#because I'm kind of rly behind

[killuakiru]

Hiii hru? I was wondering if I could request gon and killua (seperate) with a fem reader that is very girly? And I know it’s kinds weird but she kinda has pretty privilege and will literally get whatever she wants by winning at some other teenager. Shes very kind and sweet though so she doesn’t take advantage of it. Sorry if that’s kind of odd and if you don’t want to write it it’s ok🫶 love you!

HI ANON !! It's completely alright 🫡 I find this request rly cute as my other post was the exact opposite ! Thank you for making this request 🫰 Apologies if its ooc ( out of character ), but I had soo much fun writing this !

⊹₊⋆ IT Girl !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⊹₊⋆ Girly!Reader x Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecss ( Separate ! )ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

༉‧₊˚. Let's Start !༉‧₊˚.

༉‧₊˚. Killua Zoldyck !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• Now let's all be honest ! The first time Killua met you, he probably felt so annoyed and kept grumbling how they were teams with a "girl." As the stereotypical boy he is.

• But despite Killua's comments, you were so unbothered and even excused his actions?! He was stunned! Because if that was him, he'd internally judge them!

• But honestly, Killua underestimated you. In Killua's eyes, you looked so.. fragile? Yet your performance in combat impressed him! You were pretty agile, and you had a smart mind— not to mention, you were pretty, too! Not like he would say that out loud.

• During the final examination, yk the time where he killed an applicant? He could see you from his peripheral vision, and he saw genuine worry and concern for him. HIM. He found that so odd that a girl like you would worry for him.

• When you rescued him, that look in your eyes just SCREAMED affection, and that just hit Killua in the gut, y'know? Who wouldn't fumble in their words when such a pretty and sweet girl like [Name] comes running to them with an expression like that.

• See now— in Killua's case, he's never been with a caring or sweet female since almost everyone is his household is literally fucked up. So you were a new case for him.

• Nonetheless, he was pretty honored and glad you came for him out of everyone.

• And so, he slowly warmed up to you, even growing comfortable to the point he'd randomly touch your hair, arms, fingers, just any where he thinks that looks odd or pretty.

• Yes ! He sometimes stares at your features and finds himself admiring them. Well who wouldn't?! The way you bat your eyelashes so innocently, the way your lip gloss reflects the sun in a positive elegant way when you smile, complimenting your teeth, the way your blush makes your cheeks so much more squishy he just wants to—

• "Killua? You okay? You're zoning out again." [Name] says in amusement with Gon just looked at the boy who was staring, Killua blinked twice and hummed in a nonchalant manner, placing his hands behind his back and shrugged. "I'm perfectly fine. Better than ever. Let's get going again."

• There was one time where there's this one kid around their age who was gatekeeping Killua's the store's choco robots and you came to Killua's rescue, using your very cutesy face card to convince the kid to at least have 3!

• After that, Killua looked at you like you're some kind of GODDESS. He's been trying to convince that kid and you did it so effortlessly?! Even snagging him an extra one?! Oh you're his favorite now.

༉‧₊˚. Gon Freecss !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• He found you SUUUPER cute and charismatic ! Like the whole time you two were talking, he'd always sneak in a compliment ! His words flattered you a bunch, too !

• He's like a natural smooth talker 'cause WHAT?! Every compliment / comment he makes about you leaves your heart beating!

• Instead of you making him flustered, you ALWAYS find yourself stammering over your words. Was it you who fell in love first or was it him?!

• Honestly with how smooth he is you're starting to think he treats every girl like this.. ( Spoiler, he doesn't )

• During the Heaven's Arena training, he was genuinely worried since you'd often wear skirts, but turns out you were already prepared! Introducing the.. skort! While it looks like an ordinary skirt, there were already built in shorts inside to prevent the creeps from looking!

• Similarly to Killua, he finds himself staring but is shamelessly doing it. When you stare back, he smiles. SMILES so charmingly, making YOU look away and he laughs.

• He loves the fact you get along with anyone you see or talk to !! It's probably because of your looks and personality, but nonetheless he supports you !!

• okay but I js know he's really vocal with your favorite features !! He probably loves your hair since it looks so silky, smooth, and soft to the touch! He also probably loves your nails too ! Almost having new and different styles monthly and he loves making guesses and predictions on what the design / style it'll be !!

• oh and, he absolutely LOVES how you do a wardrobe change almost everyday, you and Killua do a bunch of fashion shows together and Gon rates them :3

• His favorite fits are probably the ones with the very long skirts that reach the ankles with a comfy top, just anything that reminds him of Mito !

• He loves all the girls in his life equally :3 a lot of things reminds him of you and Mito ! So when he brought you and Killua to Whale Island to meet Mito, he was really happy that you got along well with his mother <3

• This was honestly his go signal to just shoot his shot, what could he lose? His mama loves you so much ! And he does too !! And so does Killua !! Everyone approves of you !!

༉‧₊˚. End !༉‧₊˚.

Thank you for reading ! This strictly belongs to me / killuakiru and I do not give permission for you to repost on other platforms, thank you !

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[indigosaffron]

Caitvi being endgame was the thing that ruined season 2.

I don't mean that in a homophobic way - I am literally a lesbian and in the first season, I rly liked Caitvi's dynamic. Vi was given a space to heal and a person who helped and cared for her. She didn't need to protect and lead Caitlyn like she did with Jinx, Mylo and Claggor, and as a result we got to see her heal and be vulnerable as she didn't have to be strong for the people she loved. Caitlyn, on the other hand, had grown up sheltered and privileged, and her relationship with Vi allowed her to see the people of Zaun more clearly and encouraged her to help them and set aside her prejudice. This dynamic was also reflected in how the show portrayed the people of Zaun. In the first season, it's very pro-Zaun, pro-revolutionary, anti-fascism, all that.

And then the second season, Caitlyn pulled a complete 180, started acting like a fascist and hating the people of Zaun, and in the end... Vi forgives her.

Is this in character for both of them? Yes, actually. Caitlyn has grown up sheltered and was raised to look down on the people of Zaun, it's very easy for her to just turn back to that way of thinking. Vi is also incredibly dependent and forgiving when it comes to those she loves. We see how hard it is for her to let go of anyone - Vander and Powder are obvious examples. So it isn't strange that she doesn't leave Caitlyn and forgives her in an instant.

Would it have been so much more interesting if Vi didn't forgive her? Yes. A million times yes. I would've loved to see that character growth for Vi, of her establishing that boundary and deciding that she had to leave Caitlyn behind. I'm honestly kind of mad that they gave Jinx so much development and growth throughout the story and Vi has barely changed. Her political beliefs seems to be the biggest thing that has changed, and even those are rooted in the same character traits - first she was fighting for powder, now she's fighting for Caitlyn.

It's not just that I'm mad that they never address how toxic this relationship becomes in season 2. I saw someone else mention how it went from "privileged + oppressed" in s1 to "oppressor + oppressed" in s2 and if that doesn't just sound like literal abuse to you idk what to say. They frame this in the show as a normal relationship - at best, it's both of their faults and their both in a bad place mentally. They never address how horrible Caitlyn acts throughout act 1.

As a result of this, they kind of lose the whole "Piltover is an oppressive force and the people of Zaun should revolt" plot line. Instead it becomes "both sides are bad and in the wrong", just like with Caitvi's relationship. After all, the show can't properly condemn Piltover and yet support Caitlyn at the same time. And if they want Caitlyn and Vi together in a relationship that looks healthy, they have two options - either they address the flaws in the relationship and take the time required to fix them, or they ignore the flaws and pretend it's not a big deal.

They don't have the time in 2 seasons to address those flaws, though, so they decide to ignore them, and in doing so ignore the flaws in Piltover's overall treatment of Zaunites. This creates a contradicting message between the first and second seasons. In the first season, it was obvious that the Zaunites were being mistreated and that they should rise up. In the second season, they suddenly ignore all of that, and instead make the nations unite to face the "bigger problem". I didn't really like the hex tech plot line to begin with because I felt like it distracted from the more important plot line, which was the whole Piltover v Zaun thing, which they completely brushed under the rug.

Maybe this would've been better if they'd had more time to properly flesh out Caitvi's relationship, but as it is, it would've been better if it wasn't endgame at all imo.

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame Chapter 3

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Pena x fem!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Chapter tags/warnings: fluff, smut, manipulation (kind of getting into that territory), unprotected piv sex, excessive use of nicknames, frottage, tiniest itty bitty smidgen of angst (like it's barely there), stuff I'm probably forgetting

Chapter summary: Javi takes you out for a romantic date and asks you a question you've been hoping to hear. (I'm sorry I'm rly awful at summaries)

A/N: Hey, Y'all!! Starting to dive a bit deeper! Expect the next chapter to really pick things up, and then its downhill for the most part from there. I'm beyond excited to really kick things off and so grateful for all of you avid readers!! Thank you for following along with my deprived nonsense <3

****

You wait at the end of your driveway just as the sun starts to set, as per Javi’s request. He refused to tell you why over the phone, but you have a feeling you’re going to love whatever he has planned. You’ve been out with him a good handful of times since he took you to dinner and kissed you on your front porch, and each time has been just as magical as the first. 

You toy with the hem of your white sundress as you reminisce about that moment from a few weeks ago, trying to remember everything you felt then. Smiling absently, you thumb one of the cherries printed on the thin fabric. You’re already eager to feel his plush lips against yours again. 

Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of Javi’s truck coming up the road. You’ve memorized it at this point, because there’s a barely noticeable sputter that comes from the exhaust pipe every thirty seconds or so. 

He comes to a stop in front of you, rolling down his passenger window to reveal his beaming smile. Your stomach flips as you grin back. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams. He looks into the rear view mirror and sees a car approaching. He frowns slightly and pushes the passenger door open instead of walking around to get it for you, obviously not wanting to hold up traffic. “Climb on up, princess.” 

You step up, grabbing his extended hand to keep balance as you hoist yourself into the seat, quickly shutting the door behind you. There’s a stack of blankets in the middle of the bench seat, but Javi tells them you can move them if you want when he sees the confused look on your face. Once you’re settled in the middle and buckled in, Javi continues on. 

“Having a good day?” he asks as he takes another look into the rearview.

“I am now,” you reply, trying to hold down your blush. You really wish you could stop being so school-girlish around him. 

“Hm. That makes two of us.” 

You look at eachother and share a smile. He puts one hand out, asking silently for you to take it, which, of course, you do. You place your palm into his much larger one and then pull it into your lap to rest on your thigh. 

You sit in a comfortable silence the rest of the way, watching out the window at all the greenery. This is what you missed most about the countryside. When you had been up towards the city, there weren’t many trees, and there certainly weren’t any farms or rolling hills. You always missed the landscape, though your boyfriend much preferred the cityscape. Yet another disagreement that you were never allowed to have a word about.

As Javi drives, you get further and further away from houses and farms, and more into unclaimed land. 

“Where did you say we’re going?” you ask again, though you know by now it’s a feeble attempt. The look he gives you says as much. 

“You’ll see,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. You playfully roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. 

Not a minute later, Javi’s making a turn down a dirt road. It winds for as far as you can see, sparsely covered by trees and lined by thick, tall grass. Javi rolls the windows all the way up as dirt starts to kick up around the truck, interrupting the golden glow from the setting sun. 

