honest. I’m a very old man, relative to y’all, and I’ve learned that the only currency that really matters in this world is the truth.

Be honorable. This dovetails with number one. You attract to yourself what you put into the world. Dishonorable people will take everything from you and leave you with nothing. Do your best to be a person they aren’t attracted to.

Work hard. I don’t mean, like, at your crappy minimum wage job you hate. I mean do the hard work that makes relationships work, that gets you ahead in your education, that gets you closer to your goals. Everything worth doing is hard. Everything worth doing requires hard work. Sooner or later, you’re going to run into something in your life that’s really hard, and you’ll want to give up, but it’s something you care so much about, you’ll do whatever you can to achieve it. It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be less hard for someone who has practiced doing the hard things all along, than it is for someone who doesn’t know how to do the hard work because they’ve always chosen the easy path.

Always do your best. Even if you don’t get the result you wanted, doing your best — which will vary from day to day, moment to moment — is all you can ever do. We tell athletes to leave it all on the field. Whatever your version of that is, do it.

This is the most important one. This is the one I hope you’ll all hear and embrace. This is the one I hope you’ll share with your peers: Always be kind.”

When I read number 5, I looked up at them. I was so happy to see a classroom filled with teenagers who were all listening intently, even the ones I thought had tuned me out. “Here’s the thing about being Kind, versus being Nice,” I said. “I have interacted with lots of nice people who are incredibly unkind. Why is that? How do you choose to be nice but not kind?”

I pointed to my head. “This is where nice comes from,” I said. Then, I put my hand over my heart. “This is where kind comes from.” I put my hands out, like, “get it?”

There was this collective gasp of realization that I did not expect, at all. One kid said “Oh damn!” I saw a few kids look at each other like the trick had just been explained to them. They heard me. They really, really heard me. And it was amazing.

Okay, that's all. If you're still here, thank you for giving me so much of your time and attention. I hope you'll come back in a few years, and let me know how you're doing.

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[nocofamilyau]

ik its not Noco related, but how are people like Duncan, Alejandro, Heather, Gwen and Courtney?

since you said Zeke died from the lava, does that mean Alejandro was also killed by the volcano :0

Heather probably got the one of the best hands out of being on Total Drama, with not only her winnings being given back to her as a result of Chris getting the shit sued out of him, but from all the brand endorsements and guest appearances she made shortly after. That eventually spawned into her own show 'The World According to Heather', a talk show of some kind where she mainly talks shit about other (usually famous) people, particularly with who she has on as a guest for that particular night. It had a pretty successful run worldwide, heard it was most popular all over Europe. She's living quite a luxurious life still, with a lavish house up in the hills, she's married to some rich CEO and they recently had a child who she spoils ROTTEN. 'The World According to Heather' still lives on as a podcast, and she has quite the social media following to match.

Gwen was still being dragged through the mud after World Tour ended, the whole 'Boyfriend Stealer' title not really rubbing off until a few years after the fact. She kept pretty low profile throughout her young adulthood as reality TV slowly began to fade out of people's minds, finishing that art history degree and now works as a curator for art galleries across the country, hoping to open back up to the public again as an emerging artist at some point. Somewhere along the line she (accidentally) reunited with Trent at a jazz bar, where they managed to sort things out, started dating again, and are now happily married with two young daughters (a boring, but sweet ending nonetheless).

Courtney claims to have powered past all the Total Drama bullshit after high school, believing it was all just a waste of time in the end (she's totally over that shit now... promise!). She put all that rage into graduating Law school with an honours degree, and is a pretty successful lawyer with quite an... interesting method of whipping her clients into enough shape to change the judge's minds on what they deserve, despite most of her clients doing things that are... somewhat questionable on if they deserve a lighter punishment or not...

Duncan's been having it rough as of late, Gwen broke up with him shortly after World Tour (it really wasn't worth it in the end, no matter what the producers told them) and never really stopped his life of crime. He was in jail for a few years for destroying some rich dude's property, probably committed arson too while we're at it, but he could not rule that place with the iron fist he had back in juvie, his time on Total Drama dampening his reputation. Tired of that, he fled the country, and hasn't been seen since. Rumour has it he's now residing somewhere in Mexico, probably to join a drug cartel or something like that...

also I've written about what happens to Alejandro here.

[leviathanspain]

kiss it off me

carmy berzatto x reader

synopsis: the woman who made him a man is back in town and he can barely hold it together

a/n: i tried to make it cohesive without rushing it, but oh well..enjoy!

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no one ever forgot their first time.

it was the sweetest taste, your cherry flavor stained lips, chapped from the dry chicago heat. he remembered the way they felt, soft and rubbery, his teeth had caught on them. then the fruity flavor had turned to iron, but he still kissed you as hard as he did the first time.

after he had bitten you, you had asked gently if he had ever done this before. carmen answered honestly, and you promised you’d teach him everything you knew.

but that had been years ago, and a lifetime of memories had occurred since then, that when richie had mentioned your name, carmy couldn’t place you.

“what was it again?” carmy asked, hands on his hips as he thought hard of what richie had just said.

“y/n. come on, cousin, don’t tell me you forgot!” his neck vein popped out, and carmy shook his head, his hands rubbing across his face as he thought hard.

“was she in school with me? how do you know her?” carmy shot out any questions that could connect you to him in his mind. it sounded familiar, the way richie said your name with thousands of memories behind it.

richie shrugged, “you brought this girl around to every single thing your family threw! she was your little girlfriend-“

“holy fuck- penny?” it was as if all the gears in carmy’s head had finally turned at the right time. he remembered you, of course he remembered you. he had to sift through all the bullshit of the past decade but now, it was like a fresh breath of air.

“penny? i swear her name was y/n.” richie raised his eyebrow, “i saw her at some magazine stand down the street, and i swear she looked familiar-“

“pennington. penny’s for pennington. i-“ carmy chuckled slightly, “mikey called me bear once, when she was around. and she had wanted a nickname like that.” richie could see the warmth in carmy’s face as he talked about you.

richie nodded in response, giving a second for carmy to come back down to earth. “i invited her to opening night. she’s one of those people who mold shit outta clay-“ he demonstrated with his hands, carmy’s eyes just staring out.

“cousin-“

“you invited her to opening night?” carmy echoed, and richie stared, hands falling onto the counter. he nodded, irritated with carmy’s absentmindedness.

“i want to be someone to be remembered.” the crinkle of the empty beer cans underneath your feet, followed your speech, “i want to be an artist!” your hands shot out, the drink in your left hand had partially spilled, but you didn’t seem to notice as you took another swig of it.

carmy’s face was hot. he felt it heat up after his first drink, and now had spent the entire night nervously pulling at his collar, trying to keep up with you.

you had driven him out to the suburbs in your mother’s beaten up volvo. he had gotten drinks, but hadn’t revealed how. but it didn’t matter, as the two of you were out, feet dangling above the ground, sitting in the trunk.

you turned to look at him. he looked beautiful in the moonlight, his blue eyes were deep, like pools of water that you wanted to get lost in.

“don’t you want to be an artist too, carmy?” your voice was soft, set to the pitch of innocence as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek. carmy was shy, eyes always darting away from yours, hands drawn up to his sides. it had taken a lot of convincing for him to even come out with you, but with the beer he had brought, you realized he could still surprise you.

it was in between your question and his answer that you had kissed him. it wasn’t the first time, there had been many more times since. but the passion was the same, the desire for more was always weighing heavy.

“yes..” carmy spoke, closing his eyes as your hands began to unbuckle his belt. he shivered, grabbing your hands, he helped you undo his belt, breath hitching as you kissed him harder.

carmen had been incredibly stressed all day. he had been stressed ever since richie had told him that you’d be coming to opening night. he had tried not to induce an attack, last time he saw you there had been a fight, and it was silence ever since.

but now, just the idea of your presence loomed over him like doomsday. today, even without you, could make or completely annihilate his career. but he was ready to face either or. you had taught him that, better or for worse.

“hey cousin!” richie thundered through the kitchen doors, his suit was dark and sleek, contrasting the chef coats everyone else was wearing. “y/n is at table five. sugar is talking to her, and it looks very,” he paused, and looked at carmy, “interesting.”

carmy sighed, “fuck.” he was busy, too busy that it should be inhumanly possible. he grabbed a towel, one that hung loosely over his shoulder and wiped his hands, “what did she order?” he looked around at all the other workers, looked at their plates and tried to guess.

richie smiled, crossing his arms across his chest as he spoke, “nothing.”

carmy had felt his face rise with heat as he slammed through the kitchen doors. he felt embarrassed, a little shocked even, that you hadn’t ordered anything for dinner.

he turned to the sound of sugar’s laugh, a familiar sound, he had found himself already walking over to the table. you hadn’t seen him yet, natalie had all your focus.

“hey-“ he greeted. sugar was the first to turn, and happily greeted her brother. you followed suit, but you didn’t say anything as the two exchanged a few words. instead you stared at carmy, years older, and completely unknown to you.

“hey bear.” you greeted, voice sweet on his name, you stood up, going in for a tight hug. he smelled of food, not surprising for someone who was just in the kitchen.

“hey pen..” he returned your greeting, and looked at his sister, who excused herself politely.

the two of you just stood for a moment, carmy watching as sugar circled around to talk to richie. carmy turned back to you, and extended his hand to your chair. you both sat, now face to face.

you looked different. the teenage invincibility had been exchanged for a confident, self assured adult. your eyes were still the kindest ones, he felt at ease just staring into them.

his eyes avoided your lips, avoided what they reminded him of.

