#because my old one is IMPOSSIBLE to find things in

[the-modern-typewriter]

could you write us more vampires !!!

also u the baddestt ❤️❤️❤️

"Your kind don't look so perfect in the sun," the human said. "It feels like shining a light through a counterfeit. Seeing all the flaws. I love it. Hi~"

The vampire stared at them, eyes wide and viciously frightened and simultaneously filled with a sort of bewildered wonder at the gentle warmth washing over them. It would have been adorable if they weren't a complete and utter monster, devoid of whatever humanity they'd once had. Poor mite. They were so new, weren't they?

"Gosh, really, though." The human leaned down, pressing a kiss to the vampire's forehead. "Just look at you," they murmured. "I could just eat you up, pumpkin. Who were you when you still had a beating heart?"

The vampire's skin was so cold that it almost felt blistering. Sharp. When they were a kid, they'd once made the stupid mistake of licking a metal lamppost in winter, because they'd heard it was so cold that your tongue could get stuck. It had seemed absurd. Impossible. They'd been so sure it couldn't be true. It had taken hours for them to finally be able to move away again.

Kissing a vampire always reminded them of those hours. No matter how many times they did it, they still half expected to end up with a frozen lips, unable to pull away, except with the vampire the scant hours by a lamppost would tick over for forever until all that was left was the dark.

Infernal, gorgeous creatures. How could they not be obsessed? Of course, the other hunters didn't approve, but then. Their track record spoke for itself.

The vampire was still staring when the human moved back. Of course they were.

It was an old myth that vampires burned in the sun, but an even older misconception. Exposing a vampire to the sun only got closer to revealing the truth of them; a dead thing in a box, guttingly vulnerable. They could not move, could not speak, could use none of their devastating array of night-time gifts. In the dark, the vampire was nigh unstoppable, uncageable, unbeatable, certainly too beautiful to deny.

But oh, in the daylight...

It was why every hunter who had been there since the start knew to find the vampire's lair before the moon began to rise. To follow the butterflies to an undead grave, or to whatever more modern alternative the creatures found in the many centuries of increasing refinement that followed. Same thing, though. A vampire in a guarded mansion, hunkered down behind thick walls of sun-blocking glass, was still just a pretty dead thing in a much bigger box. The human had found them all. Seen them all. This one had curled up in the first place that felt instinctively safe like a stray cat, hadn't they? They hadn't even thought to lock themselves in from the inside.

"I know, I know." the human said ruefully. "You thought you were safe. They all do. You were oh so careful! You only ate one of the locals and it was an accident, honest, you just woke up so hungry. You couldn't help it."

They picked the knife up from where they'd set it down and traced the tip along the deceptively soft line of the vampire's mouth.

The vampire's pupils turned to pinpricks of terror.

"Still," the human said, "one local is enough for them to call me around these parts. Bad luck for you, my friend, isn't it? If you'd got turned in a city, you might have had a chance! Sorry."

The vampire, predictably, said nothing. It was the only thing the human found themselves wishing for. To be able to talk with a vampire, not just at them, because certainly it would be foolish of them to risk getting near one at any other time.

The human sighed. They trailed the knife down, dug it into the vampire's neck, where the two distinctive fang marks rested.

"The lucky thing for you, is that I need to find your maker," they said. "Can't just kill you. Or maybe that's unlucky? I suppose that depends on you. As said, most people wouldn't make something like you round these parts. They know better. So how did we get here? I'm rambling. Anyway." They watched, idly, as blood trickled down the vampire's throat. "I know you can't tell me anything, killer, but you're going to try. Flick those pretty eyes up for me twice for yes. Down for no. Okay?"

The vampire was unblinkingly still for a moment, still staring at them, face involuntarily smooth. Then their eyes flicked up twice.

The human beamed. "Good! What a good leech. Now. About the last things you remember when you were still alive...do you remember meeting a tall, dark haired man, by any chance? Voice to die for. Body to kill for. Soul made for sin, etc. etc."

The vampire's eyes flicked up twice.

"Mm, thought so, thought so. Did they give you a name?" They tried a few of the aliases the vampire had used the last few times. No dice. "Okay, moving on..."

By the time evening came dangerously close, they had everything they needed. They plunged the blade into the vampire, regretfully, and rose. They cast a glance up at the sky, calculating the minutes and the seconds, before heading home to do some research.

They were back. The bastard was back.

Less than two days later, they got a call about another fledgling vampire that needed hunting. Could they help? The curious thing was that this one had a note in its pocket when it died.

Honey, I'm home.

You coming out to play tonight?

[n0cturn4]

Series In every universe - 15 . Jason Todd

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: "Why are you so special to me?" Word Count: 491

In that timeless forest, Jason gazed upon her as one might behold a distant star—brilliant, unreachable, yet captivating beyond all measure. His eyes held a blend of sorrow and reverence, as if she were the reflection of all he had lost.

Breaking the silence, he spoke, his voice rough, trembling, as though each word were drawn from the depths of his soul. “Tell me,” he murmured, with a desperate urgency, “what is it about thee that binds me thus, like a memory I have never known? Why, in a world where time has robbed me of so much, art thou the one thing that feels… real?”

She met his gaze, her own eyes filled with a sorrow as ancient as time itself. “Perchance it is because, even when the world seeks to erase me,” she whispered, her voice as gentle and sharp as a blade, “thou art the one who sees beyond shadows, as though thou couldst find my very soul—even as I strive to hide it.”

Around them, the forest seemed almost alive, shrouded in mist that drifted like specters between the towering trees, as if guarding secrets as old as the roots themselves. The trees were tall and dark, their twisted branches reaching skyward, as though trying to capture the stars. The moonlight filtered down in slender beams, casting a ghostly glow over them, like fleeting blessings from another realm. The earth beneath them was blanketed with soft moss, broken only by ancient stones weathered smooth by time’s passage, remnants of travelers from ages long past.