You look at him with a quirked brow, and he smiles mischievously in response. 

“Almost there, sweetheart.” 

Another two minutes, and Javi’s turning the truck off on top of a hill, the bed facing the sunset. You glance at the blankets and a grin breaks out across your face. 

“We’re going to watch the sunset?” you ask excitedly. Javi grins and nods. 

“Help me with the blankets?” 

You both get out and climb into the back with the blankets, laying them down so that there’s a comfortable layer between the two of you and the cold bed. You can feel flutters in your stomach. How did you get so lucky? 

You both kick your shoes off and sit down, trying to get comfortable and in position to watch the sun go down. You squirm for a moment after Javi, trying to find the perfect spot. He smiles fondly at you. 

“Hold on baby,” Javi says before gently taking your hand and leading you toward him. 

He pulls you with him as he leans back against the cab, settling you comfortably in his lap so that you’re both facing the sunset. It’s breathtaking, the pinks, oranges, and purples all blending together and mixing with the soft white clouds. You lean back into his chest as you let out a content sigh. 

You feel a sense of safety and belonging within Javi’s arms, one that you haven’t felt for much too long. You feel him press a kiss into your hair, and your eyes flutter shut to hone in on the gentle sensation. 

“Gotta ask you something, baby,” Javi breaks the silence with a low tone. Your eyes snap back open.  

“Anything, Javi,” you say, craning your neck the tiniest bit to look his way. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, you have an idea of what he’s about to ask you, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. He moves one of his hands to one of yours, and you grasp it, bringing it up to your lips to place a soft kiss on his palm. 

“How would you feel about being mine? Only mine?” he asks, his breath disturbing your hair as he speaks in just over a whisper. 

Your lips split into a smile and you crain your neck to look into his chocolate brown eyes. 

“I’m already yours, Javi,” you tell him truthfully. “But I would love if you would be only mine, too.” 

He smiles gently at you before cupping your cheek to bring you in for a kiss. You melt into him as he moves his lips with yours. It’s messier than any you’ve shared with him before. It feels like one of those kisses that’s bound to lead to more, where the passion consumes you so much that you can’t ignore the desire to be closer. 

You almost bite his plush bottom lip when you shift your hips and feel him hardening beneath you. It feels like there’s fire in your veins as you grind down again, deliberately this time, and a moan escapes his lips. You haven’t gone this far with Javi yet, but god, have you fantasized about it. 

There’s a beat of silence before you and Javi suddenly spring into action. He helps you flip around on him so that your thighs are straddling his torso, his quickly hardening cock tucked perfectly beneath your panties. You reconnect your lips with his, kissing him with a hungry fervor that he returns ten-fold. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders as you grind down on him. You groan into each other’s mouths as sparks climb up your bodies. 

You repeat the movement, whining when your clit catches on the fabric of his jeans. Javi’s hands move to your waist, and guide you to do it again, both of you gasping at the friction. You know you have to be soaked through your panties at this point, no doubt creating a dark spot on his pants. 

You’re slightly surprised by your own confidence and the fact that you’re comfortable to act this way with him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Javi gets out through gritted teeth. “You really want to keep this up? I hope you know where that’s going to land you.”

You nod a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes!” you say, flinching a bit at your obvious excitement. He smirks devilishly at you, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “Yes, please, Javi. I need you.” 

“You’ve got me, baby,” Javi whispers, leaning forward to plant hot, open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck. You whimper, your brows furrowing in concentration as you gyrate your hips back and forth. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling starting to bubble within your lower abdomen, slowly building with each drag. 

The thin cotton of your panties does practically nothing to tame the wetness seeping out of you and onto Javi’s pants. You tighten your arms around him as you rock yourself quicker, the coil tightening further within you. You’re moaning, gasping, and whimpering against Javi’s lips, the kiss growing sloppier with each pass. 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you consider your current behavior. Never in your life have you acted so ridiculously…feral. You honestly can’t think of another word for what you’re doing right now, grinding up against this man like an animal, licking and nipping at his plush lips without restraint. 

The only reason you don’t slow is because Javi’s acting the same way. Like he can’t get enough of you. His hands are gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll likely bruise, his own bucking against yours every time you grind particularly hard. The noises that tumble from his lips are downright filthy. 

Without breaking contact with your lips, Javi lets one hand trail down to slip underneath your dress, and then places his thumb between your bodies and over your clit. He only circles twice before you’re falling apart on top of him. You cry his name as your body shakes uncontrollably, his thumb continuing its movement to prolong your orgasm. 

“That’s a good fucking girl,” Javi whispers close to your ear, quiet enough that you almost miss it. You whimper at his praise, trying to keep your eyes open and on him. He’s yours, but you don’t want to waste a single second not observing his beauty. His brown eyes stare back, his imposing gaze full of hunger and passion in equal portions. 

Your lips reconnect in a sloppy kiss as he pulls the crotch of your soaked panties to the side and then taps your hips as a signal to lift up. The pad of his middle finger caresses your dripping hole, making you shudder and whimper into his mouth. He groans as he pulls away slightly and dips both of his hands between you to start undoing his belt. 

Your eyes quickly snap to his pants when you hear the clink, your mouth going dry. You don’t know why, but it’s like you’re only now registering the fact that you’re finally going to have him inside of you, something you’ve been dreaming of for weeks. 

Javi pulls his cock out, and you can’t help it. You straight up fucking moan. He’s gorgeous. His cock is thick, long, and as tan as the rest of him. There’s a bead of precum dribbling from his slit, which he wipes away with his thumb. You almost feel dizzy with how turned on you are right now. You’re not a blushing virgin by any means, but you’re also not super experienced, so the sheer eroticism of the whole situation is as almost unfamiliar as it is addicting. 

You hear him huff a laugh through his nose, and your gaze is cast back up to see him smirking at you. Your face flushes at the realization that he caught you staring—or maybe admiring would be the better term here—at his dick. 

“Like what you see, hermosa?” he inquires, his voice smooth and suave. You bite your bottom lip as you nod at him. No use in lying, you figure. Javi smiles at you warmly before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on your reddened cheek. 

“Would you like to touch it?”

You’re glad you’re biting down on your lip right now, because you would have released another moan if not for the slight pain. You nod your head again, trying not to give yourself whiplash with the movement. One of your hands trails down, but you stop halfway when Javi tuts at you and gently grabs your hand. 

“Words, sweetheart. Verbal communication is very important if we’re going to do this, okay?” He looks like he genuinely wants you to understand, his big brown eyes boring into yours as he waits for consent. Your heart warms with the gesture. Is it possible to feel any safer with him?

“Yes, please,” you say, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. He nods at you and releases your hand to let you wrap your own around his warm length. He hisses sharply as you start to pump him, feeling the weight of him in your palm. 

“Shit, baby,” Javi strains when you let your thumb run over his head. “Sit up higher for me.”

You oblige immediately, sitting on your knees and taking your hand away to balance yourself on his broad shoulders. You look into his eyes as he grasps his cock, your lids fluttering when you feel his blunt tip press against your sopping entrance. 

“Ready?” 

You gulp and nod before remembering that he wants to hear you. 

“Yes, I’m ready.” 

Your eyes pinch shut as he starts to push into you, lowering yourself down to help his effort. You’re wet enough that it’s mostly a smooth glide, only a small pinch when he’s about halfway in. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock already pressing against something heavenly within you. 

You release the breath and open your eyes back at the same time. Javi’s already staring back at you, and the look in his eyes can only be described as carnal. His pupils have taken up most of his irises, making his eyes look almost fully black. His tongue peeks out to wet his swollen bottom lip as he plants his hands back on your hips, starting to assist you in moving up and down. 

He plants his feet flat on the bed of the truck and begins thrusting into you slowly. The drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning like an animal and encourages Javi to pick up his pace. You feel boneless as he helps you bounce on his dick, letting yourself wilt to place your head in the crook of his neck. You dampen the golden skin there with your panting, but neither of you pay it any mind. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, feel so fucking good.” 

You whimper at his praise as you try to focus on keeping up your movement. You can already feel that familiar heat creeping up from the base of your spine. Your clit catches on the groomed thatch of pubic hair at the base of him each time you lower your hips, which quickly adds to the sensation. 

“Oh, Javi, I’m gonna c-come,” you struggle to get the words out as your hips stutter and your brain focuses solely on the powerful sensation between your wet thighs. His thrusts pick up again, making you yelp when he pegs that spongy spot you usually can’t reach. 

“Oh, God, Like that!” the words slip out before you can even think about them, your body desperate to feel it again. You don’t even have the mind to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah, honey? Right there?” Javi punctuates his question with a particularly harsh thrust into the same spot, and you’re immediately coming apart on top of him. Your mouth gapes as you groan out your pleasure, the sound mixing with Javi’s own. You slowly grind up and down as you ride out what might be your most powerful orgasm ever.

You can vaguely hear Javi spitting out praises through the numbness of your mind, only catching pieces of each sentence. 

“...doing so good…fucking tight…feel like heaven…”

When you come down from your high, panting as your vision returns, Javi grabs you and quickly spins the two of you, laying you down on your back without removing his cock from you. You loop your arms around his neck, more confused by the change in position than alarmed due to the residual haziness of your orgasm. 

He loses control once he has you down, slamming his hips faster as he chases his pleasure. It feels so fucking good, the tip of his cock punching into you at a brutal pace. Your fingernails claw at the back of his neck, likely leaving marks, but if Javi notices, he obviously doesn’t mind. 

He bends down to kiss—if you can call it that—and nip harshly at your neck. The light pain mixed with the simmering feeling in your abdomen quickly brings you dangerously close to the brink once again. You’re almost surprised. Even when you’re alone, it takes you longer to bring yourself to the edge than he is right now.

He whimpers into your neck, and the sound has your walls clenching around him, spurring him on. His fingers of one hand are digging into the skin of your hips again while the other is balled up and planted next to your head where he’s resting his forearm for balance. Tears sting your eyes as you feel that light discomfort of overstimulation, but it quickly fades back into pleasure. 

“Such a sweet girl, letting me have you like this, aren’t you?” 

You whimper in response as your third tonight orgasm takes over, your body convulsing beneath him. God, he has a dirty mouth. 

“Bet you taste good, too. Fucking sweet. Gonna feast on this damn pussy the second I get the chance.” 

His hips start to break their pattern, his composure dwindling with each thrust as he babbles on. 

“Don’t know why I haven’t already. So fucking soft and warm. Fucking made for me.” 

You’re not sure if he’s completely aware of what he’s saying right now, so you ignore that last comment even though it makes your stomach flip. You’re not sure if it’s with lust or unease, and you don’t particularly care to figure it out at the moment. You’re just reading too much into things, you need to stop thinking and enjoy what you have right now. 

As you push your thoughts away, you realize how close he is to coming, his pants coming out quickly as he rapidly pumps himself into you, barely pulling out with each thrust. 

“J-Javi,” you squeak out. He hums back a response, letting you know he heard you and is listening, but he doesn’t slow down. 

“You h-have to pull out, o-okay?” He hums again, but you really wish he would give you a solid answer. Isn’t he the one who was just talking about verbal communication? You try not to overthink it, you trust him. 