“richie tells me your a sculptor?” carmy didn’t know why, but that was the first thing he had thought to ask. you laughed, surprised at his question too. but you nodded nevertheless, “yes, a local gallery is displaying some of my work. that’s why i’m back.” you played around with your silverware, and cleared your throat, “this is really lovely, carm. it’s-“ you looked around at it all, at the bustling scenery with various happy customers. “i’m really happy for you.” you finished.

carmy nodded, “yeah. thank you.” he blinked, and remembered what he had wanted to really ask. “are you not hungry or-“ you followed his gaze to the empty plate in front of you and you laughed, “oh- right!” you shrugged, “i don’t know actually. i guess i wanted to see if it was really you.” the way the words came out felt wrong, and you were quick to explain yourself.

“i didn’t mean it like that-“ you assured, and carmy laughed slightly, “i just hadn’t seen you in years that i almost didn’t believe it.” carmy nodded, “well, i’m here..im right here.”

the two of you locked eyes in that moment.

it was a special moment, something of substance that could ground carmy, and remind him of all the good things in life.

you tore your eyes away, and awkwardly laughed, “my show is next friday.” a card had appeared in your hands, and you were scooting it across the table to him, “i already gave one to your sister, and another to richie when i first saw him. you don’t have to come, i just figured-“ you looked around and he nodded, “yeah. no, totally. i’ll go.”

he found himself agreeing to go before he even fully thought it through.

he stood up, grabbing the card he tucked it into his coat. you looked up at him, eyes twinkling.

“bye carm.”

“bye pen.”

“you’ve got to calm down.” sydney had found herself at the end of an almost accident. carmy had forgotten the safe word, and nearly ran into sydney, who was carrying a large pot of boiling water.

she had set the pot down, realizing that there was something wrong with carmen.

carmy ignored her, and continued to furiously cook.

“hey-“ sydney put a hand on his shoulder but that seemed to make it all worse. carmy flinched, and dropped his spatula. he stepped back and shook his head, “back off, chef.”

“carm-“

“now.” his tone cut deep, and sydney nodded, annoyed with his response, she went back to work.

carmy’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. wind cut at his face, weaving through all the people on his way to the gallery.

he had checked the date and time multiple times, all day. he wanted to get it right, be there for you like you were for him. it had been a week since opening night, and he had thought about you every single night since.

you waited for him. people kept coming up to you, congratulating you on your new work, but none of it mattered. the work wasn’t for them, it was for him. and he was late.

“i could stay-“ carmy looked around nervously, eyes darting anywhere but the pools of pain in your eyes.

“no.” you bluntly said, “you will not stay here. you cant stay here. trust me carmen, you’re better off.” you had come to terms with the fact that if he stayed, he would be another mikey.

that’s why you had begged mikey not to let carmy work at the beef. he would never leave if he did.

carmy sighed, exhausted from the hours of arguing, “we’ll talk every day. i’ll- i can make time, between class-“ he tripped over his own words, and you had to stop him before it got worse.

“carmy-“ the way you looked at him made him realize that this was it. there was not going to be any calls, or any relationship because you were breaking up with him.

“i got into art school. i’ve been wanting to tell you, but i hadn’t made a decision.” you paused, “this is what’s best for both of us, bear.”

you had spotted him walking in. in the sea of pretentiousness, there he was. his wool jacket, perfect against the chilly weather, it had reminded you of all those winters during school.

“carmy!” you called his name, and waved him over. he weaved through to you, and greeted you with a hug and a kiss, “hey.”

he looked around at all artwork, “looks incredible.” he realized that along with sculptures, you had paintings as well. it was a cohesive collection, something that would definitely get talked about.

but as he looked at more work, he realized with a pang what the theme was. you followed him as he walked all around the gallery, until he finally got the main piece of work.

it was behind a rope, a blue velvet rope on all four sides as carmy, in statue form, looked out into the room of people.

“holy shit-“ he sounded breathless, eyes glued to a perfect posed, stone version of himself.

you watched his expression, unable to decipher how he was feeling. whether he was happy about it or not, you couldn’t tell.

more people came behind you to admire the statue, and carmy looked away, “is that it?” you nodded, and reached out, “come on, there’s one more thing, exclusive for the muse.”

muse, he whispered under his breath. he was your muse.

you took carmy to the office of the gallery. you had set up shop there, your belongings were scattered across the desk. you walked up to the desk, and leaned against it.

carmy walked in after you, and looked expectantly at you. you sighed, “you were the reason i came back. this,” there was a window where the statue could be seen, along with other pieces inspired by him. “was for you. you’ve been something that i’ve been trying to make right.”

carmy shook his head, “i’m not some broken toy that you can fix, penny.” your nickname cut like a blade in that moment and you exhaled. “i know that.” you replied, “i just- i cant get you out of my head, carmy. for years i’ve tried,” you stood up off the desk, and walked towards him.

carmy instinctively wrapped his hands around your waist, sitting them perfectly on your curves. you both remained silent as you got closer. but he was pulling you in too, just too close for comfort.

“come on, bear.” you whispered, nose dragging across his cheek, you closed your eyes and hoped he’d kiss you.

carmy shivered, his grip on you tightened as he kissed your cheek. it was soft, innocent almost. you opened your eyes, bringing your hands up to his face as you pulled him in for a kiss.

it was new. you hadn’t kissed him since you were teenagers. he was inexperienced, but he was willing to learn. but now as you kissed him, you realized that he’s kissed hundreds of people since then. but you didn’t care. you loved his taste, cigarettes and everything sweet.

he kissed you harder, his hands tightening on your hips that it was almost painful. you couldn’t help yourself, you pressed against him, carmy’s back digging into the wall behind him.

“fuck-“ you kissed him more, lips dragging from his to his neck. he shivered, but didn’t say anything as you began to kiss him lower and lower.

the bustling noise of the people outside broke him out whatever this was, and carmy put a hand on yours, which was right on his belt buckle. “not here.” he panted right into your lips, “later you can kiss it all off me, but not here.” he felt naked, those people out there were gawking at his stone figure like some lost greek artifact.

he couldn’t do it now.

you nodded, lingering in his eyes, “of course, bear. time and place, i’ll be there.” you leaned in for a kiss, which carmy happily gave away. a part of him wondered what this would be. he couldn’t think, he wouldn’t.

“i’ll- im gonna go, pen.” he had taken a minute, looking at the door for a moment before opening it. he exhaled deeply, stepping out as the door shut behind him.

you watched him walk, his broad back being lost in the crowd of onlookers. you tried to ignore the urge to smile, but even then, you couldn’t hide it.

[strang3lov3]

Downpour

Jack offers you a ride home, pulls over to wait out the storm, and fucks you. (4k)

Tags - smut, fingering, oral (f! receiving) hand jobs, unprotected piv, infidelity (Jack is married still), dirty talk, pet names (darling, sweetie, sweetheart, dear), unspecified age gap, kissing, finger sucking, bit of comeplay/come eating, reader has a bush but is otherwise undescribed #bushnation, Jack is all sweet and tender but kinda pervy too, i've headcannoned that mr. delroy is a man who comes a lot. like just so much come. references to late night with the devil but this fic can be understood without watching the movie, I write car sex uniquely in that I am not bound by physics or logic or any bullshit like that. So it’s like a Mary Poppins bag in there. Lots of room for fucking. No, don’t ask questions. Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Fic Help - @noxturnalpascal thanks for your help sweetheart ♡ i love you forever A/N - the David Dastmalchian brain worms infected me months ago and have not let me rest, so here’s this. Car sex with an older and married Jack Delroy.

I feel a little nervous about writing Jack, as I feel with all characters that are new to me. It takes me some time to find my groove. Kind comments would be appreciated 💕 maybe a prompt or two in the inbox for me to play around with if you wanna see more of him 🙏

  As Night Owls comes to a close for the evening, and laughter and chatter begin to fade out, you busy yourself tidying up your station. Cleaning your makeup brushes, packing away your supplies for the weekend. You watch the television in your room and see Jack waving goodbye, shaking audience members’ hands. He’s so handsome tonight. He’s handsome every night.

You’ve been working as a makeup artist on Night Owls for about a year now. It’s a job you kind of stumbled your way into. You had won a raffle ticket to watch Night Owls live show. You were so excited to go and yet you don’t even remember who the guest was that night. You went alone, and found yourself charmed by the show’s host, Jack Delroy. While on commercial break, while the television crew changed the set, you noticed Jack glancing at you as you touched up your makeup, fidgeting and tapping his foot. You offered him a kind smile, and he approached you. 

“Jack Delroy,” he said, holding out his hand. You took it, and he kissed the backs of your fingertips. Starstruck, you giggled and gave him your name, tripping over the syllables. “Beautiful name, darling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy.” 

Jack held your hand longer than what was appropriate. Realizing this, he quickly dropped it. “So, I apologize, but I'm about to be very forward. Gosh, this is very embarrassing,” he laughed awkwardly, then scratched the back of his neck. “I get a little oily in the face. The lights, you know. You wouldn’t happen to have like, a…” he trailed off, stuttering as he tried to find the right words.

You smiled and held up a finger, then dug through your makeup bag for some Mary Kay Beauty Blotter sheets your friend had given you. “Here.” You held the pack sheets out for the handsome talk show host. “Would these help?”

Jack took the sheets from you and inspected them. 

“And this,” you added, handing him your mirror compact. “You just press one of the sheets against your skin.” 

Jack grinned kindly, then took one of the small sheets and pressed it on his forehead and his long, gorgeous nose. “You are a lifesaver,” he said. “There. This is much better. I’m almost as pretty as you now, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed and you looked down at your lap to hide your smile. 

“Apologies, I’ve been told I'm a chronic flirt.” 

“I don’t really mind,” you told him softly.

Jack pressed his lips together in a smile and nodded, then sat in the empty seat next to you. “Alright,” he said, “This is an odd question,  but I’d like to toss it out there anyway because you seem to know what you’re doing with this kind of stuff. We’re short a makeup artist here at Night Owls. It’s unorthodox, I know, but you wouldn’t happen to be interested in–”

You gasp. “I’d love to. Yes.”