In the distance, the murmur of a waterfall broke the quiet, blending with the hoot of owls and the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by the night’s breeze. The air was tinged with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, a fragrance both old and familiar, woven from generations of longing and forgotten memories.

They came upon a small glade, where the moon cast a perfect circle of light upon the ground, as though destiny had carved that space for them alone. Jason lifted his gaze to her, his face softened by the silvery glow, each feature etched in shadow and light, his expression both haunted and tender.

There, beneath that canopy of leaves and starlight, he dared to speak again, his voice a mere whisper upon the wind. “Tell me,” he murmured, “why dost thou make this moment feel… as though it shall endure for all time?”

She sighed, her words as soft as the night’s breeze that drifted between the trees. “Because thou seest beyond shadows, Jason,” she replied, her voice delicate yet resolute, “thou seest me for what I am, even when I, myself, forget.”

He cast his gaze downward, studying the shadows upon his hands, as though within them lay the marks of an impossible love and memories etched in longing. The forest around them seemed to mirror their shared emotions, standing as a silent witness to a bond as deep and eternal as the heavens.

[capquinn]

Imagine dad Quinn with Jack and Luke, along with us meeting the baby in the hospital 🥹🥹 imagine how the boys would act with a new baby

The hospital room was warm and quiet, softened by the glow of late afternoon light filtering through the blinds. Quinn stood near the bed, cradling his baby daughter carefully, his large hands almost comically gentle against her impossibly tiny frame. She was only a day old, barely big enough to fill his hands, with a downy tuft of hair and her face still scrunched in that sleepy, new-baby way. Every now and then, she let out a soft coo, and each sound sent a flicker of wonder through Quinn’s face, a look of complete awe mixed with a bit of that new-parent nervousness.

Jack and Luke, for all their bravado, wore similar expressions. They’d been buzzing with excitement since they’d stepped into the room, but as they finally got close enough to see her, a hush fell over them.

When Jack finally held her, he cradled her a bit awkwardly but with as much care as he could muster.

Quinn hovered closely, his body leaning in, just a little tense. His eyes flickered over every detail — Jack’s fingers around her, the angle of her tiny head resting against his chest. He watched, heart in his throat, protective instincts on high alert. Every few seconds, his gaze darted over to you, almost pleading, a silent question in his eyes: is she okay? Should I take her back?

But each time he looked, you just gave him a soft, reassuring smile, urging him to let the moment breathe, to trust his brother’s careful hands. Quinn’s shoulders relaxed a bit, but his eyes never left her, tracing the delicate rise and fall of her breath, making sure her blanket stayed snug around her. His hand hovered at his side, fingers twitching like he was ready to step in at the slightest hint of discomfort.

Jack, sensing the weight of his brother’s watchful eye, grinned up at Quinn.

“Relax, Q. This isn’t the first time I’ve held a baby,” he teased.

Quinn rolled his eyes, crossing his arms but refusing to step back. “Just focus on holding her properly then, would you?” he replied, voice firm but softened by a barely-hidden smile. “Her head’s gotta be supported.”

Jack chuckled, shifting slightly as he adjusted his hold, his tone gentle. “You’re wound up tight, you know that?”

“You’re holding my daughter like she’s a ticking time bomb about to go off,” Quinn retorts, a hint of defensiveness in his tone as he leans a little closer, eyes fixed on Jack’s grip.

Jack raises an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

“Maybe that’s because you’re hovering over my shoulder like she actually might,” he shoots back, adjusting his hold just to prove a point.

Quinn huffs, his hand twitching as though he’s about to step in, but he holds himself back, glancing over at you. You catch his gaze, giving him another reassuring nod, a small smile that says, “trust him.”

When it was finally Luke’s turn, he stepped forward with a soft, eager smile, his arms already outstretched as Jack carefully transferred the tiny bundle into his grasp. Unlike Jack’s tentative approach, Luke seemed to find his footing almost instantly, his hands settling with a gentle confidence as he cradled her. His long fingers supported her head, and he instinctively began to sway, his movements slow and easy, a quiet rhythm that seemed to soothe even the softest stirrings from his niece.

He looked down at her with a look of wonder, as if seeing something entirely new in the world.

“Hey there, little one,” he murmured, “I’m your uncle Luke. The fun one.” His words carried a playful warmth, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes, a glimpse of the care he already felt.

Jack, watching from beside him, let out a soft chuckle, and leaned in to gently brush his fingers over her impossibly tiny hand.

“Yeah, by fun he means he’ll be doing all the things that make mom and dad panic,” Jack teased, his voice dropping into a warm whisper as his finger caught in her grip. “She’s just… so small,” he whispered, the awe in his voice breaking through his usual humour.

His finger lingered there, and to everyone’s quiet delight, her hand closed reflexively around it, holding on tight. The sight left him speechless, his usual stoicism melting into something entirely new — gentle, protective, proud. It was as if the weight of being an uncle settled over him in that single moment, reshaping his usual carefree grin into something more tender.

Jack let out a quiet laugh, his eyes never leaving her tiny face.

“Guess I’m officially Uncle Jack now,” he murmured, a little awestruck, like he was still wrapping his mind around the title.

Then, as if sensing she was the center of their attention, the baby let out a small, sleepy noise, a gentle little sigh that made everyone fall silent. Luke’s grin faded into a look of pure wonder, his eyes softening as he looked down at her, completely smitten.

Quinn watched from beside you, a hint of emotion catching in his throat as he took in the sight of his brothers doting on his baby girl. You slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him close, and he leaned into you, his heart full. He squeezed your shoulder, and together, you both simply watched, soaking up this first, tender meeting, feeling the magic of it all.