He thrusts a few more times before letting out a groan, and you know he’s close, dangerously close. 

“J-Javi,” you say his name in gentle reminder, trying not to panic. You watch his face and see his eyes flicker up to yours—almost defiantly, as if he wasn’t going to listen to you. It looks like it pains him, but just as he’s about to come, he reluctantly pulls away, moaning as his release lands in strips over your pussy and lower stomach, just barely out in time. 

You breathe a sigh of relief you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you let your eyes flutter shut and move a hand up to comb through his hair. You stroke gently as he comes down from his high, and then collapses partially on you. 

See? You knew he would pull out. 

You both lay in silence, him with his head on your chest, and you staring up at the stars that came out as the two of you were busy. You’re almost asleep by the time Javi breaks the silence again. 

“You knew I was going to pull out, right, baby?” He asks. 

You furrow your brows as your stomach flips again in that way that you don’t want to pay too much attention to.

“Yes,” you say as you continue stroking his damp curls. “I trust you.” 

Javi nods into you as you continue staring up at the night sky. 

You do, don’t you?

**** Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate any kind of interaction if you enjoyed this chapter. Series taglist is always open for those who would like to join!

taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @movievillainess721

Series masterlist

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Hwæt. the bird family drama and petty divorce proceedings and Hell politics, and the messages of protecting lgbtq+ families that im so unspeakably grateful for and show that Vivzie is willing to do more Genuine Good Via Storytelling than a lot of popular creators rn AND manages to not make it preachy etc etc

all that aside.

this is so much bigger than the fucking Bird Divorce and I think it speaks to Stolas' classism that he doesnt (yet) realize that.

hey, remember the Harvest Moon festival? Remember how Stolas is the ONLY ONE who could do a specific, complex ritual needed to MAKE HELL'S CROPS GROW? Because I fucking remember. And I'm seeing The Only Guy Who Could Do It utterly fucking depowered. His heiress is capable but lacks training, guidance, a safe home, and afaik even the grimoire that she'd need to do it. You know who is in charge? Two demons with rulership over ICE. Stolas' palace used to be a representation of the balance of the stars, and by extension the balance of Hell's seasons. There were flourishing plants. Now the star charts are covered in ice. Everything is covered in ice. The plants, except a few in Octavia's storeroom/closet/idk, are dead. We dont even know if the Harvest Moon Festival is the only one of its kind, there could be a spring one. We have anywhere from 3-10 MONTHS for a 17 YEAR OLD to not only realize this is a duty she has to take on, but teach herself to do the ritual totally from memory, without her father and possibly without the book she needs. she'll also have to go behind the backs of the ppl currently abusing(emotionally/psychologically at the VERY least) her, travel out of her home ring, and appear in a public ceremony that, if its not canceled outright, will be anticipating the arrival of said abusive family.

and if she fails? the crops don't grow, there's no fruit, no vegetables, no feed for the animals. that street market we saw this episode had produce being sold (and I rly wonder if this was an intentional storytelling choice here...) but they wont soon, unless something changes. The crops wont grow, Hell's seasons wont turn, famine will spread, and it wouldnt be shocking if the ice began to creep further and further into lands where Stolas' balance-focused influence previously existed. Ever wanted to know if Hell can freeze over? This could be how we find out. and this famine wont affect Stella or Andrealphus or whatever its name is. it'll affect farmers, and then lower class imps, and then whatever counts for a middle class. the rich may CHANGE their diets a bit but lbr, Goetia can probably import food directly from Earth if they want to. Meanwhile, the same community who hailed Blitz as a hero will be starving soon, and Hell's ecosystems gradually falling into disarray, all because a certain owl prince couldnt put millions of lives above his own emotions.

Im half asleep typing this but seriously! I havent heard anyone talk abt this! Hell's going to starve unless something changes!

[bestbouy]

i think i just love the idea of the different universes with their like, styles???

like how Gwen's is totally watercolor and Hobie's is all scrapbookish punk n newspaper, y'know???? and, of course, Miles and Pavitr's are both more "normal" but they still have that... you know... v i b e... they're both normal but they have elements that make it their own. Like how Pavitr's universe is mainly super warm colors?

anyways this got me thinking y'know how it's super obvious Hobie has a different universe style?? not so much for Gwen because hers is a little different, but with the whole. changing skin, the OUTLINE, it's very obvious

I think it'd be super cool if in Hobie's universe, it's kind of like the opposite for anybody who's not from it? They have their own like, radius of... their own dimension???

I'm only comparing this to Hobie's dimension, it's very obvious none of this would happen in CANON so I'm literally just spitballing. Also because Hobie is the only one with the outline and funny overlay thing, and it'd be fun to play around with the other three's possible like,,, vibe!!

Gwen would leave like, imprints of watercolor? like dabbing it on a piece of paper, leaving color that dries out back to normal over time?? it would bleed into the world around her, it might even mimic her emotions with the color!

If she was upset it would be harsh, spread more, it would come out in spiked reds and blacks?

happy would seep in a lot more subtly, and cover a lot more space, but you wouldn't realize how much room it's taking up just because it's so slow to take it up and really is only at about.. idk, 20% opacity, slowly builds up the happier she gets? it would be more visible in puddles, just like with normal watercolor (Compared to anger, which would be very in-your-face and obvious)

It would rely a lot on her emotions, methinks, the stronger they are, the more visible the color!

Miles would have a sketchy, drawing-like atmosphere to him, kind of like what you can see on the spot y'know? and, since the spot came from Miles' dimension, I think it makes sense!

It would be less noticeable, but the things he interacts with would probably turn into a slightly stylized version of itself? A cup he holds or drinks from wouldn't change DRAMATICALLY, but it might copy his look and have sketch-like lines around it. Nothing huge, but enough that you can tell what he's touched in the past few minutes/hours

Pavitr would have a similar vibe to Gwen's, but with warm colors instead! His effect wouldn't change with emotions like hers, but it would probably bleed in the same way as hers. He would leave behind trails of warm oranges and yellows wherever he goes and leaving it behind on what he touches. He wouldn't notice this, but it would be veeery obvious to Hobie or anybody from his dimension.

Actually, I think the way that we can spot Hobie because of his differences in outline/radius effect would highly apply to them in his dimension! Everybody in Hobie's world can CLEARLY tell that Gwen, Miles and Pav aren't from there, and while the common person might not recognize they're from another universe, they might get the same feeling as if you were seeing like.. a skinwalker, or something. They're human, but it doesn't feel like it.

ANYWAYS back to Pavitr

He has a warm, cozy vibe, I think unlike the others his can seep more into emotions, I think he's an empathetic person and that melts into his little area effect. if he's super happy or excited about something the people around him get a tiny bit happier too!! when he's sad (and it's rly hard to make him sad bc this boy is POSITIVE THINKER #1) his colors get a bit colder, but I don't think they would affect other people like his happy ones do, honestly just SEEING such a normally happy guy so sad would do enough to ur mood than some radius effect lol

ANYWAYS that's just a lil thought. they are silly. and this is going into my ideas folder. have a good one n remember to drink water

(I would go on but this is super long already XD)

[literallyjusttoa]

First thing first I LOVE your art style. Second your Apollo design and headcanons are amazing. And third I would love to see some kind of colored reference sheet of Apollo, because I would love to make Fanart of your design!

Ok I made a re-made a lil reference thing I made about a year ago with color for you! + I'll add some notes I keep in mind while drawing Apollo in different forms bc I'm kind of inconsistent with my art lol

Pre-ToA Apollo: Covered in jewelry, bc he's fancy like that. No shoes, I used to draw him wearing sandals but it was actually rly important in antiquity that the gods didn't wear shoes as a sign of their divinity, so no more of that. At most he wears cool gold anklets. I also use his chiton as a bit of a mood ring. When Apollo's is having a great time, it's gold or has gold accents. When he's in stressful situations, it's got more orange and red.

Lester: Shift all colors a bit closer to red, just for cool symbolism-y reasons. I've done blue-eyed Lester before, but I'm ngl brown-eyed Lester still holds my heart. Also the most consistent part of my Lester design is the red hoodie, I will never let that thing go. Lester is a short king, and he always, ALWAYS has some pudge. (I feel kind of bad bc I always draw him in a baggy hoodie so you can't tell sometimes, but I swear I always keep it in mind) I usually show time going on in the trials by adding scars, making the hair longer, and making him a little bit bigger (callback to my hc that all of the physical things Apollo saw as "flaws" got worse in the 5th book, but bc Apollo has grown as a person he genuinely doesn't notice/care as much)

Post-Toa Apollo: Everything is a mix of the first two designs. Two eye colors, two hair colors, clothes that are modern while still referencing antiquity. He even wears sandals, right in between barefoot and sneakers. This design changes a lot, but that's bc I think Apollo is still rapidly changing after the end of ToA, and figuring out how to settle back into himself. The only consistency is that I’ve drawn him wearing crop tops alot? I honestly can’t tell you the reasoning behind that it just keeps happening. So yeah, really with this one, go wild!

[ms-demeanor]

Heya, got a question about cybersecurity meetups. Do you think folks would be cool with a rando showing up because they're curious and like learning new stuff, especially for writing? And also because internet privacy is super important rn and there's no good books or written sources I can find on hacking, the dark web, etc; let alone digestible to somebody who knows what a directory is and how to use command line and not much more.

Also. I know it's gonna vary per location, so if you can't speak for all of 'em, I get it. Are these kinds of spaces like 2600 and Defcon queer friendly? Or I guess what I'm asking is are they notorious a place queer people should avoid. I'm non-binary and don't rly pass as remotely normal or straight, and I have nobody to go with me :|

Thank you!

Meetups that are publicly listed are very cool about randos showing up to learn new stuff and talk to weird people. Most meetups tend to be about 5 parts socializing and 1 part "tech activity" like a talk or a demo if they have a tech activity at all, so you're mostly just going to be meeting people and talking to them about themselves.

I will say, if you show up specifically saying "i'm a writer and i'm here to learn about stuff for writing" you're probably going to get some trolling - that's pretty common and a lot of meetups do have to deal with stuff like journalists periodically showing up to get the inside scoop about the scary hackers and that usually gets some fairly mean-spirited teasing directed at them.

So it's better to show up because you want to learn generally. People don't like being used as reference material during their socializing; they're there to hang out and talk to people with similar interests, so ask them about their interests. You can just say you're new to the scene and you heard about hacker meetups online and wanted to learn more.

If you want to do something to pregame and learn a bit about hacking ahead of time you may want to try hackthissite.org, check out 2600 magazine, or look on the DefCon forums to see what's going on in your local DC Groups. There are some good books about hacking; I like The Cuckoo's Egg and am asking anyone with good books or memoirs about hacking to chime in in the notes.

I will say, asking about the darkweb specifically might get you some eyerolls because it's something that sounds a lot scarier and more intimidating to most people than it actually is. You can get on the darkweb now. You can do it on your phone. Here's a very basic get-started guide. I don't think it's necessary to use a VPN to use Tor (most guides recommend it and then link to pages full of affiliate links for VPNs), and here's the Tor user manual to get started if you want to. Be careful, and if you're planning on doing anything that requires actual anonymity do a LOT more research before you follow the advice in any guide, but yeah pretty much everybody with an internet connection can get access to the darkweb in about twenty minutes. It's just websites that you need to use a slightly different set of tools to navigate to (granted, the content of the websites might be horrifying, so. Again. Be careful.)