“--Being our makeup artist,” Jack finished, chuckling at your excitement. 

“Sorry, I just - oh god, I’d really love to,” you gushed. Jack opened his mouth to speak further, but was called back to set. 

“Stick around after the show, will you?” Jack winked.

“I will, Mr. Delroy.” 

And that’s how it happened. The job was simple: A little powder here, moisturizer there, hairspray to seal it all off. Nothing complicated, and it paid well. Lots of perks and advantages, like meeting TV stars and music artists. You consider yourself lucky. 

Perhaps your favorite part of the job is getting Jack ready for his shows. You’re no stranger to his handsomeness, but it’s special to experience it the way you do. To wash his face, moisturize it, paint a little makeup on his skin - as if he even needs it. “Make sure you cover up my crows feet, please, darling,” Jack said, pointing to his perceived flaws in the mirror. “Gosh, I’m getting so old. Don’t get old.” 

“Noted,” you told him. 

“And my hair, could you use a bit of that makeup to cover up my grays? They look so much worse on the screen.” 

Your heart broke a little. He’s always asked you to cover his wrinkles, but covering his grays was new. You hate doing it. That’s your least favorite part of the job. 

“Oh, but they don’t look so bad, Mr. Delroy.” You combed your fingers through his hair, inspecting the silvery strands he complained about. They look so beautiful against the inky black rest of his hair.

“Jack,” he corrected. “Just Jack. Who says they don’t look so bad?”

“I um…” you hummed, nervously messing with his hair. “Just fans, some of your fans kind of like it.” 

“Do they, now?” Jack teased, his eyebrow cocked. He laughed at your bashfulness as you stuttered something in defense. So shy, so sweet.

Jack loves you all the same. He loves the special affection he gets from you as you get him ready each night, he loves getting to peek down your shirt. But he plays the gentlemanly act well, never going further than a little harmless flirting. It’s fun to make you squirm, tease you for your little crush on him. He’s not oblivious to it. 

When the Night Owls theme finally ends and the studio lights go out, you get a phone call at your station. You hold the receiver up to your ear. “Hello?” 

“It’s Shar,” the voice says. Sharon is your roommate, and also your ride to and from work most nights. She drops you off at the studio before her shift, then picks you up after the show ends each night. Tonight, however, she’s at a party. “I met this guy, and I wanna go home with him. So that means…” Sharon doesn’t finish the sentence. She sounds guilty. 

“But you’re my ride, Shar,” you complain. “And they’re saying it’ll rain. What am I gonna do?”

“I promise I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? Don’t be mad. You’re not mad.” 

“Sharon,” you groan. 

Sharon says your name. “Just listen - he’s so fucking hot, seriously. He’s like a movie star.”

“A movie star, huh?” 

“Don’t judge. Like you wouldn’t fuck Jack Delroy if you could. You know what, why don’t you ask him for a ride?” Sharon teases.

“No way, not happening. He’s married, and his wife is sick. Absolutely not.” 

“Pussy.” Sharon pauses. “If you really don’t have another way home, I’ll come get you.” 

“No, no. It’s fine. I can take the bus, I guess. But you owe me.”

“I do owe you,” Sharon says, “I owe you so much. I love you. Bye. Be safe.” 

“You be safe,” you quip. “Condoms.” 

Honestly, you’re not mad. Is it an inconvenience, sure. But Sharon works hard and deserves a nice night, and she’s right - you’d fuck your movie - television - star crush if you could too. You’ve taken the bus before, and it’s usually empty this time of night. It’ll be fine. 

You grab your purse, pull your knit cardigan over your torso and walk out of the studio, down the hall, then take the elevator down to the lobby. Through light rain, you walk down the street until you’re at a bus station, then sit down on the bench. A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, causing you to shiver and pull your cardigan tighter around your body as you wait for the bus. 

At least you don’t have to wait for long, though. Headlights approach, and the vehicle slows down. Except, it’s not the bus you were expecting. It’s a cerulean ‘74 Buick Electra, Jack’s car. He pulls over and leans across the seat to crank the window down. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for the bus,” you yell. Rain’s starting to come down harder, now, soaking your clothes. Jack makes a face and motions for you to get into his car. You wave him off, “It’s okay. It shouldn’t be much longer.” 

“Nonsense! Get in the car.” 

“It’s really okay, Mr. Delroy.”

Jack rolls his eyes. He gets out of his car and rounds the front of it, then takes your hand and pulls you up from the bench. “I’m not asking. I am telling you, as your boss, to get in my car.” 

Jack opens the passenger door and ushers you inside, then shuts your door and gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s supposed to be the storm of the century out there, and you’re gonna let it blow you right away. Crazy girl.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy,” you murmur sheepishly. 

Jack puts the car into first gear and takes off. “What’ve I told you about calling me Mr. Delroy? Jack, sweetie. Just Jack.” 

“I’m sorry, M- Jack.”

“Too sweet for your own good, you know that? Always so polite. Where am I taking you, sweetheart?”

“It’s a little bit far. You’re just gonna take this road for a while,” you instruct. “And then I’ll tell you where to turn. I’m not in the city proper.”

“Must be nice,” Jack replies. “Quiet.” 

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not usually. My roommate is kind of noisy.” 

Jack chuckles. “The roommate days, gosh. I don’t miss those a bit.” He pauses, thinks of something to say to fill the silence. “You don’t usually take the bus, do you?”

“Not usually, no,” you answer. “My roommate gives me a ride most of the time. But she ditched me tonight, so…” 

“That’s a real shame.” 

The rain starts to pick up a little more. Jack squints and at the road and increases the speed of his windshield wipers. He tries talking to you, but you can’t hear him over the drumming of rain against his car. Thunder booms, the drumming becomes louder and the windshield is nearly impossible to see out of. Jack has slowed the car down to a crawl, but when hail begins to fall from the sky, he pulls over. He shifts his car into neutral, then pulls the emergency brake to keep the car from rolling. Jack leans in close so you can hear him, “We’re just gonna wait out the storm, okay? It’s not safe to keep driving.” 

“Yeah, that seems smart,” you agree. You’re thankful Jack showed up when he did, and that he’s keeping you safe in his car. If you listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of music playing on his stereo. You still feel a little nervous, though. Maybe it’s the storm, or the jitters of being alone with Jack - older, married, handsome Jack. You shiver in your wet cardigan. 

“You’re cold,” Jack says. He tugs on your sweater, “Let’s get this off of you, huh? Not gonna let you catch a cold on my watch.” He peels the sweater off of you entirely, then lays it in his backseat. “And look, watch this–” Jack presses a button on his dashboard, a little orange light glows beneath the tiny image of a seat. Within a few seconds, the leather underneath you begins to warm. “Neat, huh? That should warm you up nicely.”

You still look cold, it’s evident in the way you hold yourself. Shoulders curled inward, hands clasped together. Jack thinks about holding you close, using his body to warm yours, but decides against it. You want it too, but you’ll never initiate touch. 

You look out of the raindrop-covered window at the creepy woods off to the side, the trees illuminated by the lightning. Jack sees the worry on your face reflected on the glass. “Everything alright, sweetie?”

“It’s just the woods,” you answer. “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I’ve heard about…I don’t know. Scary stuff happens there.”

“Like what?”

“Satanic rituals or something. The occult, that kind of stuff. I’ve heard about it on TV.”  

Jack lies to assure you, “It’s all make-belive,” he says, pushing down his own memories of The Grove. The sickly sweet smell of decaying leaves, sticks and branches crunching beneath his feet. The cold, metallic cup against his lips, that awful taste of whatever it is he drank. “But don’t look at the woods. Just look over here, right at me.” Jack turns your face toward his, then taps your nose. “There’s that beautiful smile.” 

You grin even wider. You know it’s just his nature, that it’s his job to be charming and likable, charismatic and sweet. It makes you feel so special and seen nonetheless. 

Jack smiles too. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He admires the details in your face for a minute, your perfect nose, sparkling eyes, your pretty lips. His eyes travel lower, tracing the endlessly beautiful curves of your body - breasts, waist, hips, thighs. There’s a rip up high on your nylons, just below your ridden-up skirt. He furrows his brows and touches your bare skin with his finger, “What happened here?”

“Oh.” You touch the tear with your finger, just a hair away from Jack’s. “My cat, Felix. He ripped my tights.” 

“Sounds like Felix is a real troublemaker, huh?”

“Oh, he can be,” you giggle quietly. “But I love him anyway.” 

Jack keeps his finger on the hole in your nylons, now drawing lines back and forth over your thighs with the rest of his fingers. Little goosebumps erupt on your skin in their wake. “You’re still so cold, darling. What am I gonna do with you?” Another shrug, another shy smile. “Come here,” Jack whispers. He wraps his strong hands around your legs and pulls you across the seat so that your legs are lying across his, and your torso curled into his own. Fuck, he smells good. His cologne is musky and spicy and masculine. You’re so close, Jack can feel your heart pounding nervously. But he says nothing about it, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Instead, Jack just gazes at you warmly, still tracing patterns on your leg. “You’re such a gorgeous girl, have I ever told you that?”  He pushes a bit of your hair behind your ear, sending tingles down your neck and spine.

“Jack,” you whisper, elongating his name. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious, darling. If only I were a younger man…If I hadn’t married…” He moves his hand from your ear to your mouth, pulling down on your bottom lip with his thumb. God, you’re so soft. Desire is building within Jack, taking control over his sensibilities. And you, too young and enchanted by Jack fucking Delroy to listen to any inhibitions in your head telling you that you should stop this.

 Jack pushes his thumb past your lips and you suck on it gently, so gently, the blunt little edges of your teeth tickling his fleshy skin. Arousal quickly builds in Jack, the sensation overwhelming him and bubbling over. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and holds your cheeks in both of his hands, inching closer to you bit by bit. Jack licks his lips, he’s about to do it. Finally, he does. Jack closes the gap between you by pressing his lips against yours, kissing you softly. He’s relaxed and controlled, but the way you kiss him is desperate and a little tentative. In time and with encouragement from Jack, how he squeezes you and growls against your lips, you find your confidence. You kiss him fervently, tasting him, savoring the softness of his tongue. 