[blarefordaglare]

The Motivational Fight Fic

Some LUFAU crack (but treated seriously) to motivate my good friend @kikker-oma to make the Sky V. Time comic (healthy motivation, not pressure motivation just to make this clear. It would be very hypocritical, and rude of me to do that)

or I stole your idea, cracked and angsted it at the same time, and giving it back because theft is bad.

oh and TW swearing, kinda blood but not really it’s like mentioned once, and like some family fighting

Oh this is also pre LU when all of them come together, so this is only Sky, Four, and Time (I separate them timeline wise in the beginning, before it breaks, then I take some creative liberties. But it is just these three)

BONUS: SPOT THE NEGATIVE COPING STRATEGIES! THERE’S THREE I TRIED TO IMPLY BECAUSE THERE IS ONE EACH OTHER(well not really for Time)

___

Sky trusted the old man. Out of all his future incarnations, the Hero of Time seemed the wisest. The way his eyes bore a hidden sadness that was warped and shaped into maturity proved his thoughts right. The green on the other’s wings was calming, and the design shown a satisfactory, full life, not a cheerful one. 

His wings, on the other hand, bore a bright red with youth. He wasn’t quite sure why all (if not, most) Skyloftians achieved wings after descending to Hyrule; He had his theories though. Perhaps it was due to the fact Hylia would need to find a hero again, and the flashy color would alert her against the vast world of-

Right. Back to Time. If there was one thing he knew about the color green, it clashed with red. 

“Benched?! Why?” 

Time pinched the bridge of his nose, Sky could sense the telltale signs of exhaustion coursing through his veins, yet he didn’t really care. It wasn’t fair, so why should he feel empathy? “For the last time, Sky,” He lifted his head back up, one of his eyes still half lidded, a trait he noticed form when he first met the man, “You’re not being benched. There’s stuff you don’t know yet, that-“ He hesitated.

“Smith,” the shorter quickly whispered back, giving a faux-apologetic look to the chosen hero.

“That Smith and I do know, and that’s okay, but-“ 

“But I want to come too. I want to know now.” One thing he would never admit is that, ironically, he hated secrets. Not that killing a god and cursing his home was that big of one-it was quite minuscule probably. Most likely. They wouldn’t know. “It’s not fair if you’re gonna leave me out. Plus, you may need me,” the frustration in his body fizzed towards his tongue, “You’re back gives out quite a bit, I can tell.” 

“That was completely uncalled for, especially for an arrogant child like yourself.”

The chosen hero raised his foot to step back, but last minute decided to go forward. He made sure to ignore the resulting fumble, “Arrogant?! As if you would know the difference. You probably can’t tell a pumpkin from a bird.” 

“Guys…” the Smith hastily stepped in between the two, holding his arms out as a barrier, “Let’s not fight.” 

The following, loud, “No!” did not help ease the tension. He took a step back, a sense of being overwhelmed shooting through him and begging to be forgotten. Maybe he should forge new weapon, just in case if another hero came along who didn’t have one. 

“You probably should watch your tongue, you know what happens to children who talk back.” 

The way Time’s wings pulsed when he emphasized the c-word was enough to fuel the Skyloftian’s own fury. It was as if the red in his wings was growing, spreading up his neck and to his face, hardening it with Hylian anger. 

“Bitch, YOU SHOULD WATCH YOUR FACE!” He reached his hands out, the rapid motion making it impossible for even him to see, “I will fucking KILL YOU. I have the GODDESS on my side, beat that!” 

“I’M MARRIED TO A WOMEN WHO COULD SKEWER THE GODDESS AND COOK HER FOR DINNER, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL.” 

“I NEVER SAID I WAS, STOP ASSUMING THINGS OF ME!” His arms reached out again, grabbing the metal plating on Time’s humerus, gripping it with his fingernails until they bent over, blood pooling on the edges from stress, yet he continued the relentless grip. He tried to push him down, yet the heavy metal kept him balanced on his feet. 

The smith didn’t even try to engage anymore, it was probably fine. He looked over to the cave in the distance, the one that was supposed to lead him and time to the forest. He wondered what was out there. 

Time’s next words were surprisingly… calm? No, that wasn’t the right word. They were sharp, yet quiet, “Let go of me, Sky.” The look on his eyes bore disappointment, the open lid slightly lowering, along with his jaw locking in a neutral expression, “You’re acting out.” 

Sky stared into those eyes (or rather, eye) for a second, attempting to nonverbally induce the challenge, yet the man wouldn’t back down. With a grumble, he forcefully released the grip, slapping his arms down to a resting position. 

His eyes still didn’t look fine, the older  could notice. He looked over to the smith, motioning for him to come, yet he couldn’t just leave him like this. It would be cruel. He deserved a chance at calming down, so when he comes back they could talk.

Digging into his pouch, he found some candy, a recipe Malon created herself from some local honey she came across at the market. He hoped a handful would be enough to suffice the boy, “Here, it tastes good, you’ll feel better, I promise.” He gave an awkward smile, then quickly walked off back into the cave.

Sky may have never learned the sword-splitting events that happened in that forest, but he didn’t need to. He was okay now, but his nails hurt. 

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! I don't know if I can ask you this (if I can't, please delete it and I'm sorry!). But would it be cool if you could to do a Mystic Gods, Same Face AUs with Boba or Jango? (I'd go with Boba because Fav, but I'm dying to see what you'd come up with for Jango), nsfw 👉👈

Let The World Burn

Summary: After your parents marry you off to a man old enough to be your grandfather, you find yourself unwilling to care about the state of the world. Drowning in misery and choking on your rage, you do the impossible.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 2505

Warnings: Smut, reader is not having a good time before she meets Jango, reader sold into marriage

A/N: Hihi! Thank you for your request! As it happens, I have a half written Boba fic for this AU sitting somewhere, just waiting for Boba to come back from the war and settle into my brain so I can write him. I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

It’s been ten years.

Ten years ago, today, your mother and father married you off to a man old enough to be your grandfather. You had been 18 years old at the time and, for some reason, believed that your parents had your best interests at heart.

That belief was quickly shattered on the day of your wedding. When you begged your mother to not make you do this, and she smacked you and told you to grow up and stop being selfish. 

That specific moment was the moment you lost all faith in people as a whole. 

Although, you’re one of the lucky ones. Your husband has no interest in children or a family. He married you because you’re young and attractive. “The perfect trophy wife,” he calls you as he gives you a couple thousand credits to get your hair done and have your nails done.