Anyway moving on:

Defcon has had Queercon (a queer party for queer hackers) as a part of the con for at like twenty years and I know many queer and trans people who are part of the scene. And there are a lot of trans folks who I know who are volunteers at defcon and help to run hackerspaces and who volunteer and attend and run all manner of cons. I can't speak for your local group, but I've found that hackers in generally are more tolerant of a *lot* of things than the broader population is (they are weird people who engage in a hobby or who engage in work that is often technically criminal - they don't have a lot of room to judge and the more sensible ones among them know that).

HOWEVER I have personally had problems with defcon the conference specifically about harassment and infosec does lag behind other parts of the tech sector in participation from women. Defcon is working on it and i know their current head of conference security is very serious about ensuring that it's a welcoming space for people and that if people DO have problems at the con it is handled in a serious, sensitive way. (Legitimately, he's a good dude) I just. I don't go to defcon. There's more info in my pinned post. That conference is burned for me.

BUT there are a lot of other conferences, big and small, and there are a lot of local groups to look into. You'll have to get to know your local scene, but I'd bet that if one part of your local scene is unwelcoming that other parts are more open.

[daemon-in-my-head]

Haven't done one of these in ages but ask game kinda ish except I'm including an obnoxious twist?

Songs that describe ur Durge or Durgetash in situations - but without lyrics, were going with vibes lads

Here are the rules: it must be an instrumental piece. No lyrics. For further details nd exaples see the end of the post. Also, explain why you chose it. What's the vibe you're going for? How does it relate to the character? Are there particular sections in the music you have specific visions or smth for? A rather quiet passage that resembles their emotional state? Is it messy because they are messy? That kind of stuff.

Their overall vibe, what's the song that makes you go 'yeah that's them in a nutshell'?

If Durge had an intro; what's the bg music and if ya feel like it, what's happening at which parts of the track?

Act 1; what plays on the rock behind their tent if they had one?

Act 2; if their inner monologue plays, what track accompanies it?

Act 3 - before the temple; how we doing? What's our vibe? What little tune accompanies them? Are we a lil tense, relaxed, what's going on?

Act 3 - after the temple; what music speaks for their choices and mindset? How fucked is the sword coast?

Faerûn is a magic medival setting, the esteemed upper city gatherings didn't have a rock star to create the ambiance, so what would the little ensemble play to describe whatever a tyrant and a Bhaalspawn got going on to the listening patriars pre tadpole?

Obv, what's the vibe like after that slight amnesia and forgetting all about the sad little racoon man like between em? What updated version does the ensemble play for the nosy patriars?

Also generally if it differe; what's the vibe of pre tadpole Durge like?

The vibe some time after the epilogue when the dust settled - what describes this 'new' durge?

Bonus cuz why not; the one piece of music that describes Gort or his side best?

I should specify what I mean with instrumental: grand orchestras, classical pieces, a single guitar, reimaginations of classic pieces or pop songs, movie or game soundtracks, any kind of instrumental track rly, the only retirement is that there's no distinguishable lyrics. Vocals are fine if it's atmospheric like for example, the vocals in DOS2 main theme or the nightsong track. Let the music and vibes speak for themselves. Think about what ur listening and what aspects of your characters it matches. How is it of relevance to them?

[batsplat]

casey's story breaks my heart. im reading your post about amatriaín and jorge now as well and i just........ these were only kids :( this isn't to assume that all parents/caregivers/people in their lives are negligent and/or abusive but i always wonder who is protecting child/teen/younger adult riders and drivers esp when they are in the highest levels of their sport at such a young age. it seems like, especially in years gone past, there was just so much scope for these kids to be abused. although i remember a couple years ago that clip of a young rider getting hit by mechanics so that kind of stuff isn't even in the past rly.

yeah not much to say really, I mean honestly it's... I'm not going to say every guardian of a professional athlete is abusive because that'd be a crazy thing to say, but I would say that the process that makes these kids so good at what they are does also in many, many cases not reflect particularly well on the parents. tbh a lot of the safeguarding has to be taken more seriously way before these kids even get to a grand prix paddock, but that also isn't easy to do... I can only speak to my own experiences, but as someone who spent a lot of my teenage years hanging around tennis clubs, it is pretty horrifying how normalised parental abuse is in sports circles. it's just something you see all the time - and this is obviously still only the public stuff, the gossip you hear, where you can read between the lines. though honestly, a lot of the times you really don't need to be reading much between the lines. the most extreme example was when a father of a kid I trained with went so far he had the cops called on him when they were at a tournament, but again. obviously this is only the extreme. even a lot of the public abuse is tacitly accepted, and there's a lot of parental behaviour that might not qualify for the 'abusive' label but sure isn't in line with what I view as acceptable. and that's just the parents - you essentially get a lot of cases of them outsourcing this stuff to the coaches, who often get a carte blanche to do with their kids what they please. obviously I'm only familiar with this stuff personally on the juniors circuit, but unhealthy coaching relationships is also a recurring and troubling talking point on the pro circuit. especially in women's tennis you get some pretty horrifying stories. the whole thing just feels pretty rotten

ideally what you've got to do to at least TRY and stamp this stuff out is having a zero tolerance policy - whether it's in clubs or in paddocks. a system of consequences in place where physical or verbal abuse comes with repercussions... I know the risk is you just take this stuff behind closed doors, but to me the starting point problem is that it's also the culture of juniors sports - where if anything treating your kid like absolute shit is almost celebrated at times. you have to make this stuff more shameful. I have no clue to what extent motorcycling juniors clubs look like what I was accustomed to, but in all honesty I reckon you'd see a lot of the same behaviour from parents/mentors - and that at least you've got to address. but obviously that doesn't just like. fix the problem. with someone like jorge, you very obviously did need someone else to step in... but if you don't have very visible, obvious abuse, then how do you enforce that? talent spotters like amatriain have immense power within the system - jorge's father was practically begging this bloke to take jorge on, jorge wouldn't have thanked you for getting rid of him until towards the very end of their partnership, he very likely wouldn't have the career he did without the guy. and it's one of those jobs that (like sports parent) tends to attract the exact type of person you really don't want to give power over kids. again, I'm not saying they're all like that, I wouldn't know, but so many of these managers just have so many stories that raise an eyebrow... even when it's not actively related to how they're treating children, but the fact that so many of them have a history of being aggressive to reporters? the thing is, if they're being awful to these kids in all likelihood we'll never hear about it - but reporters are obviously way more likely to tell people about it. which means that every time I read one of those stories, my main takeaway is that these managers are blokes who will get aggressive when things don't go their way. also not ideal

and below that is a layer that becomes increasingly impossible to even begin to address. I mean, look at casey. I have no reason to accuse his parents of being abusive towards him. I'm not trying to make it sound like I think they're horrible people. and I do think we do always need to be clear here - like yes, I'm talking about a general concern I have here about the relationship between mentor figures and the kids in their care, but obviously that covers a very wide variety of sins. I am not drawing any equivalences between them. there's 'being a bad mentor' and then there's 'having a restraining order filed against you'. so with that massive caveat in place... I agree with you, anon, that I also feel sad about casey's story, and yeah, it makes me uncomfortable

casey does think his parents pushed their dream onto him and ensured that his future would always lie in motorcycle racing... which, I mean. god. if you read him saying it was always his parents' dream side-by-side with him saying they always put pressure on him to work for his dream, then it's just one of those parental dynamics that read as achingly familiar - kids who have been convinced they're doing this for themselves and are then made to feel guilty when they're not living up to their parents' standards. we've sacrificed everything for you, right, you need to make it worth it... casey was told that this was his dream, and the stakes for success and failure were horrifyingly high. he had his entire family's livelihood on his shoulders from age fourteen... his family invested everything into him, told him it was all for his sake- and ensured that he would feel like he was letting them down every time he didn't perform. by some miracle, he had the talent to make it through the system, but think about how precarious his journey was despite being perhaps the most talented motorcycle racer in the history of the sport. how many turning points in his career easily could have gone the other way. for every casey, there are so many more kids who won't make it, and will somehow have to live with the consequences of that failure. and these dynamics... again, I'm not going to label them outright abusive, but think about the kind of stress they place on the parental relationship. idk. it might be a reality of professional sports... parents do often have to sacrifice a lot for their children's career - and given how early kids need to start out to succeed these days, inevitably quite a bit of that desire and drive will come from the parents. but it isn't a reality that sits comfortably with me

so, what do you do about any of this? well, again, I do think you need to do the bare minimum and not tolerate clearly abusive behaviour in sporting environments. which feels like stating the obvious, but this is a low bar that often just isn't being cleared. and yeah - that recent example within the motogp paddock of a rider being assaulted by a team member... definitely not going to be a one-off. just feels inevitable that this will be happening behind closed doors, especially when you get to the lower rungs where the competitors have less power and are less likely to be willing to risk anything (+ are also generally younger)

there's other safeguarding measures you could put in place, but it probably won't happen because people just don't care enough. first off, you need a riders' union - an organisation that's there solely to listen to riders' problems and act on them, advocate on their behalf etc. a big reason why young riders simply are not going to report any abuse is that this will almost certainly cost them professionally. you are essentially asking them to cut off their already limited support network, often the people providing them direct financial support or even employing them. if you cannot build up trust by having the mechanisms in place to take action against the abusive party (through cooperation with the series organisers), as well as provide support to the rider, then the reality is that basically none of them would ever come forward. secondly, you simply need stronger regulation of the career ladder. there's too many of these big name talent spotters who just coast through the paddock by having accumulated influence over the years, with zero reason to believe they have their charges' best interests at heart... often former riders themselves, but that's not exactly a pedagogical qualification. look, it's tricky to regulate because the exact roles these blokes play in riders' lives is so malleable and comes associated with all kinds of job titles - maybe you're a rider coach or manager or team boss or something else entirely. but ideally you want a system where certain privileges - like even entry to certain areas of the paddock - has to come along with accepting a certain level of regulatory oversight. make these blokes directly accountable and force them to uphold a professional code, in line with what you'd expect of any other professional who hold power over a vulnerable population. make it clear to them that they're being watched. I also don't think it's crazy to suggest that if you let minors race in a grand prix paddock, you should have some sort of system in place where the series organisers directly and regularly check in with the minors in their care. there will be a lot of behaviour that children do not themselves see as abusive - obviously it's very plausible that they just won't tell you the truth, but you have to start somewhere. motorcycle racing does actually have an advantage over many other individual sports in how centralised it is, how everyone is constantly going to the same location. they would have the power to enforce some of these standards