Jack takes your hand and presses it against his warm bulge. You gasp, “But your wife–”

“Shh, quiet. She’s not here, now is she?” 

“N-no,” you stutter.

“No. It’s just us. You-” Jack unzips his pants and pulls his rock-hard cock out of his boxers. He spits into your palm and has you hold his length, then closes his hand around yours. “-And me.” 

With your hand under Jack’s, he pumps his cock. “Oh, that’s good. You’re my good girl,” he breathes. 

Jack grips his cock tighter and kisses you again. “Oh, Jack,” you moan. Jack helps you to stroke him from base to tip, your pinky finger brushing against that patch of coarse hair at his pelvis, thumb rubbing over his weeping head. 

“Just like this, darling. All the way up, all the way down. Just like this. You’re doing so well.” 

Jack twitches in your hand as you feel every thick vein and ridge on his cock. He urges you to pump him faster and at the same time, touches you. He gropes your breasts first, breasts he’s dreamed of touching since he first laid eyes on you. He unbuttons your blouse and slides his hand beneath your bra to squeeze your flesh, tease your nipples. Jack relishes in your body, how supple, soft, warm and wanting you are. You touch him like you love him and Christ, Jack can’t wait to bury himself inside you. Feel that warm, wet embrace of a young woman’s cunt. 

“Do you let other men touch you like this, sweetheart?” Jack asks, unzipping your skirt and shoving his hand down the front of your nylons. He toys with the arousal-dampened hair that’s spattered on your mound, then slips his fingers past your lips. “Older men, huh? Married men?” 

“N-no, Jack. Just you. Only you.”

“Do you like being touched like this?” You stutter out a frantic, breathy ‘yes’. “Dirty girl. It’s always girls like you.” 

Jack circles your clit with his fingertips, then presses two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. “Distracted, are we?” he murmurs as your hand that strokes his cock slows to a still, so focused on how Jack pleasures you that you forget about his needs.

 “H - what?” Jack chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze to remind you. “Oh, I’m s - sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” God, you are such a precious girl, and Jack is a lucky man. He breaks away from you just for a moment to undress himself, shoving his pants down his thighs and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Once bare, Jack turns to you and finds that little tear in your nylons again, then rips the hole wider up the garment. He yanks the nylons and your panties off of your legs and puts them with the rest of his discarded clothes, tucking them away for later. He removes your skirt next, followed by your bra and your blouse. You breathe heavily as Jack takes in your naked form, even more beautiful than he pictured. He needs you now, needs to taste you.

Jack pushes you gently onto your back, laying you out across the bench seat before sinking to his knees on the floor of his Buick. He wraps his strong forearms around your still rain-cold thighs and pulls you close, close enough so that you can feel his hot breaths on your slick pussy. Jack could eat you alive right now.

He spits on your pussy, then rubs your folds with his fingers, paying special attention to your clit. He spreads your lips wide and admires your shiny, glistening center. “My, look at this mess,” Jack marvels, admiring your creamy arousal. He tastes you then, pressing a soft kiss against your core. Jack inhales deeply, taking in your scent, feeling your hair against his shaven face. His tongue darts from between his lips and he licks you up and down, dipping his tongue inside you. 

“Jack, oh my - yes,” you gasp, your hands tugging on his graying strands of black hair. Jack slowly licks a long stripe up your seam with his tongue flat against you, all the way from your asshole to clit. “Jack.”

The mess he’s reduced you to. All broken moans, desperate, needy cries of his name. Jack smiles against your cunt and continues licking and lapping at the sensitive part of you. He traces your folds, sucking them between his lips. He draws circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue next, driving you wild. “You like this, darling, don’t you? You like having this pretty pussy eaten?”

All you can do is nod. Jack closes his lips around your clit and sucks, causing you to clamp your thighs around his head and pull his hair tightly between your fingers. Jack forces you apart so that all you can do is take it, all that relentless, smoldering pleasure. 

Jack intensifies it all by pushing a finger inside you and curling it, stroking that sensitive part of you. Within seconds you’re coming, rocking your hips against his face as you ride out your high. 

There’s barely a comedown. Jack crawls over your body, one foot planted on the floor of the car and the other kneeling on the seat. He reaches behind the front seat for his suit jacket and bunches it up, then fits it between your head and the passenger door. “Don’t want your pretty little head to get hurt is all,” Jack says. 

He holds his cock between his thumb and his forefinger before he lines up with your entrance. His cock is big, perfectly lengthy and girthy. You tense up a bit as he fits his cockhead inside of you, “Easy, darling. Take it all for me,” he coos. 

You inhale deeply, and on your exhale Jack pushes himself inside of you in full. “Ohhh,” you moan. It’s such a tight fit, he fills you so fully. The aching burn of the stretch takes time to dissipate as Jack rubs your hip. After a moment, Jack pulls out of you, then inches his way back in. Your face previously scrunched in pain is now relaxed, soft little noises of pleasure escaping your lips. “That’s it, good girl,” Jack says. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Jack laces his fingers between yours and uses his other hand to brace himself on the back of the car seat. Jack begins thrusting, not quite fucking you gently. It builds quickly, the pace both harder and faster. Jack rocks his hips into you at that perfect angle to have you writhing on his cock, the head of it kissing the most sensitive place inside of you over and over. You bury your face into him, the hair on his chest tickling your face. 

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, fucking you deeper. He knows he should be more gentle than this, but he can’t be helped. He loses himself inside of you, growling like an animal as he fucks his cock into you. You’re squirming beneath him, muscles tensing against his as you begin to cry, overwhelmed by it all. “Such a filthy fucking girl, crying on my cock. You’re okay, sweetie.” 

Jack rolls his hips quickly and fluidly so that his pubic bone is grinding against your mound, the friction inching you closer and closer to a second release, but it isn’t quite enough. You rock your hips to match Jack’s thrusts, needing more against your clit. “M-More please, Jack,” you beg. “I wanna come, Jack, make me come again.”

While still fucking you, Jack spits onto two of his fingertips, then fits his hand between your bodies. He finds your sensitive bud and rubs it, using the momentum of his thrusts to bring you to climax once more. “Come for me, sweetheart. Give - fucking give it to me.”

Jack rounds your clit with his fingers, putting harder pressure against it. In moments, you’re coming for him again, this orgasm more intense than the last. Your moans are louder, more frantic. Your face scrunches in pleasure as you pulse around Jack’s cock, urging his own release along. “Good girl, good fucking girl.”

 Jack growls into your ear as he spills into you, milking himself entirely. He fills you with his come, so warm inside you, the throbbing of his cock so pleasurable and satisfying. Dampened with sweat, Jack presses his forehead against yours as he fucks you through his orgasm, then slows to a still. He hisses a little when he pulls out of your cunt, his spend dripping from your hole onto the leather. Jack collects this mess with his finger, then pushes the digit into your mouth as he catches his breath.

It’s all quiet, save for a few scattered raindrops and the sound of you and Jack both catching your breath. Jack breaks the silence. “Well hey, how about that. The storm passed, huh? Was really something, too. I’m glad we pulled over,” Jack laughs nervously. He helps you dress yourself as best as he can, then haphazardly dresses himself too. You smile a little, and Jack touches your face. “You alright, darling?”

“I’m okay,” you answer, still a little tearful. Jack smiles sympathetically and pulls you into his side, then shifts his car into gear. 

“Well, let’s get you home, then.” 

-

TY for reading! Comments, reblogs, all of that good stuff would be so appreciated ♡

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Hi! Can I please request 1 and 16 for Cassian x reader 🥹

“He treats me well-" "Okay good for you." "-but he isn't you."

Cassian x Reader

wc: 1.3k

a/n: so i couldn’t decide how i wanted to combine those 2 different prompts so i’m just writing 2 separate cassian fics i’m sorry. working on the other one right now, but for now here’s this!

warnings: angst, slight suggestiveness at the end

prompt list

Cassian was sick of it. He was sick of watching you date these undeserving males, fall in love with them, and then get your heart broken. Every single time, you run to him to console you. And every single time, he wipes away your tears and assures you that somewhere out there, there is someone who will love you and treat you right. Little do you know, he’s silently praying to the Mother that one day he can be that person for you. Not so silently, he prays that the stupid prick that broke your heart will drown in the Sidra, which usually earns a laugh from you.

Currently, Cassian was trying to keep the irritated expression off of his face as you told him about your most recent date with some new guy.

“He even paid for dinner! How sweet of him, right Cass?” You ask excitedly.

Bare fucking minimum, Cassian thought.

“That’s great y/n.” The words come out a bit more annoyed than intended, making you frown.

“What’s your problem?” You ask.

“Nothing.” He mutters.

“Bullshit, Cass. Did I do something to piss you off?” You try to think back over the past few hours to remember what you did to upset him, but nothing comes to mind.

“I just don’t really care to hear about yet another male that you think is your one true love, who will inevitably break your heart in a week.” You stare at him, stunned.

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to talk about my love life to my best friend.” You argue stubbornly. He lets out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t call getting broken up with every other month a love life, sweetheart.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but it was too late.

“Fuck you, Cassian.” You storm off before he can even apologize.

———

Unsurprisingly, the new guy ended up being a jerk and stood you up the following evening. You had waited at the restaurant for over an hour, earning apologetic looks from the waitress.

Cassian tried to act casual while he sat on the couch at the House of Wind, waiting for you to return from your date. He picked up some random book that Azriel had left and began scanning the pages when you winnowed home. Cassian can’t help but let his eyes roam over you, admiring your stunning figure accentuated by your dress. As soon as his gaze reaches your face, he notices the tears threatening to spill and stands up immediately. He debates walking over to comfort you with a hug or letting you come to him, still unsure if you are mad at him.