All you have to do is wear make-up, plaster a pretty smile on your face, and ensure that everything everyone does in his house is done to perfection. And, you’ve managed it.

You’re more than capable of managing your husband’s ridiculous expectations. You do the hair thing, and the nail thing, and the make-up thing. You’ve gotten so good at faking a smile that the other wives you regularly interact with genuinely think you’re happy.

And your husband is happy with you. Happy enough that your weekly allowance is nearly three thousand credits.

The truth is you hate them. Every single one of them. If you could get away with killing all of them, you would do it and you wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep.

“Wife,” You set the delicate mug you’ve been nursing for the last fifteen minutes to turn in your chair and regard your husband. “You’ve been staring out the window for several minutes.”

And it’s weird, and you need to stop, goes unsaid.

“Apologies, husband.” You offer lightly, “I was thinking that I should ask the landscapers to change the garden for this season. The roses did atrociously last spring, and I won’t have it this year.”

There’s the sound of a newspaper rustling, “As you like, wife.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re about to cast your gaze back out over the garden, when he speaks again, “The other Moffs are having a gathering tonight. Formal wear only.”

You sigh silently, “I will check my spring wardrobe for an appropriate dress.”

“Good. You know what I like.”

“I will also ensure that your dress uniform has been pressed.”

“Good.” The room falls silent again, and you fold your hands lightly around the mug, helpless rage threatening to strangle you.

If only there was a way for you to be free.

Ah, well. Castles in the sky.

Later that evening, you find yourself sitting at a small table with several of the other wives. Your husband had been pleased with your choice of a dress, long and form-fitting, and a pale shade of blue that you accentuated with matching make-up and nail polish. 

All in all, you look amazing. But then, so do the other women here. 

You’re half listening to the woman on your left, you can’t for the life of you remember her name, as she talks about her most recent shopping trip. You wonder if she’s as vapid as she acts, or if it’s an act to keep herself safe.

Maker knows you’ve once had a whole conversation about nail polish with another spouse since you’re supposed to be a brainless trophy wife. So maybe they think you’re vapid too.

You murmur a quiet excuse to the women who are supposed to be your friends and slip out of the banquet hall. If anyone asks, you’ll tell them you need to check your make-up. But no one is going to ask.

Because no one cares.

You’ve been completely alone in the world since you were 18 years old. And it’s not fair.

You take a moment to slip your heels off, and then you pad down the hall. Escape is impossible, you know this, but maybe you’ll find a library. Or a garden. Or someplace where you can just be yourself for a moment or two.

Stars, do you even know who you are anymore? Probably not.

You push open a thick wooden door and pause as you enter the room. The room is large and grandly decorated. With a massive bed in the center of the room, though this doesn’t look like any bedroom you’ve ever seen in your life. 

For one thing, the room is lit with braziers filled with blue flame. For another, weapons are covering a table against the far wall. You step into the room, and there’s the oddest sensation of someone watching you.

“Ah. So this is the Grand Moff’s kink room.” You murmur as you pad across the room to peer at the weapons, “Gross.” You pick up a blade and examine it carefully, “Maybe this is why he’s not married. Every time someone sells their daughter to him, he kills them.”

You pause, scrunch up your nose, and set the blade back on the table. “Or, I’ve been watching too much reality tv.” You’re not paying the most attention, though, and the dagger drags across the tips of your fingers. Blood pools on your fingertips, and then drops to the stone floor.

“Fuck,” You hiss, the familiar curse feeling unfamiliar on your lips after so long not using it. You stick your fingers in your mouth, to try and stop the bleeding. 

It’s then that you notice that the feeling in the room has changed. 

You turn to look at the room properly, your brow furrowed. You watch as the flames grow higher and higher, and you watch as the stone carving on the floor, which you hadn’t noticed until that moment, bursts into flames so bright that you have to throw your arm in front of your eyes to shield them.

You’re still blinking the spots out of your eyes when a warm hand presses against your cheek.

The man standing in front of you is not any of the Moffs in the building. He’s younger, with darker skin and curly hair. He’s also a lot more fit than most of the men you’ve interacted with over the last decade.

He’s also completely naked.

Your face flames and you immediately focus your gaze on the ceiling. Ironically, despite being married for ten years, you’ve never seen a naked man before.

The man releases a low chuckle, and you shiver at the sound, “There’s no need to be shy,” His gentle touch encourages you to bring your gaze back to him, “There you are.”

“I…who are you?” You ask, “I’ve never seen you before.”

He smiles, it’s a nice smile, “My name is Jango. I’m here because you summoned me.”

“...I did what now?”

His smile widens, “You summoned me. You’re the only person in the room, after all.”

“I…have so many questions.”

“I bet you do.” He drags his fingers down your bare arm, and then takes your hand in his. He glances at the rings on your fingers, and clicks his tongue, before removing both rings and tossing them into a brazier, “Married?”

“Unfortunately.” You’re still staring at him, “My parents sold me to my husband when I was 18.”

He hums in understanding, “Ask your questions.” Jango is still lazily touching you, his fingers trailing down your arms, and across the satiny material of your dress, before gliding up your bare back and across the back of your neck and down your throat.

“You said I summoned you?”

“You did. Not intentionally, perhaps, but you still did it.”

“Okay,” His fingers glide across your lips, “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re my priestess. You serve me, and I protect you.”

“Serve you how?”

He chuckles and moves even closer to you, and you should probably be nervous. Right? But you feel comfortable. Safe, even. It’s been a long time since you felt safe anywhere, let alone in the presence of a man.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Jango’s voice is low.

And he’s right. You can feel something. A connection towards the man standing before you. You can feel his devotion to you, and it kind of makes you want to cry. 

Jango’s fingers find the zipper on the back of your dress and he slowly pulls it down. You don’t stop him. You don’t even consider stopping him. His gaze remains locked on your face as he pushes the dress off your shoulders, “Tell me to stop,” He murmurs, “And I will.”