thirdly, and this is even less likely than the others to gain any traction. ... man, you've got to make sure these kids have options. this is becoming worse and worse the more professionalised sports become, the more they all chase their youthful prodigies... but, y'know, think about how early so many of these children drop out of school, how it's increasingly unlikely they've had the time to foster any sort of other interest (another theme of casey's account, "I don’t know if I was allowed to have any other attraction"). how motorcycle racing is the only thing they've ever known, how it's their whole world. you're raising a group of young people to whom leaving that world would basically feel like dying. it makes the stakes of everything so enormous, it twists these parental relationships, and it also ensures that certain figures have so, so much power over these kids. obviously nobody is forcing them at gunpoint to race - but in reality, it feels like they don't even have the option of walking away. again, this is obviously a massive problem to address that no sport has entirely sorted out, and the series organisers can rightly say it's not their responsibility to make kids go to school. honestly, my first step would be to just... do something about these age limits. they're too low! too many of these kids are too young for grand prix racing! a starting point is to try and make it so that kids aren't being actively penalised for attempting to pursue an education. this feels another area where you'd really want to have an actual union - even to just have someone to talk to. and again, as long as the series organisers let children race, then I do think it's actually also some of their responsibility to look out for them. realistically, a lot of these kids don't actually want to walk away from racing - however you get to that point, it is also very much their dream. but anything you can do to lessen the influence of the worst people in their lives, anything you can do to at least remind them they can walk away... idk. it's the right thing to do. especially for the kids who aren't succeeding, help them on their way out

now look, this isn't a detailed manifesto. I do know that some other sports have implemented similar-ish measures to the ones above but I couldn't give you a breakdown without some research. I'm not an expert on preventative measures for child abuse, and I'm sure some of these could come with unintended consequences I'm unaware of. I also know all of these things range from 'desperately unlikely' to 'never going to happen'. and even if you did, it's really only taking a pickaxe to the tip of the iceberg. or something. to reiterate what I said at the top, I don't want to make it sound like I think all parents of athletes are abusive. I also don't think the mentors are either. I do think a lot of them are... and even beyond that - the way sports is structured, the way the ladder to professional sports is structured, you are going to see a lot of unhealthy dynamics involving very young people in vulnerable positions. and I don't think that's in any way easy to address... but y'know. sometimes it'd be nice if somebody were at least trying. the sport is doing less than the bare minimum. and for every story we hear, there's going to be so so many more where we'll remain entirely ignorant

[creepswrites]

TO KILL A CASEY BECKER | Stu x Reader

i reread Mixing Slushies and rly liked how i wrote stu and reader?? so i'm writing in that universe again but this Should be readable as a standalone… though reading it would def help explain certain events they talk about :)

STU MACHER x AMAB!READER (he/they)

SUMMARY: Leaning back, you gave him a look. “You can tell me anything, you know that right? I mean, whatever it is can’t be that bad, yeah?" You laced your fingers together with a soft smile. "What, did you, like, kill somebody?” You snorted and raised a curious eyebrow.

You felt the way he tensed and you felt your stomach drop.

WARNING: drugs, suggestive content

You blew smoke out, watching it swirl up and disappear into the blue night sky. The sun had barely begun to touch the horizon and the air was crisp from fall. Everything felt hazy and relaxed, the town of Woodsboro dimmed and tired. You loved it like this - dark enough the sun didn't hurt your eyes yet just bright enough that you could navigate outside without a flashlight. Streetlights had just come on and you smiled at the sight.

He was late.

But leave it to you and Stu to do things backwards. You'd already had sex in the back of his car a few days ago and now the two of you were "taking things slow" in your own way. Tonight, Stu was taking you to see a new horror flick that had just come out and then out for dinner afterwards.

"It'll be like a date." Stu had smiled, tucked into your side as you walked down the school halls. You were skipping P.E together to smoke weed in the bathrooms - a habit you’d gotten from Hollywood and one Stu had gotten from you.

You'd rolled your eyes and pretended to think it over. "I suppose I have time in my very busy schedule for my kind-of-boyfriend."

Because you two weren't officially "dating" yet. Not until you'd been on a date, Stu had insisted.

So here you were: leaning out your bedroom window waiting for your Prince Charming to pull up in his shitty car and take you to see yet another Hellraiser film. You didn't really care about the movie but you were interested in making out with Stu in the back of the theatre.

At least your dad was out for the evening, meaning you didn't have to climb out the window. You didn't really care what he thought, if he even spared you a thought these days. It wouldn't surprise you if he wasn't even aware you were still friends with Stu. Much less dating him.

The sight of a familiar red car pulling into your driveway made you light up brighter than the headlights. You snuffed your cigarette out on the windowsill and hurried down the stairs. You were dressed comfortably for the early evening, a loose white tank top and jeans that were comfortable enough to lounge around in when you inevitably wound up back at his house. Plus, you knew Stu would let you steal whatever coat he was wearing if you decided to complain about the cold.

You swung the door open and there he was. Pretty and dressed in flannel overtop his shirt that always made him look cozy. "Hey beautiful," Stu said, leaning in the doorway and towering over you.

"You're late." You teased him, pulling him down by the front of his shirt to kiss him sweetly.

"Wouldja forgive me if I told you I got you this?" He held up a slushie cup he’d had hidden behind his back, shaking it and smiling when your eyes lit up. "I'll take that as a yes."

You swiped the cup and took a grateful sip. "You're immediately forgiven of any wrongdoings." He slipped his hand into yours and led you to his car. It felt stupidly romantic, so you let him. "So, what's the to-do list tonight?"

Stu opened the car door for you and it stunned you how normal that was. Even before you two were "dating," Stu would just do these sorts of things for you. Bring you treats, hold open doors for you, let you steal his clothes... Dating hadn't changed anything, which you were honestly relieved about.

You'd seen Billy and Sidney cooing over each other at lunch. If you and Stu had to do that, you'd probably puke. It was just too... sappy. You two weren't sappy.

"Sooo first is Hellraiser: Bloodline. The fourth, if you can believe it." Stu said as he pulled out of your driveway.

"Surely it can't be good." You hummed around your straw.

Stu shrugged. "At least it's got Doug Bradley in it." You moaned dramatically and fanned yourself, making him laugh. "Knew you'd be into that, you freak!"

"What can I say, Pinhead is handsome! Sue me." You waved him off, smiling.

Banter between you two hadn't changed. Nothing had changed.

The theatre was relatively empty this time of night, meaning it was pretty easy for you to sneak the rest of your drink in as well as hide out in the back of the theatre. Horror movies were an acquired taste so you didn't have to worry about other couples interrupting.

Halfway through the film, Stu leaned into your ear. "This fucking sucks." He whispered stoically.

You had to cover your mouth to keep yourself from bursting out into giggled. "Yeah, this is so bad."

He looked you up and down slowly. The theatre screen was the only source of light, casting dark shadows on his profile that made you shudder to see. It reminded you of that mask he'd kept in his car, for some reason. Maybe it was because Stu was normally sweet and bubbly with you so seeing him take a darker twist was...

Intoxicating? Terrifying? Both?

"Wanna make out?" He whispered, an impish little smile on his face.

"Fuck yeah." You sighed before climbing into his lap, straddling him comfortably. "Been waitin' for you to ask."

You mirrored his smile and kissed him. Kissing him was so overwhelming in wonderful ways. He was handsy too, grabbing your waist and sliding his hands up under your shirt. You had to bat his hands away when he slid them around your front, tickling your stomach a bit.

Your hands rested comfortably on his shoulders, squeezing them from time to time when he slid his tongue into your mouth. You tasted like cherry and blue raspberry and Stu could die happy. He had you, beautiful and alive, in his lap again. In his life again.

By the time the movie was over, you two were ruffled and giggling, hair and clothes messed up and avoiding eye contact with any of the staff.

When you two were outside, the night wind brushing your clothes and chill against your blushing faces, Stu reached over and grabbed your hand. "C'mere," he said before gesturing to the empty parking lot. The movie theatre shared a parking lot with a supermarket, meaning this time of night gave you two a sea of concrete and streetlights to explore. It felt empty and abandoned and you loved it.

You made up a game of trying to touch as many streetlights as you could, fingers alternating between brushing cold metal and the soft shirt Stu wore as you grabbed at him in futile attempts to slow him down.

Like you'd predicted, he'd given you the flannel overshirt he'd worn. You didn't even have to say anything. He just knew.

Your joint laughter echoed in the empty, dark space. It felt like you were suspended outside time. When Stu finally caught you around the waist under a streetlight, it was like the world narrowed down to your ring of light. Both your cheeks were flushed from running and you kissed him without a care for chapped lips and dry tongues.

You loved him.

This knowledge wasn't new to you but it still rocked your very being. You pulled back and just. Stared at him. The light overhead made it look like he had a halo and you kissed him again, the light burning a ring behind your eyes.

You loved him.

Stu pulled back this time and sighed. "Y'know, I think I get what JD was on about." When you gave him a questioning look, he just grinned. "About Veronica. Y'know, Heathers? How he was gonna blow up the school for her?"

You paused. "I don't think that's what that movie was about."

"Our love is God, baby," he said, stepping back to kiss your hand. "I'd blow up the school if you asked me to."

You felt your cheeks warm at the sentiment, surprising even you. You tried to hide your smile but he definitely noticed. "Didn't they drink slushies in Heathers, or am I crazy?"

Stu laced your fingers together as he led the way back towards the car. "I sure hope you're crazy, baby, or I'm gonna have my work cut out for me."

"You plan on drivin' me crazy, Macher?" You snorted, swinging your joined hands.

"I hope so," he said, eyes wide and impossibly soft, "Can't imagine us bein' any other way."

“I never said we’d go somewhere fancy.” Stu defended as he perched awkwardly atop the picnic table outside the Burger King.

You punched his shoulder playfully and joined him, stealing a fry from him as you settled. “And I never said I expected that from you.” You rolled your eyes as you chewed. “‘sides, pretty sure the ‘fanciest’ place in Woodsboro is, like, Olive Garden.”

Stu snorted as he bit into his burger. “Sorry there Hollywood, we can’t all be as nice as it is there.”

“Oh don’t even. It’s a dirty, trashy city and I hated it there.” You huffed in frustration. Leaving your mom behind in Hollywood hadn’t been too difficult on you, which her lawyer had been confused by. Emotional attachments like that weren’t something you wanted, much less sought out.

Except Stu. You liked him and basically nobody else. Other people were just filler in your world - things that existed to take up space and serve functions. You’d lost your attachment to your parents not long after you’d turned ten after realizing they would rather have petty fights with each other rather than actually take care of you.

You’d always been alone.

You leant against Stu’s shoulder, staring off into space as you fidgeted with the straw of your soda. Stu was just rambling to you, which was pretty normal. He didn’t really mind if you listened or not, he just needed someone to talk at sometimes.

He was like a firecracker to you - loud and snapping and out of control if left unattended. You usually protest whenever Stu calls himself crazy, depending on how much of an asshole he was being.

“What’s up?” Stu finally asked through a mouthful of food.

You lifted your head to study him, your eyes half lidded as you considered your words. “Sometimes I feel like you and I are the only real people.”

While any normal person would be shocked, maybe even alarmed, Stu was neither of those things. “Hm. Billy says that to me sometimes. ‘bout people not bein’ real, that is.”

You couldn't help but frown. “Billy Loomis?”

“Mmhm!” Stu swallowed and gave you a smile. “I think you two would get along! Lots in common, y’know?”

Billy Loomis was pretty much Mr. Perfect at school. Good grades, attractive, fairly athletic, the works. You’d never been particularly attracted to him, mostly because you’d never run in the same circles. He was friends with Stu, sure, but you mostly ran with the other skater kids or potheads.