“I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’ And I know you don’t want to hear about my dating life anymore, so I’m going to bed.” You rush from the room quickly, leaving Cassian alone once again.

Yeah, you’re definitely still mad. Cassian has to fight the urge to follow you. He knows how your brain spirals in these situations, blaming yourself and doubting your self-worth, all because of a stupid male. He wants so badly to go up to your room and console you. He wants to wipe your tears like always and say some idiotic joke to make you laugh. More than anything, he wants to reassure you that this isn’t your fault. But he can’t, so he just sighs and sits back on the couch, picking up the book again.

———

It had been a few weeks since you and Cassian had a proper conversation, both of you too stubborn break the silence first. There had been a few short exchanges, usually just during training or when others were around, but the tension was apparent to everyone.

Cassian had heard from Mor that Feyre set you up with one of her artist friends, Kallum. He can’t be mad at his High Lady for doing what she thinks is best for her friend, but gods he was pissed about it.

You had gone on several dates with him over the past few weeks. He overheard you telling Feyre about them, describing the romantic gesture that Kallum made recently.

Was this it? Would this be the male who finally stole his best friend from him for good? If this male is a friend of Feyre’s, he must be a good guy.

Cassian hurries past the sitting area, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but somehow you catch his eye. He can’t help but notice the flicker of sadness in your stare.

———

After four weeks of stubborn silence, you approach Cassian at training.

“Hey.” He turns to you, surprised.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He notices that you’re picking at your nails, a nervous habit from when you were a kid.

“So, I’m bringing Kallum to dinner tomorrow evening. To meet everyone.” You say awkwardly.

Oh.

“I know you and I are still in a weird place, but can you please be nice? I want to make a good impression and see what everyone thinks of him.” You bit your bottom lip nervously.

“Why do you care what we all think of him?” He huffs.

“Because I care what my family and friends think of the person I’m dating.” You counter defensively.

“Do you really? Or do you need us to like him in order to convince yourself you like him too?” You scowl, but Cassian has that stupid cocky smirk on his face. He’s not wrong, which only pisses you off more. You had tried desperately to like Kallum. He’s a nice guy and he seems to like you a lot, but you just couldn’t find a spark between you two.

“He’s a good guy Cassian!” Your face turns red and you are too flustered to come up with a more clever response.

“If you say so.” Cassian rolls his eyes. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not him.

“He is! He treats me well!” You argue.

“Okay, good for you.” He says sarcastically. You stay silent for a long moment. Cassian turns to leave, not wanting to argue any longer.

“He treats me well…but he isn’t you.” You say softly.

Cassian freezes. Surely, he misheard you. He turns back to face you and is faced with the vulnerable expression on your face.

“Seeing as you don’t seem to want to be my friend anymore, there’s no point in hiding it any longer.” He takes a long stride towards you and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re right. I don’t want to be friends anymore.” Cassian presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. You melt into his touch and tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss quickly turns heated, and you let out a soft moan. Cassian pulls away, and you give him a confused look.

“As much as I want to continue this, sweetheart, I plan to take you to dinner first. I want to show you how you deserve to be treated on a date.” He leans in close, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear. “And then maybe I can show you how you deserve to be treated in bed as well.” Your face turns bright red, and you nod. Cassian lets go of you, but you pull him in for another kiss, this one lasting a bit longer than the last.

“I should probably go break up with Kallum.” You giggle between kisses. Cassian growls at the mention of another male’s name and pulls you closer.

“That is the last breakup you are ever going to have. I’ve waited 500 years for this, I’m sure as hell not going to mess it up.”

Feel free to keep requesting prompts :-)

prompt list

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve and Chrissy as two internet-famous chefs/bakers, Steve with a channel focusing on (not always) easy homemade and nutritious meals, Chrissy with a baking channel full of body positivity to spite her mom.

They both get invited to something like Phoning It In from the Try Guys - a baking/cooking competition where they have to guide the actual chefs only through a pay phone. As the TG's show says: "the mind of a chef paired with the hands of an idiot". And the idiots in question are their best friends - Robin and Eddie. Which shouldn't be that bad, but then...they actually have to swap them. And they can't tell them what they're making.

It's a holiday episode so the theme is gingerbread.

Steve is slumped in the phone booth, sometimes covering the receiver and asking Chrisy why, why would her best friend refuse to measure ingredients in anything more precise than "a bit", "a bit more", "kinda enough", "oooh might be a bit too much" and "a fuckton".

Chrissy tries very hard to explain to Robin that artistic expression is an amazing thing, but hot sauce and gingerbread might be too artistic for the judges. Robin disagrees. Chrissy pleads with her and eventually talks Robin into just including some chilli flakes in her batter and not the hot sauce as a topping.

Eddie spends half of the prep time complaining to Steve that a gingerbread house is lame, it should have been a gingerbread castle. Robin agrees.

Robin deciding to give her tiny gingerbread men flannel shirts and spending way too much on decorating them. She runs out of time very soon and just writes "THIS IS FLANEL" into a shirt-shaped blob.

Steve and Eddie shamelessly flirting despite having never met each other and then threatening violence in equal measure to get the other one do what they want. "I bet your eyes are more beautiful than the entire sky full of stars Stevie, also I might have dropped one extra spoon of spices into the gloopy thingy and I don't want to get my hands more dirty than they are so I'll just leave it in-" "Eds, you vile seductress, your voice could charm many a seaman but if you don't get that spicy glob out of the batter I swear I will shave your head."

Robin somehow going from following the instructions into a full rambling mode and before they know it, she's just cutting hipster-shaped gingerbread flanelmen and telling Chrissy nearly her full life story, basically turning the prep into a therapy session. Chrissy listens and nods and just sometimes interjects with "people can be such jerks just because you're different, can you just quickly check that the temperature is still the same? Thank you Robs, now back to that asshole in your uni class-"

In the end, they finally meet at the judging table and present their work, bullshitting their way through explanations of many choices that were made (because the two actual chefs are not permitted to speak, only the great minds).

Steve almost sobs when he sees piped (and very melted) bats on toothpicks around the gingerbread castle, because of course Eddie made a castle. "I meant for that to happen, for the shock value" he announces when one of the bats starts a domino effect and knocks down the rest.

Chrissy's smile gets a little bit stiff when she sees attempted man buns on the gingerbread men's heads - ones which have unfortunately melted and they now have flowing ponytails. Slightly burned.

Steve confidently claims that the reason why his gingerbread house is black and has spires is because his little brother adores Dungeons and Dragons and he wanted to give him a cool prop for the final encounter with the big evil. When the castle crumbles because Eddie didn't bake it long enough, Steve just dramatically stands up and announces that the evil warlock has been defeated. Eddie almost faints behind the screen and unceremoniously asks Robin if that gem of a man is taken.

Chrissy explains how the gingerbread men are wearing flanel in honor of her best friend's uncle who is the flanel overlord. When the judges bite into the figures and taste the chilli flakes, Chrissy earnestly tells them that Eddie's uncle is a man with hidden depths and spicy personality (Eddie chokes on his own tongue at that) and Robin was kind enough to reflect that.

In the end, it doesn't matter who won. Eddie asks Steve (after he tastes the gingerbread bat, gingerbat) if he's still about to shave his head and Steve says it would be a shame, but he can make it up to him by inviting him for coffee. Robin awkwardly thanks Chrissy for listening to her and Chrissy admits she loved her rambling, that she hates it when it's quiet.

It all ends well (except for the gingerbread).

[thedream14]

I really love the idea of ​​Logan assuming that Wade has always been a mutant, only to find out in some random way that Wade was actually a “fail” experiment.

In his home universe, Wade Wilson was a human with extraordinary physical abilities and reflexes, but not a mutant. So, upon seeing his face for the first time in the Void, Logan automatically assumed that this variant of Wilson was definitely a mutant. Besides, it made sense that he wasn't a human. Deadpool could survive literally anything.

(superrrr Angst/Fluff stuff over here)

****

The prompt would go something like this:

One day, while walking through Central Park, they came across a small exhibition of mutant artists. This caught Logan's attention, as he has always openly supported any kind of mutant project.

Without explanation, he dragged Wade towards the exhibition. From the beginning, Logan could notice Wade's nervousness and discomfort. He had become strangely rigid in his movements and for once… He shut up voluntarily.

Feeling a little weird with his partner's attitude, Logan decided to get away from the crowd with Wade. Once in a more private place he asked:

- Ok… Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong with ya, bub ?

- Ahhhh nothing, noopeee, nada !

- You know that I can tell that you are lying, right? Like literally I can Smell it all over you…

- Well… It's pointless really… like really dumb. You don’t have to worry about it…

- Quit the bullshit, mouth! If it was a “dumb” thing, you wouldn't be like this. You didn't even comment on one of the paintings with a fucking tennis ball on it

- Gagged ! No pun intended.

- You fucking idiot - Snikt!

- Ok ok relax !!! Pull the kitty claws away…

- I swear, I never thought I'd say this, but starts talking Wade…

- Ok, it's just that... I felt a little out of place. All those mutants… like everybody was happy and talking to each other, I don't know... It's not that I have anything against mutants, of course not, I support the cause. I fuck with all the equal rights for mutants and stuff… it's just that, I don't know... I felt like I shouldn't be there... Also, what if you were recognized, Peanut? Then your community would associate you with me and let's be honest, almost nobody wants that... Nobody wants to be seen with lil old Deadpool, imma right?

Logan is a man of few words. He has always kept control of his thoughts and actions. There are very few times when he decides to remain silent, simply because his mind has gone blank. This is one of those times.

- Hey !!! Earth calling Wolvie… are you okay? Holy shit I think I talked too much again… Look, I’m reeeeeeally sorry…

- What the actual Fuck…

- Excuse me… what?