“I’ve never—”

“I know.” His lips glide across your cheek and down your jaw as your dress pools at your feet, “I’ll teach you.” Jango takes your heels from your hands and drops them on the floor, and then he guides you to the bed, “It’s better this way,” He murmurs as his lips move to hover over yours, “I don’t have to unteach you shame.”

Jango’s lips catch yours in a passionate kiss, and you eagerly surge into his touch. You feel cherished. Loved, even. You’ll give Jango anything, so long as he continues to make you feel like this.

He turns the both of you, so he’s able to sit on the edge of the bed, and he positions you so you’re standing between his spread legs. A glance at his cock reveals that he’s already hard, and there’s precum leaking down the side of his length.

You have the ridiculous notion that you want to taste him. Though the words seem to stick in your throat. You don’t even know how to ask if you’re allowed to.

Jango smoothly removes your panties and bra, both can be classified as lingerie, though he’s the only person who isn’t you, or the laundry staff, who’s ever seen them. 

You jolt in surprise when his fingers dip between your thighs and find your clit with ease. “It’s okay,” He murmurs, “I’m going to make you feel amazing,” Jango kisses around one nipple, and then moves to the other, and you’re pretty sure he’s driving you insane.

“J-Jango, I don’t—”

He watches you calmly, his thumb moving in slow circles around your clit, “Tell me, priestess.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You whisper, helplessly.

He laughs softly, though you know instinctively that he’s not laughing at you, “I’ll teach you. Don’t worry.”

His thumb continues its slow and steady movement, and you find yourself clenching around nothing. For a moment, you worry that your legs are going to give out, but Jango seems to be attuned to you, because the next thing you know, you’re straddling his lap.

Slowly he eases you down his cock, a heavenly groan escaping his lips as he settles you completely on him. You feel full, so full. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and press your face against his shoulder. 

“There we go,” he murmurs as he strokes your back and lightly thrusts up into you. How he’s managing that with you sitting on him, you’re not sure, but you’re also pretty sure you’ll figure it out, “Such a good girl,” Jango praises.

His words send lightning down your spine, and you release a quiet moan as you clench around him.

He pauses and then his arms tighten around you, “Taking me so good,” Jango continues praising, “Like you were made for me. So good.”

You whine quietly, “Jango—”

He chuckles and grips your hips tightly so he’s able to bounce you on his cock, “I’m going to take such good care of you, Princess.” Jango breathes, his voice heavy against your ear, “You’re never going to go without.”

He feels so good, you didn’t know it was possible to feel this good. You clench around him tightly and accidentally drag your nails down his back, pulling a pleased groan from him.

“There we go, cyar’ika. Mark me as yours,” One of his hands slides up your back to fist in your perfectly curled hair, pulling you back so he’s able to crash his lips against yours. 

Jango’s tongue slides against your lips, and then presses passed your lips to map out the inside of your mouth, and you immediately submit to him, your arms tightening around him.

He breaks the kiss, though he keeps his lips just over yours, “Tell me, beautiful.” Jango’s hand dips between you and presses roughly against your clit, pulling a strangle moan from you, “What do you want?”

You hear him, but you’re not able to answer. There’s a coil tightening inside you and you’re so close. So very close that, when Jango stops thrusting into you and stops pressing against your clit, you almost sob.

“Shh, shh,” He kisses you slowly, gently, “I’m going to give you what you need, I promise.” Jango presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want?” He repeats.

You know, instinctively, that he’s not talking about sex.

“I…I want,” You whisper, a whimper falling from you as he starts to slowly thrust into you, “I want them all to burn.” It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted it out loud, but Jango looks pleased with your wish.

He starts thrusting harder and faster, his lips closing over yours in a deep kiss that seems designed to steal the breath from your lungs, and with a press of his thumb against your clit, you clench around him and cum with a muffled whimper.

Jango’s pace becomes a little harder and a little faster, as he chases his release, then there’s warmth as he spills his seed deep inside you. He flips the pair of you so that you’re lying on the bed, and then he pulls out of you.

You’re breathing heavily, and you’re trying to reengage your brain, but you seem to be struggling with it a little bit. You watch Jango watch you, his gaze locked on your pussy, a hungry look on his handsome face.

And then his gaze meets yours again, “Stay here,” It is both an order and a request, “I’m not done with you yet.”

You blink at him, “Where are you going?”

The smile he directs at you is vicious, “You have a wish, and I’m going to fulfill it.” He leans over you and brushes some hair out of your face, “You want them to burn, so they’re going to burn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, “You don’t have to—”

“My beautiful priestess,” He kisses you again, “I am the God of Vengence. I’m happy to do it.” Jango presses one more kiss against your lips, and then he turns to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Then Jango is gone, and you stare at the closed door for a moment wondering if, when he comes back, he’ll let you suck his cock. That’s a good reward for killing the people you hate the most, right?

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[verushkak70]

imo Victoria has kept tabs on him, or tried to, the entire time she was imprisoned - which would be difficult but not impossible, considering he was her arresting officer & probably testified as to the circumstances of her capture & arrest

& if nothing else, she's allowed to discuss her case with her attorney, & surely the appeals process would have gone on for at least a few years, so she'd regularly have been updated during appeals as to which witnesses/officers would testify, & which wouldn't, providing an opportunity to ask why or why not & the whereabouts of Fraser

but DEFINITELY after she got out, she tried to find him

She had ten long years in prison to think about what Fraser had done & how she wound up there - which, up to that point, we don't know her extent of criminal activity; but given how Jolly treats her in VS, it's not hard to believe that she was coerced to be the getaway driver by the threat of violence (as she tells Fraser "There were only two ways to end that relationship, one of them was with me dead"...)