Besides, you were still a little bitter with him for stealing your best friend away up until you had to leave.

“I didn’t think he was, uh…” You trailed off, not wanting to admit you had pegged Billy as the town’s cocky heartbreaker.

“Deep?” Stu finished for you with a little nudge. “Yeah, he’s full’a surprises. But don’t tell anyone I toldja that.” His sudden seriousness took you by surprise, so you listened. “He’s got this, like, person suit he wears.”

Person suit? “Like, uh, he’s pretending to be a person?”

Stu’s grin turned wild and sent a chill down your spine. “Bingo.”

Something about that unsettled you. You weren’t an idiot, you could tell Stu was basically confessing that Billy Loomis had mental issues no one else could see. But that meant there had been a reason he’d told Stu at all.

And a reason Stu was telling you.

You began to run possible reasons through your head. Sure, Stu had a weird manic-depressive streak from time to time but you knew that. So likely Billy did too. But why did that matter? Why had that come up in conversation?

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard there,” Stu’s voice snapped you out of your trance and it struck you how dangerous he sounded.

Lying came easy to you. But you and Stu had always had this uncanny ability to see through each other’s bullshit even if others didn’t. So there wasn’t any point in even trying.

You’d only look suspicious.

“Why’d Billy tell you that?” Your voice sounded far away to your own ears and you watched Stu carefully.

He didn’t flinch nor did he show any sign of… anything at all. It unsettled you. A large part of you now wished you had fought harder to stay.

What had happened to Stu while you were gone?

You ate another fry and tried to ignore how he openly stared at you. Questioning him would only make you look suspicious. Suspicious of what, you weren’t sure. But something inside you screamed that something was very, very wrong.

“‘Cuz he and I are alike. People are fake. Playthings.” Stu’s voice was like ice in your ear as he leaned in closer, as though telling you a secret. You felt frozen in place by his words and the crazed look in his eyes.

“Stu,” you said carefully, “What did you do?”

Something an awful lot like fear flashed in his eyes. “Nothing, promise.”

A lie. You saw it instantly and he knew. “Try again.” You shot back just as cold.

He looked around the empty Burger King outside seating space as though worried someone might eavesdrop. The only company you two had was the chill night breeze and empty wrappers that never made it to the very nearby trash cans. “I-“ He swallowed, suddenly looking back down to earth. “You’re not in on it. I can’t tell you.”

That hurt, surprisingly. Suddenly it was like you were a sophomore again and you had to watch your best friend hang all over Billy Loomis without a second glance back.

“Take me home.” You crumpled up your empty wrapper and tossed it to the cold cement to join the other wrappers blown by the breeze. Tears stung your eyes and you just wanted to go home to let them out. Stu didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing how he got to you.

Instead, he looked confused. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a quiet laugh and it was like a dam broke inside you. Hot tears rolled heavy down your cheeks as you laughed hysterically. “This is just like sophomore year, that’s what’s wrong!” You pulled away from him and got up to glare daggers at him. “Once again, I’m shut out because of Billy fucking Loomis! I’m not ‘in on’ your little secret but here you are dangling it in front of me like I should just get it!” Your laughs became more like sobs and you didn’t care anymore. All the pent up loneliness and frustration spilled out into the empty air as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I want to go home. Because I’m not playing second place to Billy again. If you like him so much, go date HIM instead!” You choked through your sob and spun on your heel to march back towards the car, wiping your tears as best you could. Anger only burnt you more when you remembered the flannel shirt you wore was Stu’s.

You slumped against the passenger side door and sniffed, staring out at the last pink lights on the horizon, trying to drown in the indigo blues and float away.

You’d rather be anywhere but here. On a date with a guy who tried and succeeded to make you jealous.

When Stu stood in front of you, you just glared bitterly at his crossed arms. “How long have we known each other?” He sounded almost annoyed, which only succeeded in pissing you off more.

“Too long,” you spat back.

“Then you know it’s always been you and me, yeah? I’m not-“ He drummed his fingers nervously and you had half the mind to throw the stupid flannel back at him. “It’s not that I’m not telling you because I’m not supposed to. There’s plenty’a shit I shouldn’t tell ya but still do. Because I love you and don’t want to keep secrets from you-”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his and you felt your breath catch in your throat. He loved you?

“-But it’s because I have to. To keep you safe. And you’re really better off not knowing.” Stu finished. He moved as though going to hug you but froze, waiting for your reaction.

You stepped into his arms and hugged him back. He loved you and that was at least enough for you to shut up for a second and take it in. “I love you too.” You said, voice muffled from where you’d buried into his chest.

“I know,” Stu snorted, laughing when you smacked at him playfully.

Leaning back, you gave him a look. “You can tell me anything, you know that right? I mean, whatever it is can’t be that bad, yeah?" You laced your fingers together with a soft smile. "What, did you, like, kill somebody?” You snorted and raised a curious eyebrow.

You felt the way he tensed and you felt your stomach drop. Everything clicked into place. Why he had a hunting knife and a mask in his car. Maureen Prescott’s death the previous year. Billy’s “person suit” and their secrecy…

“You killed her, didn’t you?” You stared at him with a horrified expression.

Stu swallowed and shook his head. "No, 'course not, jeez babe..."

Lie. You pulled out of his arms and your back hit the car window. "Is this- Jesus, Stu, is THIS why you hung around Billy so much? You were planning a murder?!"

"No!" Truth, you let your shoulders relax. "I mean, we got there eventually but it didn't start like that. Promise." Stu hung his head, like he was guilty. He was. But he looked like a kicked puppy about it. "We met 'cuz we liked horror movies so much. At first, I just, like, wanted to make sure he was chill before introducing you two. But he, uh, started showing me who he really was and I just... I didn't wanna drag you into that."

You didn't move from your spot as you tried to process everything. "So, what, you two decided to make your own horrible snuff film?"

He winced at your words but didn't deny it. "It was just gonna be her, honest. But we've, uh..."

"Stu..." You felt yourself tremble and you wanted to get away, far away, maybe as far as Hollywood just to get out from under Stu Macher's gaze. "What do you mean 'just her'?"

You could tell by the way he froze that he'd slipped up.

He grabbed your arms before you could bolt and you screamed. Stu immediately began shushing you and trying to reassure you. "It's okay, babe, sweetheart, I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."

Truth. But you didn't feel any better.

You watched him flounder for words before just sighing. "If- If you really wanna know, I can take you to see Billy and we can... talk. If you want me to take you home and never talk again, that's- that's also fine."

His face said otherwise, which got to you a little. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing for yourself how much Stu needed you.

So you played into that desperation. You stepped towards him and ran your hands up his chest slowly, smirking when you felt his breath hitch. "I am so. Unbelievably. Pissed at you." Your words oozed with malice and you could see him shudder. "You kept this from me, pretended everything was normal, had sex with me in the mask you'd used to kill a woman..."

He whimpered when you dug your nails into the soft flesh of his bare arms. "Babe-?"

"I am so. Angry." Your words were barely a whisper now, drowned out as you kissed him. It wasn't a kind or gentle kiss either. You're pretty sure you bit his lip rather harshly and he just relished in it, the freak.

You loved him. God fucking damnit, you were in love with a murderer.

When you shoved him back, he looked at you like you'd hung all the stars in the sky. Like he'd kill anyone for you - and he very well may. "You're so pretty," he said breathlessly. God he was swooning over you with a bloody lip you'd given him and scratches down his arms from your nails that threatened to pierce skin. He was a freak and that set something alight in you. "I know you're a guy 'n all but... God you're stunning." His babbling was sweet and it had you kissing him again chastely before pulling back as quick as you came.

"Shut the fuck up." You huffed, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards his car. "You're taking us to Loomis's place. We need to talk shit over."

Billy had been sleeping when Stu started tossing pebbles up at his window.

Normally, Stu showing up was a good thing. It meant horror movie marathon at his house or, even better, planning their homemade slasher film.

But waking him up for either of those things was always a very bad idea for Stu.

By the sixth pebble, he was up and rolling out of bed to pull sweatpants on. At the eighth pebble, he swung his bedroom window open to glare daggers at his friend. You being there, leaning against his car with all the forced casualty in the world, did not abate his anger. "What. The fuck. Are you doing?!" He hissed down at Stu, careful to mind his tone to avoid waking his dad.

Stu gave him a sheepish grin and revealed the mask he'd had hidden behind his back. Billy was suddenly wide awake and staring at you.

"Uh, can we go back to my place?" Stu asked, aware of the building tension as you two glared each other down. "They, uh, wanna talk with ya, Billy."

You crossed your arms over your chest and waited. When Billy retreated back into his room, it reminded you of a predator retreating back to it's den. Now knowing what you knew about Billy Loomis, it wasn't unfitting.

After a few minutes, Billy met the two of you outside. He'd pulled warmer clothes on and, while he still looked pissed at Stu for dragging him outside, he climbed into the backseat of the car without much hassle. Which you were relieved about.

The drive to Stu's house was tense and dangerous. You kept yourself practically tucked against the door in hopes that if Billy lunged at you, you'd at least get a second to throw the door open. But he did no such thing.

Stu pulled up in the driveway and you all piled out. The house was dark and you hoped that meant everyone was still asleep. The three of you wordlessly climbed up the stairs to the attic that Stu had renovated to be his bedroom a couple years ago. It was spacious and very obviously Stu. Stickers littered about the room in various spots, the large queen sized bed was unmade, and the room itself was in a state of unorganized chaos.

You made a mental note to help him clean later. It wouldn't be the first time, you knew how his brain got sometimes. Things just didn't seem as important when he was having his episodes - manic or depressive - and you'd often lend a hand during the aftermath.

For now, you all managed to get to the bed and sit without tripping over too many stray shirts and soda cans. "I gave you one rule: don't. Tell. Anyone." Billy started, rubbing his eyes in equal parts exhaustion and frustration. "And you went ahead and told him anyways."

"I asked." You were quick to defend Stu as you and Billy went back to glaring at each other. "Stu didn't want to tell me, I just see him too well."

Billy snorted and you wanted to kick him.

"Point is, he know now." Stu sighed, chewing anxiously on a fingernail. "Whaddya think, Billy? Should we just... tell him what's goin' on?"

"What, and have him spoil it more?" The other boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

You snorted. "Oh, sorry Princess, I didn't know I was spoiling your fun." Taunting Billy was probably not a good move but you were tired and annoyed and just wanted to know what your boyfriend was doing when you weren't around.

Billy's eye twitched and Stu cut in again. "He knows 'bout Maureen. But, uh, that's it." He paused before sighing. "And he knows we plan to do it again."

"I ain't tellin' you shit." Billy hissed at you like a feral animal. "

It was pure vindictiveness talking when you sat up straight. “Well, you have to. Because I want in.”

Billy only looked more angry and both of you pretended not to see how excited Stu looked at the prospect. “Fuck no. You don’t have the guts.”

So you paused. Did you have the guts to kill like these two clearly did? Could you, if it were the right person? Stu and Billy had begun to argue but you couldn’t focus on that. You wracked your brain to remember what Stu told you about Billy. He’d given you all the pieces for a reason. He wanted you to join him and Billy in this.

You didn’t know why. But if Stu was trying, that made you inclined to roll with it. Maybe it’d make sense later.