- Like What the actual Fuck, Wade… I don’t understand. How can you feel out of place among your own people? And what is all that shit about me being seeing with you?

After Seeing his partner's worried face, Logan decided to be a little gentler with his words. He didn't want to close the opportunity of communication between them. Also, Logan didn’t want to make him feel even more insecure.

He really didn't understand the situation and wanted to know what’s going through his lover mind. Soooo with an extreme delicacy, he grabbed his partner's hand and with a sweet gesture, he commented:

- Ok… Princess, don’t worry. I just… want to understand you. Please walk me through it…

- I mean… If you ask that kindly - Respond Wade with a small smile. - Like I told you, I don’t feel welcome between mutants at all… Like the X-men didn’t want me close…

- Fuck the X-men! If they don't want you around, it doesn't mean that any other mutant will feel good in your company. I love your company. As mutants we have to watch our backs together…

- Wait wait wait… I truly loveeee all this sweet speech of yours, I truly am… but peanut… Their is a detail. I’m not a mutant… or at least, I wasn’t born as one… you knew that, right? Righttt ???

Again, mind blank. This is a record, Logan should treat Wade with an ice cream as a reward.

- Ok… Well, I guess you didn't know

- How?

- Excuse me, love… How what exactly?

- How you become one? I mean… you are saying that you aren’t a mutant. Then what happened?

- Ohhh Peanut, buckle up for a sappy Origen story !!!

To say that Logan was not prepared for the story would be an overstatement. He had no words to describe the pain that was crossing his heart.

Logan could empathize with Wade's suffering, but fail to assimilate the fear and hopelessness that Wade probably felt in those darker times. It’s not easy to accept the end of the road when you have loved ones around you.

- And like I told you, I'm not exactly welcome anywhere… I'm not human enough to be well regarded on the streets and I'm not mutant enough to play nice with the X-Men and their little joy club. It's not like I want to be with them either... They're all idiots who can kiss my disfigured fucking ass ... But I'd be lying if I told you I wouldn't like to belong somewhere... I don't like feeling lost, Logan. That’s why I take good care of my family… That’s why I try to take a good care of you…

- Wade… I…

- Nope, no words Peanut. It’s ok. I’m used to it. I… I just need time. Besides, I don't want to cause you any trouble. Like I said, I want you to be happy. I don't want any doors to be closed to you because of me. I would hate myself even more if you were excluded because of me. That's why I'm worried that you'll be seen with me in such a public way…. I love you and I want the best for you, Logan…

- Wade… This is too much… I

- Ohhhh I’m sorry… I don’t want to be overwhelming… I just…

- No… It’s not that… It’s too much to process… I… Wade, I love you… I truly love you. I’m not good with words, but I could tell you how much I love you and how much I love and crave your company. I don’t give a fuck about anybody else… I want you by my side all the time.

- Ohhh Peanut, it’s ok…

- No, it’s not ok. Stop it. It’s not ok what you been through. It’s not fucking ok how you being treated and I swear to god, it’s not ok how you been excluded by the people that was supposed to help you… So fuck it ! Fuck them ! Fuck all of them !!! We don’t need them, princess !!! We are better without them !

- Come Logan, don’t say that ! That’s why I didn’t want to tell you…

- No, Wade. Don’t ever lie to me about this things. We are partners, lovers, whatever you want to call us. We are together. If you are not welcome, neither I am.

With even a greater gentleness, Logan released Wade's hands to hold his face. His eyes were tearful with emotion.

At that moment, Logan remembered how beautiful the love of his life truly was. He also made a promise to himself, he would never let anyone hurt Wade again.

- I need you to engrave this inside your head my princess, I would never be ashamed of loving you. Of holding your hands, kissing your face and hugging your body. I will never regret chosen you !

Immediately, Logan ended that promise of love with a sweet and slow kiss.

Wade did not deserve to be an open secret. Wade was his mutant lover and no one could change that fact.

***

I was cooking this in my sleepless nights… I need to rest, but my insomnia is severe and F up…

I hope you liked this 🤯

[starsomens]

Okay hear me out

Noah and the reader have been together for years and one day when he came back home preparing for a special date with the reader she came in and they had a huge argument because of fake dating rumours about him and someone else online and the reader goes back to where she originally lived and the guys promised her that they wouldn't let Noah go but eventually he does chase after her to explain everything but here's the thing the day of the date...

He was going to propose.

idk if you like this idea just something that came up in my mind at 3am I just need you to write a actual good version of my version

Love you so much❤

Hello my love! It did not ignore this it’s because I took THAT long to get it all done 😭

I will use Poppy as a place holder of the rumors for this ask. I DO NOT CONDONE SENDING HATE TO POPPY OR SUPPORT OR SPREAD ANY RUMORS OR SPECULATION ABOUT HER!

"Don't act like you don't love the attention you getting from her!" you yell back at him

"Are you fucking stupid? Do you fucking hear yourself?" he yells back

This was a very explosive argument. This was their biggest tour yet, and successful nonetheless! But...there of course is always a downside to things and in this case it was, rumors. Specifically, romance rumors with Poppy since he had been seen with her a few times. The first was at the release party where Noah was attending without you....then the tour started.

You were tagged in countless pictures and posts of Poppy and Noah how everyone was calling them a cute couple, asking about you and asking if you both had split. Then the handshakes started, no it wasn't a big deal but with everything piling on....her doing something like a handshake...something so cute....you only wanted it to be with you

He came home wanting to take you out but you were just so tired and over everything. You didn't even give Noah one of your long passionate kisses like you usually did

"Yeah I do! It sounds like one of us is making sense!"

"Goddamn it Y/N, what the fuck is your problem?"

"You and her are my problem!" you were trying hard to hold back tears and keep your voice strong

"Will you fucking grow up, she toured with us, she sang on stage-"

"She wore you jacket, she did handshakes with you, you twirl her-"

"Are you fucking kidding me? A twirl? How old are you 5?"

"You don't fucking get it Noah," you sigh sitting back down on the sofa massaging your temples "it's more than that-"

"No it's not Y/N! You're fucking jealous over an artist who toured with us! You're so fucking insecure you can't stand to think I'm talking or interacting with some girl I work with," he snapped "i bust my ass on tour, show after show and I come back only for you to put up this bullshit?"

"......"

"Yeah keep you're fucking mouth shut because you know you're on some bullshit letting social media dictate our relationship like the gullible dumbass you are!"

You felt your chest snap and you bite your inner cheek as you stand from the sofa and go near the front door.

“Y/N….Y/N wait, I didn’t mean that you know what I mean- it’s- you’re not-“

The door slams and you left your shared home. You just walked instead of taking the car and that way he just wouldn't know where you were since the car was home. You even texted Nick and Jolly to keep him at bay because you just wanted space and to be alone.

This is NOT how this night was supposed to go....at all. AT ALL! He wanted to come home, take you to your favorite place, some ice cream after and then ask you to-

*Knock knock*

It was Nick and Jolly, they had com initially to try and calm the situation down, mostly Noah and to figure out what happened and how it all went down hill. Well, Noah explained what had happened. He started to hear the story for himself from his own mouth, and he stopped in the middle of the story and just stood up from the couch.

“I need to find her.”

“Look man, I think she just wants her space this was a lot-“

“You don’t get it Nick I NEED to find her. One way or another I’m gonna talk to her and apologize”

They really did try and stop him. They tried to stop him from leaving the house, but somehow his lanky ass got out the door. He gone to the car and drove around for a few minutes thinking of where you could possibly be. He tried calling and texting you and you were completely ignoring him. He even asked your friends, but he knew that they wouldn’t give him any information knowing that if he told them, he upset you, they would never want to hear from him again.

“Come on think! Think!” He scolds himself “…….wait what if-“

He makes a sudden turn on his next right. There was one place he could try, it may have been a slight chance but he remembered you said that it was strangely cozy and calming to be there. And it was a close enough walk to get there in about 10 minutes or so

As soon as he makes it to his studio building, he parks quickly and makes his way to the door and upstairs. Usually he would like doing some studio work at Home, most times when he is in the studio it’s when he’s working with the rest of the boys or really just needs to focus into the song he’s working on. He had you with him couple times and you really liked it there. He had given you a copy of the key to the studio only because if you ever felt that you were unsafe or you needed somewhere to go he wanted me to be somewhere where people knew you and he knew you’d be safe there. It was more than an emergency type of thing for you to have the key, but this was the one place he knew that you may be in.

He he he thought that you may have not been there, but he heard the very familiar sniff of you when you were crying….shit.

He gives a knock to one of the tables as to not startle you. He sees you and walks over to you, huddled into a ball and you were facing away from him. You knew his presence was there, but you didn’t want to look at him he said.

“Hey…..” he has no idea why he would start that way when he knew that you wouldn’t answer that

“Y/N, look I know I fucked up and I shouldn’t have said what I said, and you know that I didn’t mean it. I never think of you that way-“

“ but you still said it. It Hass to be true for you in some part of your mind…..” wasn’t true at all. He was just spewing bullshit. He doesn’t think any of that you ever in his entire life.

“No I don’t. Y/N, was being stupid Oky? I didn’t mean anything when I said that. None of that is true. I’ve never seen you that way in my eyes you know that….im sorry.” he knew that no matter what his explanations were he still had to apologize to you and he really was sorry from the deepest parts of his heart. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the person he loved the most in this world.

His heart broke every time he heard you sniff, or he saw the very faint shape of a tear falling down your cheek

“Y/N…. You know when we started dating I had a really deep talk here actually with Nicolas. that’s when I told him that I was seeing you, but I also told him that I was really scared…” he admits, you never heard from him “ I was scared because I didn’t know I would be doing the right thing and I didn’t know if I knew how to be a good partner in a relationship, especially because of growing popularity of the band I was…afraid that it would scare you off”

You turn your head just a bit, but not completely as you listen to his story

“ and Nick gave me probably the best advice I could have for that moment. He told me that relationships wouldn’t be easy because they never are and I’m going to fuck up really bad sometimes….. and you’ll forgive me even though I fucked up really bad. You should have forgive me still did.