So I've always figured that she felt she got to prison very unfairly (& lord knows - if she hooked up with Jolly young, which it seems pretty clear she did, there was probably plenty of childhood trauma, for Jolly to seem like the better option)... So she's got 10 years to think about how unfairly she wound up with such a long sentence, that's about 1/3 of her life, all of it in adulthood, which could all have been avoided if Fraser & his foolish faith in the justice system hadn't turned her in... All while quietly seeking updates on where Fraser is, at least during appeals

Plus she would've had all the time before trial to talk with Fraser, while he still thought she wouldn't get a harsh sentence - & things weren't that bad between them yet, because she hadn't been convicted & sentenced, which is probably the time when Fraser acquired the photo of her that he has in You Must Remember This

So I bet that it's ALL she really thought about as she watched her "whole life go by" & "everything [she] want[ed] go away & know that [she] can never get it back" - yeah, it would've been plenty of time to plan her revenge, and with just enough info to go on to at least find where he last was, before he was posted to Chicago

& if you go with the fact that she surely knew what posting he was at when he chased her into the mountains & they got snowed into that crag, it would've been a simple matter of calling that RCMP outpost & asking for him, to which she would likely have gotten a "Oh, he transferred to the Canadian Consulate in Chicago" because Canadians (in the show... IRL too, in my experience lol) are nothing if not polite & helpful

Plus we don't know what they talked about while they were alone together for three days but a probably smitten, much younger & less suspicious, & surely conversational Fraser could easily have mentioned his father's cabin, even if in passing, & about where it's located... Plus since there are few permanent residents there, & people probably don't leave their doors locked, she couldn't just walked into one cabin after another until she found info like mail indicating it was Bob's cabin that had passed to Benton

But even if she didn't know that then, it's entirely possible that during her inquiries after she's released from prison, someone ELSE in the RCMP that she asks about Fraser replied, "Bob Fraser or Benton Fraser?" when she asked about Constable Fraser... & could have mentioned Fraser Sr's death and his cabin as a place to look, if she had recovered quickly and replied, "Bob Fraser" - to which they would've replied "Oh, he passed some years back... Had a cabin up in the..."

& there, at the cabin, she could easily have found old letters, paperwork etc that would tell her which RCMP outpost to call asking for Benton Fraser... You know, before she planted the money & burned it to the ground

And of course Fraser would not have seen any of this coming, partly because he was smitten, but also because he just isn't "too swift about [that] stuff" (women)... He didn't scorn Victoria for another woman, but he did place justice before her - & how could she ever compete with that? At the end of You Must Remember This, he's looking at the photo, but they've just had that whole conversational voice-over where Ray tells him, "She left me, but she left me for the wrong reason. She loves me" & Fraser says "But she's gone" & Ray replies "Well that's what's right for us. Maybe some day it won't be but now it is"

& Fraser points out "But you might never see each other again" & Ray replies "That's what we need - ridiculous odds and just a speck of hope that someday we'll beat them" & all of that is clearly going through Fraser's mind while he's looking at the photo of Victoria, faintly smiling, it's easy to see that he's probably thinking that's what he & Victoria have: ridiculous odds & just a speck of how that someday they'll beat them...

So of course he didn't see any of it coming.

& while yes, I think Victoria was finishing up some business in Chicago, I think it was "business" (trading money for diamonds) that she could've done in any major American city with an organized criminal element - IOW, almost anywhere

If anything, I think she adapted the business to Fraser's location, & not the other way around - Chicago has (or at least had in the 90s when dS was made) a decent "diamond row" which was, back in the day, very heavily infiltrated by the Outfit; I don't think there was a diamond seller on Wabash that wasn't mob-affiliated

How does Victoria find out that Fraser is in Chicago? She's hankering for revenge, but how does she know where to go to exact it?

Or is she finishing up other old business and it's just a happy (for her anyway) coincidence that she bumps into Fraser and decides to take him on her horror ride?

Thank you so much for this question, Anon, it's an excellent one and I'm very curious what answers we'll receive!

Remember, kids: there are no wrong answers except "plot hole" and "Fraser deserved what Victoria did to him". At least one person (me) will find your idea interesting, though I'm willing to gamble (not with money, mind you) that I won't be the only one. If you're shy, try sending your response as an anonymous ask for me to publish!

[hyroid]

Bg3 redesigns :D

[j-esbian]

the people i work with are going to drive me fucking insane

[cerbreus]

baking never feels more like science to me than when i'm trying to cobble together an intricate multi step recipe together from several different recipes and tutorials online because the recipe I'm imagining doesn't exist....

[skitskatdacat63]

same anon here who sent the original ask,,, it’s not exactly in video format but i swear, by sheer coincidence, i wasn’t even actively searching for it, i found an extended version of the cute lil punching thing???

https://www.tumblr.com/beyondallreasonablesport/16985250525/fuckyeahsebson-maythekersbewithyou-mark-acts

what a coincidence frrr i wasn’t even trying to search for it and it just… popped up… it’s 4am and i’m freaking out at this coincidence. anyway! it’s not the best quality but aaaaaaaa

Anon tysm omfg!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 you really delivered!! <3

I think I'm still gonna be a bit sad for a while that I can't go find it in the archive itself, but I really appreciate you sending it!! What a crazy coincidence! It's a shame that the op is deleted because I'm really curious if I had the race correct or not. But finding out that something has been deleted is one of the worst things to experience online I think, you just feel kind of empty because it's something you'll probably never get back sigh sigh :,)

[longagoitwastuesday]

This is the piece (and the sketch) I was talking about yesterday in the tags of that one other drawing in my previous reblog

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

.

[ribosomeraisin]

So I’ve posted on here at least in tags about how much I don’t like my job… and today I messaged back two recruiters on LinkedIn (shudder) that had reached out to me about different opportunities and it is scarrrryyyy. I haven’t even updated my resume yet. but I want out of public accounting and I have to start somewhere… so here’s to somewhere… and to getting brave enough to go after it for real.