“I want to join in because I want to help make your horror movie.” You watched Billy carefully, your faces illuminated only by the single lamp Stu had clicked on when you’d all settled. Shadows danced around the room like they were excited by the morbid conversation.

That confused Billy. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you tried to seem casual and unbothered, “Stu told me you like horror films. That’s what this is, right? Your own slasher film.”

Billy glanced at Stu, almost bewildered. “This is our sequel. Introducing new, unplanned characters would be a hassle.”

The grin that soread across your face was nothing short of menacing. “The audience would love me though. A fan favorite, if you will.”

“How so?” Billy said, slumping forward on his hands to stare at you better.

It felt like the two of you had developed some weird synergy in that moment. The maniacal smiles you shared felt charged, though with what you weren’t exactly sure. “I have a good motive,” you said, drumming your fingers nervously on the bedspread as you hoped you were saying all the right words. “My mom’s a drug addict washed out in Hollywood, my dad’s a neglectful piece of shit, and I don’t have any friends.”

Billy nodded, intrigued. “But what would push you to kill. ‘s not enough to just have a tragic backstory.”

You tilted your head, very much so a callback to Michael Myers. “I don’t attach to people emotionally. Never have, not even to my own parents.” You and Billy’s faces were practically touching at this point, both your eyes mirroring the excitement you felt. “People take up space and I’m tired of hearing them judge me when they’re not even real.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Billy sat back with a smug look on his face. “Stu told me I’d like you,” he said after a beat.

Stu let out a little cheer and both your heads whipped around to stare at him, as though just remembering he was there. “Alright, so, we’ll have to redo the blood pact.” He said with obvious excitement. When you gave him a quizzical look, he turned his hand over to let you see a faint scar in the center of his palm. “We made a pact ‘bout a year ago to stick together on this shit.”

Billy let out a tired yawn and flopped down onto the bed without any grace whatsoever. And this was the guy who half your year was swooning for, you scoffed internally. “Whatever,” he grumbled as he turned his back to you both. “Go to sleep. ‘m fuckin’ tired.”

“Aww are we gonna cuddle?” Stu teased, happily kicking his shoes and jeans to the floor.

“Fuck off.” Billy grumbled.

You still had questions and Stu seemed to notice. “What’s up?” He asked, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Billy too much.

“You said someone else is up next? On your kill list?” You were terribly curious and your conversation had only gotten you wound up with a nervous, aggressive energy.

Stu hummed before kissing your forehead and laying down on the bed beside Billy, serving as a barrier between you and Billy. “Casey Becker. And her shitty boyfriend too.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you shed some of your own clothes as well. “How’re you gonna manage that? I mean, won’t they connect the murder back to you guys?”

He just shrugged. “Who doesn’t love a brutal revenge killing though!” He looked you up and down as you paused your descent to the bed in order to lean over him. “‘sides! We got you now. Extra secure alibis.”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” Billy grumbled, making you chuckle. You got the feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d shared a bed with Stu and you weren’t sure what emotion that made you feel.

Once you were all settled in, Stu let you cuddle closer. “Hi.” He said with a shy giggle.

“Hi yourself,” you hummed, your eyes already feeling heavy. “I’m in now, yeah? We’ll talk about your plans in the morning?”

Billy sighed in exasperation, rolling over to smack Stu’s arm since you were out of reach. “Yes, fuck, you’re in, now shut up and go to bed.”

You and Stu giggled impishly but did quiet down afterwards. Scooting closer to Stu, you slid your arms around his middle and tucked your face into his neck, smiling when you felt him hold you back.

For better or for worse, you were in now. Here’s hoping you wouldn’t regret it.

[astrolavas]

I'm curious about the serious reasons behind the 13-in-1 shampoo/shower gel headcanon

okay, so 😭😭😭 basically it started as a "he uses a 13-in-1 shampoo/shower gel lol" because funny + hunter likes his efficiency after all and it's practical, and so we also had an "lmao do you think hunter's one of those ppl who don't wash their legs in the shower" discussion with some friends, but then it just kinda... evolved into more??? cuz like, the thing is that YEAH, he probably IS. because he's never been taught.

i've just been rly thinking abt how hunter most likely had to just… learn how to take care of himself all on his own. belos didn't care enough to teach him abt the basics of self-care and hygiene; he most likely taught him only abt things that'd affect his performance or how hunter's "perceived" plus he added some things that'd make him look like a Good Caring Uncle in hunter's eyes, the bare minimum; eat, train, shower, stand straight, etc.. but when it comes to things that were "not visible" to other coven members or even belos himself, he probably couldn't care less.

like, hunter likely had to figure out HOW to actually take care of himself all on his own. he had to teach HIMSELF how to clean himself, without any clear instructions, navigating solely by what seemed logical or right to him; couldn't even ask or base it off other coven scouts, since his interactions with them were limited. he was in charge of when he'd sleep, and that defo didn't do him any good. he had to learn how to treat wounds and patch himself up, because he most likely wasn't even rly allowed to use a healer's services; but at least he had books with... that information instead, i suppose. that's something. uh- he had to do all these things, all while overworking himself and doing everything in his power to make his "uncle" proud.

just……… post-coven hunter slowly realizing that the little things and habits he does and always thought were right and how things are "supposed" to be done… AREN'T actually right…… seeing how differently yet naturally others do their daily self-maintenance routines and realizing just how deeply belos' neglect and lack of care for his well-being really went, how much it affected everything in his life. h

like. imagining hexsquad casually discussing their random routines/habits/practices and hunter saying sth he thinks is right cuz like this IS how he's always done this, psh- of course it's right! but then finding out that's not how most ppl do this thing… realizing- and mostly just feeling so embarassed… cuz god how couldn't he have KNOWN that, it's so OBVIOUS to him now!!!! like, that obviously wasn't his fault and he'd TECHNICALLY know that but this would just be another thing that'd make him feel alienated, "wrong"; another thing that'd make others look at him weirdly, with that specific kind of concern, even if only for a split-second……. gah

so yeah, just... thinking abt the emotional (and physical) abuse that hunter had to go through, and how neglect was also definitely a big part of it. thinking of the embarrassment and humiliation that comes from "not knowing how to do things right" despite never having been TAUGHT these things, despite not being at fault here whatsoever. especially since hunter was additionally also expected to grow up quick, to basically ACT LIKE AN ADULT his entire childhood; to be mature, to even play a role of a caretaker to belos. he was surrounded by adults but he was left to figure out all these basic things on his own.

[birdaquiver]

i was saying this on my twitter so i’m just moving it here so that i can add more because the character count limit on twitter was bothering me but anyway

i think mu qing can be very contradictory when it comes to his perception of the self. ie he's insecure about himself and that there is an element of self dislike, but at the same time he has a very strong ego & feels wronged & undervalued by those around him. on one hand he thinks he deserves better from the world and what fate has dealt him and id say he even feels angry about the injustice of it all despite his insecurities. he's a very prideful person and takes pride in the things he knows he's capable at, but the pride also means he's particularly sensitive when his flaw are torn open & seen. but on the other hand, there are weaknesses about himself he strongly despises, and he is prone to jealousy/not feeling "enough". it's the strange mix of feeling like he's very capable but still berating himself because he could do better. he thinks he could surpass what fate's dictated for him so why hasn't he? but usually he sequesters all these insecurities away so they can't be seen, & encases himself behind this cool acerbic exterior such that only his capabilities shine through

re: him believing that he is not a good person & saying that there's no point in being one—i think he believes he is simply not a good person but for the most part meets this belief with indifference and treats it almost casually? almost like "this is just a fact take it or leave it" & he doesn't consciously think too much about it. but i think all this stems from him growing so accustomed to this belief for a very long time, which he'd only developed because he sees it as essential to survival. he indulges in fallacies like "there's no point in being kind" because it's a mode of self preservation and it's born from his disillusionment from being denied trust & leniency so many times. and since he has spent so long living behind that mask that he kind of melds into it to the point where it's hard to even distinguish where his "old", more vulnerable self ends and where his new "protected" one starts—hence he ends up believing he really just isn't a good person, but to him that's a fact that causes him surprisingly little grief at first glance

but i feel like deep down he wishes that maybe in another world he could be allowed to wear a softer skin, but he's accepted it doesn't work in this one. like i don't think he consciously thinks "i hate myself because i'm a bad person" since he thinks there's merit in sharpening his edges for self protection as long as he's left unperturbed. but the wish to be a better person is a more subcutaneous thing that he doesn't really see unless he's pushed to realize it imo

BUT what i do think is that when someone tries to treat him kindly & offer him tenderness for the 1st time in his life all that faux assurance would crumble because he isn't used to it and he doesn't understand how to accept nor face it. in a way it's like. he can justify (to himself) the act of being cruel because it's a way to combat the world being inherently cruel to him—but what happens when it isn't? what happens when someone subverts this entire idea of "all the world's out to get me so the only recourse is to hurt it before it can hurt me" and prove that wrong i think it'd rly shake him up and that's the moment when his insecurities and veiled self hatred would shine through

in the revised xlmq reconciliation, he says he refused to admit xie lian was a good person who had always held unconditionally kind intentions for mu qing because he wouldn't know face xie lian had he realized xl was kind. hence he convinced himself into thinking xie lian is faking his kindness and almost manufacturing a resentment towards xie lian, but admits that in the end bridge scene that this was all some twisted form of wishful thinking on his part

but then he turns around and contradicts himself because i think he IS kind to those who are innocent. he CAN BE A KIND PERSON!! imo he cares deeply for a select few people but just doesn't show it. he takes care of children & cares deeply for his mother but because of that belief that he just isn't kind & because he's so used to sponging all the world's damage by making himself cruel, the moment he's treated differently from what he thinks is the norm and given the slightest sliver of lenience he cannot handle it and all those axioms immediately crumble & then his world entirely subverts and he goes shit, how could i have ever even thought that way? i think there is a part of him that thinks he's destined to never find *affection* nor be treated gently specifically no matter how much he yearns for it

when he looks at people like xie lian who are extremely kind and forgiving i feel like there's a part of him that goes well. i know i can never measure up to that kind of "goodness" and i wish there was a world in which i could be like that but it's been proved impossible for me so its fine if i just stick to the pragmatic ideals i have (which aren't wrong, either). and i feel like pre-fall of xianle he can chalk this up to "well xie lian had it better than me which is why he can afford to be this kind but I can't afford to be like that and it's okay" but that gets flipped on its head because after everything xie lian has been through that argument just doesn't hold true for him anymore and some of his resentment comes from this "how could he live through all that and still remain true to his original idealistic values?" mindset. the new revised xlmq reconciliation is really interesting to me because in the old version he says something along the lines of "i can't change some of these twisted beliefs i have about you but in the end, i still admire you" whereas in the new (which i infinitely prefer) he says "these twisted beliefs i had about you were simply there because i made myself believe them or else i wouldnt know how to face you"

in the end my view of him is heavily shaped by my taste in fiction and the themes and character traits i like thinking about, the things i'm drawn in by, & my own experiences as well, in my head i usually only envision him as the version that i'm most interested in exploring which is actually a very very very flawed person. and it's like. idk. maybe my reading of him is different from what mxtx originally intended or different from what other people may derive from the source material but i think that's inevitable for any shared work of fiction

[ronanxing]

please how do you pick colors 😭 I'm trying to learn how to color and I am obsessed with your comics (like your ivantill ones lol) and how do you pick such a cohesive color palette and choose where to put what????