“I-“

“ if you don’t forgive me, I understand. But I need you to understand that I know in this world you’re…you’re my entire world at this point, my source of happiness. Was supposed to go this way. I had an entire thing planned and I fucked it up because I didn’t reassure you in the right way.”

“Noah I….maybe I was-“

“No you weren’t. I know what you’re going to say and you weren’t being overdramatic you weren’t being jealous. Miscommunication, but that wasn’t your fault. It was mine for not clearing it up. I wanted to do this in a different setting and a different way but…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny box. He opens it to reveal delicate, like it was personally crafted to his design.

“Noah…..” you just couldn’t pinpoint your mix of emotions. You were still mad at him but at the same time you should have known better than to believe rumors and he pulled out.

“Y/N, my princess, my world, my muse, my everything. You’re the reason I keep going and keep trying to be a better person. The amount of questions I’ve answered as to how I’ve been able to do so many things and accomplish so many obstacles and just improve myself as a person and an artist…. All my answers come back to you. You are the reason for everything. We had a lot of thinking to do and one of the constant thoughts in my mind was you….”

You turned around fully facing him, fat tears running down your cheeks, and all you could do was just guck at him while he poured his emotions out. You were mad at him you knew how hard it was for him to fully express himself emotionally.

“… constantly every issue, every decision I always went back to you and how he would feel and what you would say. I love you. I went to the local jewelers and looked at rings and I bought it without hesitation because I just knew. I’m an asshole, and a jerk,”

“And a big fat meanie pants” you throw in your inside joke and he chuckles

“Yes, the biggest meaniest pants in the world. But the one thing I know I’m sure of is that I love you and I don’t want to picture the rest of my life without you. Y/N….will you give me the honor of being your husband? If you’ll still have me.”

You chuckle as the tears still fall

“ you are the dumbest guy I’ve ever dated…..”

He could feel his heart sinking his chest, thinking that you were about to rip him a new one, and he wouldn’t blame you….

“But, you’re also the most sincere I’ve been with……Noah, somehow always find a way to make up for your wrongs and I have no idea how you do it” you giggle as you closer to him, he was still holding the box waiting for your response

“ as long as you promise you’ll make up for tonight I think I can marry you”

“Awh even after I poured my entire soul out to you?” he says, sarcastically holding a hand over his chest. “ I think I can work something out.”

“You better, I can take my back answer back” smile slides the ring onto your finger and hold your hand tightly

“Eh I don’t think so baby, you’re stuck with me for life now,” he slides his hand up your arm after he puts the ring on and gently squeezes and caress the skin with his thumb

“I really am sorry baby. Truly deeply sorry.” he stands up and holds your hands as he do to bring you up with him and he brings you into a hug as he repeatedly kisses your head. “ and makes it up to you. I think I know a way to put those rumors to rest.”

“You do?” You looking up at him and he gives you a nod

The next day, Noah takes it upon himself to get back onto his social media platforms and announce his engagement to you. He made sure to include some of his favorite pictures of you guys together and wrote a heartfelt small paragraph. Putting arrest to the rumors and addressing who it was in his life that he loved the most.

It was saved to say that the band and him had blown up over the next week with the engagement course, Noah wasn’t big on social media as he has stated before and it wasn’t a huge deal but him going out of his way to put a statement out there on your end his behalf really did mean something to you. Next step was to plan for the actual wedding.

[dear-slim]

i just keep thinking about Eminem reacting to this new rapper girl (that he have been helping out in the music industry) and she releases a new song that is full Slim Shady Coded and he gets shock

(me & friend keeps talking abt this but we can't find anywhere a fic like itt

Warnings: swearing

Pairing: Eminem x fem!reader

A/N - MY FIRST REQUEST 😍😍 I gotchu boo, and excuse the cringe song name I made up at 10pm, half drunk and half asleep.

Also ChatGPT made these lyrics so don’t mind me

And, I wasn’t sure what you meant by slim shady coded, like, as in, something slim would sing or something related to him.

Dating another rapper wasn’t really what you expected when you joined the industry. Of course, it came with its classic ‘she’s only famous coz of Em’ bullshit, but you never paid mind to it.

Both you and your boyfriend knew perfectly well that you were a hit even before he’d entered the scene with you. All he’d done was promote your music with you, all of which was your own shit.

In his own words, he’d done nothing but be a good and supportive boyfriend, and he was right. Now, you usually ran your songs past Em, you wanted to know his thoughts and if he could make them better. After all, trust the pro, right?

But this song was a little different. You didn’t even know how you’d managed to keep it under the wraps, writing down lyrics in your notebook and staying up past when Em had fallen asleep to brainstorm lyrics.

Em was a key part of your life, he was helping your throughout the rough patches in your career, and the little surprise you’d planned was definitely something he deserved.

“Yo Em,” he heard a voice as he walked into the studio. Usually he’d hang with you, so he was pretty surprised when he heard a male voice coming from behind him, as he turned to see his long-time friend, 50.

“What’s good?” Em said, a little dazed, as he gave his friend a fist bump nonetheless. “Was just listening to some samples from your girl,” 50 explained as Em raised a brow.

“Some samples, hm? What song? She ain’t been writing one for a bit,” Em said, his eyes narrowed a little suspiciously. Em managed to catch a CD that 50 had thrust had thrust chest, as he walked over to the player, still a little bemused.

It was unlike you to keep a song hidden from him, as the tune to some song started.

Welcome to the circus, where the clowns run free,

Life’s a wicked game, and I’m holding the key.

Got the world on a string, watch the puppets dance,

In a realm of absurdity, I’ll take my chance.

Holy shit, that was crazy. He hadn’t expected a sudden change of style…and wow, it was damn hot, actually. He found his cheeks tinged a slight pink ad he thought about it, how you’d look in the studio, with the lyrics…

Yo, I’m rolling with the Shady, chaos in his eyes,

Life’s a wild ride, no need for disguise.

He’s a lyrical genius, wrapped up in a mess,

With a heart full of fire, but he’s got his stress.

He’s the king of the madness, got me feeling alive,

In a world of illusions, he’s the one who’ll survive.

With every twist and turn, I’m right by his side,

In this rollercoaster life, it’s a hell of a ride.

Em had to genuinely take out the CD, coz this was madness. He’d have never expected to see this from his girlfriend, even if you were a badass rap artist, but this was crazy. And extremely hot, at the same time.

“50! I said wait til I was here to show him,” he heard your voice as he turned round, eyes locking in yours, his lips parted in shock slightly as you flashed him a grin. “So?” you said, asking for his opinion as he spluttered, unable to formulate a sentence.

“Im taking that as a good sign,” you laughed nervously as he coughed. “A good sign?” he said, jaw going slack as he stared at you, “baby, this is amazing, this is gold!”. A proud smile jumped to your face at his words, cheeks tinged red.

“You think?” you asked a little sheepishly. “I think? No, baby, I know!” he said, hands coming to squeeze at your shoulders. This was gonna be a damn hit, and he was not complaining. Simply, just, further proof his girl deserved to be in the game.

[thatdogmagic]

Remember this smug as hell post?

Well, keep it in mind.

I'm going to give some people here the benefit of the doubt and go into this post with the assumption that they genuinely don't know how fucking awful the Tumblr """"porn filters"""" are for images deemed - or reported by users as - 'NSFW.'

This is a rehash of everything I wrote out before, but it's going over all of it in one big post, because this issue with community labels moves well beyond debates over what is and isn't NSFW. There are doublestandards within doublestandards, and no way at all for artists and creators to know for sure if their post is going to get blacklisted.

We're not merely talking about the fact that these filters exist. We're talking about the fact that they are wildly inconsistent, and that reported images aren't seen initially by a person so much as an extremely stupid algorithm. That's why there's the option to say 'this ruling was made in error.'

There are literally no set guidelines for what qualifies as NSFW, and what doesn't, when it comes to nudity, and to what characters those guidelines actually apply. Staff rulings do not match up to one another. They legitimately do not make sense. You cannot divine how a ruling is going to end up, and it is infuriating that staff is jerking us around like this when the platform very clearly wanted artists like us back.

Not only that, they were, yes: that fucking smug about it. In case you forgot, that 'cheater' picture is talking about people who fled the NSFW ban specifically.

Examples follow:

Both of these images were caught by the filters, and then appealed. The first one was (visibly, as you can see) downgraded to Everyone, in spite of the character showing more secondary sex characteristics than the first (breast, visible nipple).

Similarly, a male character showing a pube fluff was left alone, even in spite of being cited in my appeal on the second image.

Last, there is, as noted, this readily available image of Felicia, that you can find by searching 'darkstalkers Felicia' on the search bar. Did people forget that she's bottomless, and those aren't panties?

Using fluff to cover junk is an age-old trick for characters like this. And it clearly isn't a problem with the male character.

Further, you can go through just about any archive and see a ton of images that were not subject to community labels, many of which are much more racy, and much more legitimately "NSFW."

So, yes, beyond the disgust of Tumblr staff treating any body like mine as filthy and inherently sexual in nature, this is also about a system that is arbitrary, penalizes artists for no good reason, and has deeply opaque standards. You never know when a piece of yours is going to run afoul of a bot, or what a staff ruling will ultimately be, or why the ruling is there in the first place.

And that's bullshit. If you think it's anything other than bullshit, you're being a contrarian ass. Especially since a forced label absolutely WILL kill your visibility, where compared to implementing the label yourself. It is punitive, it is punishing, and I will say again: it is completely unnecessary to jerk us around like this when the platform very clearly wanted us back.