[dante-mightdie]

I desperately want butcher!simon to take me against the dingy couch in the break room, no sounds but the squeaking of the springs, my muffled moans from his hand covering my mouth, and his deep grunts as he pounds into me from behind.

just a quick little fuck in between customers, and he has to leave mid-fuck to go hand off a package of pre-ordered meat, and scares the ever loving fuck out of the guy who came in to pick it up

okay i’m gonna change this request slightly because I saw a video and it inspired something based on this ask 🌚

(ending updated)

c/w: nsfw content below, implications of non-con (none takes place, delivery driver assumes reader is being attacked by simon but this is not the case at all), reader is fully consenting, reader and simon are married, threats, degradation

the delivery driver had been waiting for a good ten minutes now, wondering where the pretty counter girl was who always gave him the usual package. not even that unsettling brute was there to help him so he did what he thought was the correct thing to do

operating under the assumption that someone may be hurt or in need of assistance, he walked around the counter and into the back of the butcher shop. alongside the somewhat eerie humming of the freezer coolers, all that could be heard was a repeat squeaking sound coming from the back office

but since there were no calls for help or cries of agony, the driver opened the office door as quietly as possible. the cause of the squeaking becomes evident when his eyes land on the couch in the corner of the room, where he finds the pretty counter girl and her frightening beast of a boss

there you lay, pinned against the old sofa by the crushing weight of the butcher. legs spread what seems like impossibly wide to accommodate the brutal snapping of his hips. the driver’s eyes widened at the sight before him, the rough hand clamped over your mouth and the tears slipping down your cheeks leads him to believe he’s walked in on a viscous attack

he hasn’t been spotted yet, leaving him plenty of time to do the heroic thing and rescue you from the awful man who bunched up your skirt around your hips and ravaged you like you were nothing more than one the pieces of meat hanging in the freezer

but before he can, simon slips his hand from your mouth and the driver expects his hearing to become overwhelmed with pleas to stop. however, he’s shocked to hear almost pornographic moans slip from your throat instead. your hands that originally seemed pinned down under simon’s weight are suddenly pawing wherever they can reach

your head turns to catch simon’s lips in a sloppy kiss. tongues clashing, saliva mixing with moans as he whispers nasty things against you,

“fuckin’ slag, grabbin’ m’cock whilst I’m workin’…” he grunts, slamming his hips into you harder. your hands settle on his ass, grabbing handfuls of the meaty flesh as leverage to push his cock deeper into your sobbing cunt

“couldn’t wait, could’ya? didn’t wanna wait for me to take ya to bed like a proper husband should… don’t worry, lovie. gonna give ya what you need…” he continues, looking down to watch where his mean cock stuffs itself inside your pussy. all you can do is respond in drunken babbles of ‘more’, ‘harder’, and begging him to make you cum

the driver soons realises his mistake, ducking out of the door and adjusting his suddenly swelling cock in his trousers before he’s caught by your terrifying husband

~

you come out to serve him about twenty minutes later, still looking as prim and proper as you always do. now the driver can’t help but wonder how many times you’d spoken to him after being split open by your hulking husbands cock. to be honest, he still can’t over the husband bit

before you can open your mouth to speak to him, simon appears behind you, pressed right up against your back but his glare is locked onto the man on the other side of the counter,

“go. I’ve got this one…” he mumbles in your ear before sending you off with a pat to your bottom

the driver can’t help but feel like he’s shit out of luck here. the transaction is awkward, uncomfortable and he really wishes he was dealing with you instead. at least you actually smile at him

he takes the package, ignoring the way simon purposefully tightens his grip when he tries to take it from him, making him struggle. the driver gives him an awkward smile before turning to leave the shop

“oi.” simon calls out to the driver once he’s at the door. he turns around to face the butcher who gives him a look that would make any grown man shit themselves

“if I catch ya trynna look at my bird again, you’ll find yourself behind this counter for different reasons.” he snarls, glowering at the poor man who can only nod his head before darting out the door with no intentions of picking up a delivery from your shop ever again

[wonryllis]

the hot dad next door (m) | park sunghoon.

﹙ ��� ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

preview. the ever quintessential first time dad moves in next door with his five year old and finds it impossible not to fall for you, the pretty girl who gives his daughter cookies and him; the doll eyes. obsessed with your entire being, unable to keep his hands off you, park sunghoon questions if he's just crazy or he's crazy over you.

or where, he notices the way you look at his hands a little too long for it to be innocent.

meet the cast. single dad!park sunghoon with his pretty neighbour fem!reader.

genre. DILFF AUU !!, SMUT MDNI, fluff, neighbours to lovers, sunghoon is quite literally yes insanely crazed over you and for the sake of god can't keep his dick soft, domestic a little bit i guess, i want to make her my wife trope EEEKKK, slight age gap (hoon in late twenties and reader in early twenties) more to be added.

word count. est around 20k or more

warnings. inaccuracies about parenting cause i aint a parent, i got no idea. more will be mentioned in the actual post.

releasing. very soon!! .. progress update tag

park sunghoon was hot, he was a walking greek god. was single and wore these fitted suits that had you weak in the knees. if that wasn't hot enough, park sunghoon also had the cutest baby girl you had ever come across and it just made him hotter than he could ever have been.

"hey, um .. is ji—" sunghoon stands at the threshold of your open apartment door, one hand holding his creased blazer and the other rubbing at the back of his neck. embarrassed and shy at having to show up at yours looking like a mess after work because his daughter ran off while he was busy on a call and taking out her school bag from the backseat. and because everytime his daughter ran off, it was to the pretty girl next door who gives away sweet cookies all the time.

"is jia here? yeah she's in the kitchen," you answer, smiling soft and knowingly at the worried guy who barely looked like a dad. he worked in a corporate editorial, out before eight in the morning just as you prepared ingredients for your bakery. taking his daughter along to school, her excited voice resonating through the halls talking about how they were going to play with clay in class. around seven in the evening you'd hear her again, this time alone as she would skip over to your door because dada was too slow.

on weekends it'd be impossible to ignore the ruckus they made playing around, sometimes inviting you over for lunch because sunghoon apparently made too much and jia wanted to share her dada's delicious food. on some occasional weekends when he'd be called in to work for a few hours, jia would promise him to stay home and behave only to call you through the landline the moment he'd step out the door. and you would text sunghoon to come over to yours after work, his daughter munching on the new flavored cupcakes you made, unbothered about her dad and his scoldings.