Your art is amazing like actually :) happy holidays!!

😭 tysm anon and happy holidays to you!! i did my best to explain some of the process behind my color picking and choices for the ivantill comics under the cut, i hope its coherent cuz quite frankly it also takes me a long time to decide what colors to use

a little disclaimer: i tend to just put base colors, before i start adding shading or lighting. i also dont usually start off with a fixed color palette in mind, because my process is pretty much figuring out as i go along, and playing with all sorts of colors; however whenever i do end up with a fixed idea on the color palette the process is still applicable anyways so hopefully its helpful for u too :’]

ok so i usually decide colors by asking what kind of mood or tone im going for. for example, the recent ivti comic i did

the comic imo is pretty playful - theres a romantic element ofc but i think the focus is rly on how ivans being kulit / annoying as usual so i thought a spunky, albeit warm color would rly fit. theyre also chilling in tills house so i thought a home-y, comfy feeling would be good

i was still playing around, so for the first attempt at realizing that tone, i added a hot pink multiply layer to see how it looked

(first attempt vs final colors) (also im sorry for the low quality procreates timelapse is wack)

ironically enough it actually created a really cool looking color palette which was not what i was going for. so i kept testing colors for a bit; the shadow is hot pink, and i ended up going for a bit of a desaturated green as a base / overlay because it mellowed out the pinkness. i also put both the base and the shadow on a darken (50%) layer so that the og colors peek through a bit more compared to a multiply layer. in the end tho, i ditched pink and went for a saturated red

the green also makes for a nice complimentary color to the red, and it overall has that home-y, warm but playful feeling i wanted to include ⬇️

i added a highlight layer (color dodge, 82%) so that it pops a bit more, and also bc i knew i was gonna draw a big lamp on their right in the bg. speaking of the bg i made it a green/yellow hue so that the base for green on ivan n till make sense, and it ended up working for the best cuz the red acts as a nice contrast

(admittedly i think if the lighting of the room is green the shadow should also be green, but tbh i tend prioritize contrast as much as possible regardless cuz it looks nice 🤡 even if it fails to make sense realistically its for the vibes)

^ i ended up remedying this a little bit by adding bits of green to the shadows on ivan n tills hair and clothes, and also because its fairly complementary to the pink palette i have going in for the shadows and even the highlights (esp on ivan)

i also decided to shade in dark parts in the lineart so that it pops a little more

looking at the values also really help! esp in comics, where each panel can have its own lighting depending on what angle ure drawing. u can do this easily by adding a pure black layer above the entire piece, and setting it to color (100%)

for me the values actually made me realize things that may look too similar, which usually leads to me changing the color. for example, the couch and stuffed animals behind ivan and till were actually a lot darker before i changed it. bc it kinda blended into ivti a bit, it also got the eyes’ attention away from them. i ended up adjusting their hue and values so that it matches the bg, and ivan and till stick out more (alongside other color adjustments) ⬇️

changing the lineart also helps quite a bit! i made the lineart for ivan and till a little darker, while the bg elements got a darker green instead so that the bg elements dont take as much attention

looking at b&w values also helped me realize that the og pink i was using for the panels was a little too dark, so i made it significantly lighter so that the panels stick out more (esp bc they take huge precedence in the second page)

(og panel color vs final)

and finally when i pick all the colors and am satisfied with them, i merge everything into one final color layer for easier rendering :> procreate (and im sure other programs) allows for color / hue adjustments so you can def play around with those!

as for the harana / first ivantill comic i made, it had all the similar steps of the recent comic so ill just talk a little bit about the palette

so im ngl this comic was a bit of a struggle to color for me,, cuz i wanted it to be romantic but it was set at night. usually that dictates cooler tones and colors, but i was aiming for something warm. thats when i figured i could just let tills room wash an orange color, which would help with making warm lighting but also help till and ivan stick out again from the surrounding darkness / blues

i went with a purple base, cuz i thought it was a nice warm ish color at night and it makes blue and orange pop. i also figured that i could make the base both purple since the highlights are the most attention grabbing / contrasting colors

also used the moonlight as rim lighting so that ivan sticks out a little more,, i also figured that tills room would be projecting harsher lighting over the moonlight

lighting it this way also allows for nice color contrast regardless of what character is in the center: ivans outside but awashed in orange lighting (from tills room), and tills inside but hes sticking his head out a little so hes noticeably purple. it allows for characters to stand out while also being pleasing to the eye

and im ngl i cheated a bit again 😅 i think till shouldve projected a shadow on ivan a couple of times and the highlights might be too harsh but again i just prioritized making their facial expressions seen LOL

for this one i didnt use any layer modes aside from (if i remember correctly) a purple multiply layer and overlay for shadows and base respectively

and thats pretty much my process for figuring out the colors !!

TLDR; i look for the mood or tone im going for, try to make interesting contrasts / complimentary colors and i also double check if each character sticks out by checking values :> it really helps me too to play around a LOT, i think it takes me like an hour or just 30 mins to figure out what colors to use and also adjusting it significantly when i merge everything together

[littledollll]

Hey...sorry it's me again, but since you write for wanda, can I maybe request something with a fem reader where there's a little bit of mindfuckery going on? Basically reader wakes up in some sort of new reality, in a bed made for two rather than one, blinds to let the sunlight in rather than curtains to keep everyone and everything out, but they don't really question it because it almost doesn't feel real? Kinda like a dream? And suddenly they have a girlfriend, Wanda, who dotes on them, snuggles them in bed, watches sitcoms with them, somehow knows all their skeletons in the closet (mind reading hehe) and lets them curl up on her chest and cry it out as she soothes them, makes them snacks, helps them do basic tasks when they're (super) depressed. Unbeknownst to reader, Wanda has actually torn apart the multiverse to be with them once again after having already lost them in another??? I'm sorry if this is way too much

-🧸 anon (loves you)

Mastermind

Wanda Maximoff x reader

A/n: im so behind on requests im trying believe me! Writing is getting hard :/ but! this was so fucking nice to write, yk that random motivation. when I tell u it just came to me and I couldn’t stop writing- I love love love Wanda, specially her being rly soft and lovey:( ty for your request hun.

Warnings: kinda manipulation? Hex pt.2, slightly suggestive if you squint, lots and lots of soft kisses, mentions of r struggling with anxiety and depressive episodes, lots of comfort, mostly narrated.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A kiss. It was so soft. Intoxicatingly so. Her gentle hands cupping your face, the comforting weight of her straddling your lap made you feel grounded, and so safe. You whimpered when she parted from you, nuzzling into her chest while your arms wrapped around her. “My sweet little darling.. oh how I love you.” She whispered, her hands brushing your hair back and away from your face.

You didn’t know where this came from. Some day long ago you simply woke up and there she was. Wanda. You had a whole life with her. And somewhere between the fuzziness you remembered it all. How you met, everything from your first conversation to your first time. Your life before you got married, how you moved in together before then, and how your family disapproved of it. And god. That perfect wedding. The happiest day of your life, when it all finally came together for you, this was it. The stars aligned and have you this, gave you her.

In some part of your mind you didn’t know this woman, but at the same time you always had. You knew everything about her and she knew everything about you. Every little thing. You couldn’t bother to question it, if it was a dream then so be it, it was such a lovely dream, everything you could possibly ever want was right here. A beautiful and kind woman, with so much love and comfort to give. Wanda understood you, she allowed you to feel and cry but never alone, she was right here through it all. Allowing you to hide against her chest and pet your hair when you cried, telling you the most reassuring words, ensuring your comfort at all times.

It wasn’t a one time thing, you quickly noticed. Every day felt like a movie, every day she was the perfect woman, and she was yours. You’d watch tv together, listen to music and dance your hearts out.

Your favorite part was the cooking. Just like you were now. Both hands wrapped around her torso as you hugged her from behind, your girl, your wife. She let out an adorable giggle when you nuzzled into her neck and squeezed her tight.

“Are you planning an staying there the whole time darling or would you bother to help me out with our dinner.” She teased, her tone was scolding but so obviously not genuinely upset.

“m okay right here, my love.” Almost as if on queue the tv switched to play one of your favorite songs. You swayed with Wanda, holding her impossibly close and effectively preventing her from getting any actual cooking done which she was quick to scold you about yet again.

“If you want dinner you need to let me cook, dear.” You ignored her, sighing contently against her neck and closing your eyes. “Just gimme a minute to love on you, nothing wrong with giving my wife a little affection.” She let you. Her own arms coming to hug around yours, a bright smile painted on her face. She always looked so happy with you, even more so. It’s like all her energy recharged when you did little things like this, and the second you noticed you started doing it non-stop.

Wanda always gave you so much. She gave you her everything. The least you could do was give her these moments, ones where she took a deep breath and let her head lull to your shoulder, eyes blissfully closed and an always beautiful smile on her face. You loved this woman. Your beautiful Wanda.

“Let’s finish cooking mamá, I’ll help you.” You parted with a kiss. A sweet kiss like always, those kisses she’d giggle or smile into and give you a flirty little look, then go about her day like she didn’t know what she was doing to you. “Cut this up for me will you, darling?” You hummed and did a she asked, shaking your head to think about the now and not the events awaiting later tonight.

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” Wanda smacked you with an oven mitt furrowing her brows at you. “Dirty dirty mind.” You chucked and looked back at her. “What! I didn’t say anything” she let out a drawn out, “mhmmm” before turning back to put some ingredients in the pan. “I just know what you’re thinking. Hurry it up I need those!” “Right right! I’m sorry!”

Wanda found it odd, that making this reality with you didn’t take so much of her power like others had before. Like your own mind was subconsciously giving into her without her trying to force it. When Wanda occasionally peaked into your mind to see if any dreams or memories about your old life haunted you there was nothing. When she searched for doubts about your life or any clue that you might be figuring things out she only saw the slight confusion of those moments there your mind briefly recalled having a life without or before her, but you didn’t dwell on them, in-fact you thought of them as your anxiety messing you up but never once did you doubt her. Like you subconsciously simply refused to believe there was ever a life without her.

It was perfect. She didn’t really trick you. She just treated you like she did you from her universe, gave you their memories and anything you could possibly need. And you seemed more than content with this life, with her. She was your perfect girl, and you were her darling little love. Both of you living the life of your dreams, together.

[jinnie-ret]

Would you want to be tagged in rape posts too? Since you have SO much to say?

ok so I wasn't expecting to get this kind of ask on a casual Wednesday evening (for me)

First of all of course I have "SO much to say"

Tagging someone in r*pe fics when it's triggering to them is not only incredibly insensitive but an awful thing to do, I'm saying it plain and simple. That is not something that should even cross your mind. So whilst you're sat behind your phone screen or computer screen all proud, I'd take a moment to have a hard look at yourself and what you're doing. Because that shit can hurt people. That is not normal behaviour. It's wrong. And I'll say it again, it's disgusting. When you know fully well what you're doing.

Second of all, coming through on anon even suggesting such a thing... what are you getting out of this? People rly do baffle me sometimes like ofc I don't want to be tagged in that?!