And now that we are, we're back to being treated like garbage, constantly having to guess what the rules actually mean, how they apply, and to which sorts of bodies they apply, all while watching our viewcounts on contested posts eat ten kinds of shit.

tl;dr, do not talk to me about 'following rules' when the rules are so ill-defined as to be quite literally useless, to me, and to every other artist on this website.

[venusloverblue]

Now I understand

Billy Hargrove x Reader

words count: 766

summary: You and Billy are dating, but you have doubts as to why he was interested in you.

warnings: fluff, fluff and fluff

a/n: Hii everyone, I bring you another one shot of Billy. I must say I'm not a fan, in fact I don't think I like what I wrote, but I upload it anyway because I like to be embarrassed. If you see any grammatical errors, don't be afraid to tell me, it helps me with my English. With that I say byeee.

The wind blowing in through the open window of the Camaro hits you in the face, and in the background you hear a rock song from a band that your boyfriend listens to. You don’t talk to each other, but that doesn’t make the atmosphere uncomfortable, in fact, the silences between you usually feel comfortable.

“Babe, there’s a party tonight at Tina’s house, I’m going with the guys, do you want me to pick you up and we can go together?”

Dating Billy, one of the most popular boys, brings that on. There’s always a party at night at one of the popular guys’ house. Ever since he came to Hawkins he became a high school sensation, all the boys wanted his friendship and all the girls wanted to have him in their beds, that part you always tried to ignore for their sake.

You still didn’t know how you had gotten someone like Billy interested in someone like you, a girl who tried to go as unnoticed as possible. You were not interested in being popular, the only thing you wanted was to have good grades so you could go to a good college with a full scholarship, that way you would not generate more expenses to your parents than they already had.

That’s why you never expected the bad boy to look for you all over school looking for a date because he was curious about you, at first you thought it was some kind of joke that was going to leave you in a bad light, with that in mind you decided to deny him that date causing Billy to look for every possible way to get your attention so he could get a date with you. To the surprise of many, he succeeded and took you on a date where he impressed you with how gentlemanly he was and made you rethink your opinion of him.

After several dates, he proposed if you wanted to be his girlfriend in his blue Camaro under a starry night getting you to say yes to his question.

“Love, are you there?” Billy’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and brings you back to reality, where he asked you if you wanted to go to a party.

“Sorry, I was lost in my mind” You say to then answer the question he asked you at first. “I really don’t know Billy, next week I have a math test and you know I’m not very good at it.”

“I know, but this time you have to go to see me dethrone Harrigton from his throne.”

“Billy, you know how I feel about those things, they’re bullshit. Besides, I’ve already seen you dethrone Steve and the truth is that dragging you back to your car is not in my plans” With that the conversation ended because he had already parked at your house. You give him a kiss on the cheek and get out of the car, from his side there is no answer to your statement.

It is night time and you are in your room studying for your exam, you are listening to the music of David Bowie, one of your favorite artists. While you are about to turn pages in your study book you hear something knocking on your window, at first you think it’s some bird that crashed into your window, but after listening to it three more times you decide to see what it really was.

When you open the window you can’t believe what greets you, it’s Billy with his big smile, in his hand you could see some stones, with them he was trying to get your attention. You instantly went downstairs to open the back door of the kitchen, he comes in with a flirtatious smile that always left your legs shaking.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Tina’s party to dethrone Steve” In your voice can be heard the surprise of finding him there at that moment.

“I planned to go, but with you. So here I am to have a fun night of study with my girl” He grabs your waist and brings his mouth to yours planting a kiss that causes the butterflies in your stomach to awaken.

At that moment you understood why Billy was interested in you, maybe others don’t understand it and it’s because they don’t feel it. When you kiss him the world around you disappears and you feel that Billy completes what you are missing. You assume he feels the same, so you keep kissing him.

[beneaththehalo]

nfwmb [rafayel x fem! reader]

an exploration of your married dynamic with rafayel based on the song. there are references to sex and murder, but nothing explicit. the song lyrics are indented, small text, and bolded. 1.3k words. link to ao3!

When i first saw you / the end was soon / to Bethlehem, it slouched /And then it must’ve caught a good look at you / Give your heart and soul to charity / ‘Cause the rest of you / the best of you / honey, belongs to me

another charity gala as rafayel’s wife. parasitic leeches of linkon hoping to boost their image through large donations that barely make a dent in their generational wealth. a drink at the bar, a waltz with a man fifteen years your elder, and the flick of your hair to drain their wallets. it would all be worth it once you could present the large donation check to your favorite ocean conservation charities — saving the sea turtles, clean the beach, etc. in fact, your knack for playing the game is what attracted rafayel to you in the first place. a measly event reporter drowning your sorrows in seconds at the buffet table, ranting to the poor photographer. in a crowd of fairweathers, you were the first real person rafayel had seen. it intrigued him.

you could say the rest was history, but you certainly didn’t make it easy for him as you were wary to trust another snooty, rich man. artist types tended to be uppity, over pretentious, and full of themselves, but their big pockets made them an easy target for charity. you changed your mind on him when you heard him talk about his paintings for the first time, no longer filtered through the PR-lens of Thomas, you saw the true tortures, loves, and muses of a real artist. of course, you were both a bit inebriated at the time which helped forego the filters as you both ranted over the pompous event. when you found out who he was, you thought you’d lose your job and never speak again. you will forever be thankful that the opposite happened.

ain’t it a gentle sound, the rollin’ in the graves? / ain’t it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes? / ain’t it exciting you, the rumble where you lay? / ain’t you my baby? ain’t you my baby?

it wasn’t always easy. the attention that came with being rafayel’s significant other was something you weren’t used too. microphones shoved in your face, constantly ending up on worst-dressed lists, and never knowing who you could trust out of your business contacts. it was fatiguing — this image of mr. rafayel’s perfect wife. she never said anything controversial, so she didn’t have morals or values. she never demanded attention away from her husband. she hardly ate in public or sipped more than one cocktail. yet, she women still seethed with jealousy and found any excuse to tear her down. they told her she would never meet his needs. she wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough to understand his art or tall enough or whatever bullshit excuse the media sold. rafayel’s ability to be a sex symbol as well as an artist was important, you were a threat to the brand.

you can imagine all that external pressure caused an implosion. insecurity breakdowns at home, intimacy interrupted tears, anger, and frustration. rafayel was ever-understanding, his patience with your struggles admirable. and on one such night, he said, “fuck my brand. i fell in love with you because of your capacity to care, tenacity, and raw emotion when you discuss your passions. i could lose my whole career, but i can’t lose you. not to people who don’t know you,” he says, planting a firm kiss upon your forehead. from then on, the dynamic shifted.

nothing fucks with my baby / nothing can get a look in on my baby / nothing fucks with my baby / nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

you were married within a year or so, quick for some, but why wait for something you know will never change? the wedding naturally received a lot of attention despite it being a private elopement. tabloids clamored for the exclusive interview about the marriage of the famed rafayel and if he had any regrets about marrying at his younger age. would this effect his career? was he considering children? intrusive vultures thinking they were owed answers just because of rafayel’s fame. they never received any.

for rafayel was too busy burning every detail of your body into his mind each night. memorizing his favorite canvas and painting purple hues upon the skin of your neck. he touched you as if to prove that you were the only one who could ever draw his attention. all of your insecurities reduced to ash with his steady rhythm and guidance. he was everything you would ever need, and no one could satiate you more. it was heaven on earth, the connection you both shared. you’d both rather be damned than give that up.

if i was born as a blackthorn tree / i’d wanna be felled by you / held by you / fuel the pyre of your enemies

and here you are, back at the scene of the crime, aka this month’s charity gala to benefit coral reef restoration and preservation. you’re a few cocktails deep, the liquor always making things much easier to bear when conversing with the wealthy elite. men who hated their wives, women who loathed their husbands, and children far too privileged to be well-adjusted. people always found you easy to talk to, a little too easy to talk to, which normally you didn’t mind, it caused them to open their wallets all the same. however, tonight was not your night.

one of the men was blathering on and on about his petulant divorce. nothing you had not heard before. he was bolder than the others though, his words slurring a bit as he drapes himself over you. most people knew not to mess with you. for one, you could handle your own. for two, rafayel was rather possessive. so when this man thought he was clever, groping you inappropriately and making inane comments at your behest, something had to be done. so in your best, pseudo-sympathetic voice, you coax him into a private hall. rafayel isn’t far behind.

ain’t it warming you, the world gone up in flames? / ain’t it the life you, you’re lighting of the blaze? / ain’t it a waste they’d watch the throwing of the shade? / ain’t you my baby? ain’t you my babe?

the smoldering, remnant ashes of the man are promptly flushed down the toilet. rafayel cleans his hands at the sink, the small cut across his face already healing. you fix your hair, and blot at any of the smearing of your makeup. “better off anyways,” rafayel mutters, giving you a once over. he gingerly takes your face in his hands, resting his forehead against yours, “Ça va mon amour? [are you alright my love?]” he whispers. you nod, nuzzling your nose against his.

he peppers delicate kisses across your face. then drapes a few more down your exposed neck and collar. all your worries assuaged for the time being as you float in his attention, the memories of the disgusting socialite washed away as he fans the flames of your nerves. “rafayel,” you sigh, leaning into his touch, “you keep at it and the coral reef will never receive their generous check.” he whines in protest, but ultimately agrees and accompanies you back out to the party.

nobody mentions the missing man, and rafayel was such a smooth talker that any questions were easily forgotten. in the end, you had raised over $1.2 million for coral reef restoration, which was a feat in itself. when the party finally concludes and you tiredly shed your personas at the door of your shared home, you couldn’t be more grateful rafayel was who you had chose to spend your life with. and now that you were finally alone again, he would take that chance to remind you.

nothing fucks with my baby / nothing can get a look in on my baby / nothing fucks with my baby / nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

beneaththehalo || est 2024