"come on in, i made some almond lime tart, you could give me some feedbacks along with jia. you know she always says it's good and i can never know if it's actually good," sunghoon can't help but chuckle at that, slipping off his shoes by the front and walking inside. his eyes following your figure with a fond look as you tend to his daughter delicately, and might he admit— even more so than him.

you're sweet, you know how to handle kids; cue that one time jia was crying her eyes out after school and he had no idea what to do to comfort her, knocking at your door frantically and having his mind blown at how quickly you figured things out and calmed her down.

you're sweet, you know how to handle kids, you treat them both so well, always ready to help him out with jia, giving them sweet treats every other day and most of all— you're fucking pretty. way too pretty for him to handle.

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[mrsimpurity]

belonging to old man logan… 

cw: smut (p in v), oral sex (m receiving), cum play, daddy kink, age gap

not as in being a sex slave. you’re free to do whatever you want, of course… you just don’t want to. so all you do is hang around the cozy villa all day (often topless), the one that he bought just for the two of you, away from the city stress, and wait for him to come back from work.

“did you miss me, doll?” logan asks right after he shuts the front door, taking his suit jacket off. you’re throwing yourself at him already, popping the buttons on his dress shirt open. button by button, you start placing chaste kisses on his abs, making your way down to his pants as you sink down on your knees.

“eager today, are we?” logan looks down at you, smiling at the sight of his favorite little thing down on her knees, unzipping his pants with her teeth. 

“mhm.” you mumble, now too busy with taking his cock out of his boxer briefs.

logan was sure that there was no better way to be greeted after a long and tiresome day. his cock was already at half-mast. just looking at you, so obedient and impatient, made him want to take you right then and there. but he’d let you have your fun, for now.

you spit on logan’s cock, taking your hand and smearing your saliva up and down his length. you start by tracing the vein on his cock with your tongue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. then you place kitten licks on the tip of his cock, where you know he’s most sensitive. logan grabs a handful of your hair and forces your mouth away.

“don’t. tease.” he hisses through his teeth. you apologetically place one last kiss on his girth and get to work, taking his entire length into your mouth. his hold on your hair remains, guiding you and increasing the speed as the warmthness of your mouth edges him towards his orgasm. 

after a while, he stops you in your tracks with a tug of your makeshift ponytail. you whine, wondering why he’s suddenly pulling you away. 

“it’s okay, doll. i know you wanna please daddy.” he speaks with a softer tone, pitying your pathetic expression. your eyes are glossy now and you’re pouting up at him. logan can’t help but get even harder. he picks you up by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, kicking the bedroom door open and setting you down on the bed moments later. you immediately know what you’re supposed to do - so you take your t-shirt off in one swift motion, and wiggle your way out of your shorts and panties.

“cmon, ass up, baby. ‘m getting impatient.” logan says, now completely discarding his dress shirt on the floor and doing the same with his pants and boxer briefs. you follow his command, getting on all fours on the bed. logan grabs the globes of your ass, kneading the fat lovingly. his fingers go to tease at your folds, rubbing up and down to find you soaking wet already. 

“my girl’s always ready for me.” logan points out with a rub to your clit. your ears perk up at the praise and a small smile appears on your face as you wiggle your ass in the air, urging him to hurry up. he chuckles as he grabs his girth, giving it a few strokes before he eases his tip inside you, slowly sinking himself in your pussy. you’re always such a tight fit, like he’s fucking you for the first time, logan thinks to himself. with him getting older, it’s harder to keep up with your needs and impossibly high sex drive, but he tries to make it up to you on most nights, when he’s not too tired.

his thrusts start out slow, as they always do. he goes easy on you when he first enters you because he’s sure the sheer size of his cock is a tad bit painful for you. logan grabs a hold of your hips, picking up the pace as the sounds of his cock thrusting in you fill the room. his balls slap against your ass, your tits jiggling as logan pulls out and slams his cock in your pussy again and again. you moan and pant, back arching as your elbows soon give out from the vigor with which his hips roll against you. you fall face down on the pillows and your hand scrambles as you reach behind your back with a desperate whine. logan gets the hint and intertwines his fingers with yours as your velvety walls clench around him. 

“i’m close.” you moan out, squeezing him harder, chasing that blissful moment of ecstasy. his thrusts don’t falter as his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly, making you whine out in pleasure. 

“i know, doll. i can feel you.”

with a final thrust, you feel yourself cumming around logan’s cock, your pussy pulsating. the feeling of you clenching around him makes his thrusts get sloppier as his own orgasm approaches. 

“you’re so good to me, baby.” logan says, grunting as he empties himself inside you, his warm cum filling your hole. the two of you stay like that for a moment, savoring the irreplaceable feeling of postcoital warmth. he pulls out after a while, his seed dripping out of your cunt. the sight is awfully erotic and you turn around at the feeling, only to see logan put his fingers inside you again. his digits, now covered in not only his cum, but yours, reach for your face. you don’t have to hear him say it to know what he wants. you open your mouth, allowing him to put his fingers inside. your tongue swirls around logan’s fingers, and you suck teasingly as he finally takes them out of your mouth with a “pop”, instead grabbing your face adoringly, rubbing soft circles on your cheekbone as a smile lights up your face.

“we taste really good.” you speak, now turning around to fully face him, knees still on the bed, as his frame towers above you. 

logan grabs your nape and lowers his head down to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss, tongue entering your mouth and completely captivating you. it’s messy, it’s addicting, it’s everything, the feeling and taste of his cum and saliva filling your mouth.

“you’re right, doll.” logan murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss as a string of drool connects the two of you. 

and in that moment, as he stares into your eyes, slowly caressing the back of your head, logan and you share a thought - “i don’t mind spending the rest of my days like this.”