#but I've found the line between that and making fun of the idea of a man having 'feminine' qualities is REALLY thin

[mootmuse]

Y'all. We've got to talk about that fucking gandalf big naturals joke.

If you're going to post a meme where the whole joke is just the image of a guy with tits, ha ha, look at this man, he's got tits, what more do I need to say about how hilarious that is, etc etc, at least tag it so people like me can block it. I get that none of y'all are thinking about what exactly it is you're laughing at, you don't mean it, but for a website full of people who never stop yelling at the top of their lungs about how trans inclusive they are, I'd think some of you guys could do a little better.

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I��ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

[undressrehearsal]

is it casual now?

chapter 1

summary: you and ellie agreed that this was just for a little fun - so what's the harm in her inviting you to joel's for a movie night?

word count: 2.3k

tags: nsfw, fingering (e and r receiving), angst, dub con?? i think?, does this count as public sex?, this shit's messy af y'all, mean reader, toxic relationship

a/n: i've wanted to write a fic based off this song for a while now. i've seen a few people write it (the song's a banger) but i only ever see ellie being written as the distant toxic one and tbh i don't think that matches her character so here's the opposite

also i hid a one last stop reference in here if you find it you get a prize (it's not hard to find)

if you wanna be tagged in the things i post, just lmk in the replies!

Joel was trying to decide what movie you should watch. 

At least, Ellie thought he was. She could see the way his lips were moving - could even make out the words Dawn of the Wolf, whatever that meant - but she couldn’t actually hear him. She sat across from him at the dining table, nodding along, trying to school her expression into a pantomime of interest, but his words were drowned out by the ringing in her ears. 

Your hand on her thigh crept higher. 

Ellie shifted in the uncomfortable wood chair, uncrossing her legs only to recross them, and your hand didn’t move. You stroked slow circles into her jeans with your thumb; she would have thought it was absentminded if she didn’t know you so well. Ellie could see you in her peripheral. You smiled politely, nodding along as Joel listed off what movies he had found lately - it had become his mission to hunt for them while he was on patrol. (He always insisted that Ellie needed to be familiar with all the classics from before the outbreak.) 

Somewhere past the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, Ellie heard Joel say her name. She blinked, shifted in her seat again, and replied intelligently, “Huh?” 

He shook his head at her and laughed as he said, “Where you at, kiddo?” 

She ran a hand through her hair, purposely avoiding looking at you - she knew she’d only find that shit-eating smile on your face. “Sorry, had patrol late last night. Yeah, that movie sounds cool.” She had no idea what movie he had suggested. 

It didn’t matter much in the end. After switching off the lights, Joel sat back in his big old recliner (he’d looked like a fucking kid on Christmas morning when Tommy gave that to him), leaving the couch to you and Ellie. You leaned into her with your head on her shoulder; she had her arm draped over the back of the couch, not quite touching you. She was dancing a fine line between wanting to hold you and knowing you wouldn’t let her, but the tightrope was slipping from under her feet because you had put your fucking hand on her thigh again. She’d swear there was a damn magnet connecting your hand to her. 

Ellie covered a gasp with a cough when your hand drifted between her legs. Your eyes were glued to the flickering television, but there was no hiding the small, satisfied smile on your lips. And she fucking hated herself for wanting to kiss it more than anything. 

The tattered blanket you shared covered up the fact that the tips of your fingers were grazing across the seam of her jeans. Even the ghost of friction made her squirm, the movie becoming nothing more than white noise. You were too fucking bold, and her head spun when your nimble fingers undid the button and slid the zipper down so slowly it ached. When your fingertips dipped below the waistband of her boxers, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Joel. He was enthralled in the movie, and she couldn’t even pay attention to it; she hated herself for that too. 

She knew she shouldn’t; she knew she should’ve grabbed your wrist, told you to stop so she could just enjoy the movie with her… with Joel. He’d been trying to plan a movie night with her for a week, and tonight she had finally been free from patrol. God, she shouldn’t have invited you, but when he asked if she wanted to bring a friend, of course your name had popped up. 

She should have known it would be a mistake - an intoxicating one, but a mistake nonetheless. And when you dragged your fingers over her, pressing the lightest pressure to her clit, it took everything in her not to tilt her hips against your hand in search of friction. 

Ellie bit down on her lip so hard she'd swear she tasted blood when you dipped just the tips of your fingers inside her. It was embarrassing how easy it was - how wet she already was and you had hardly even touched her. But when you circled her clit, your fingers already soaked, the shame burning in her chest evaporated. Her eyes fluttered, heat burning in her stomach, your touch setting her aflame. Her fingers dug into the back of the couch. She longed to touch you, to just wrap her arm around you and hold you close, press your head to her chest so you could hear how her heart reached for you. 

Instead, she could only grip the couch behind your shoulder, gritting her teeth against the ache of it. You didn't even look at her, playing with her as though it were an afterthought, but there was no missing the smirk on your lips. She hated it; God, she wanted to kiss you. 

Ellie didn't dare look at Joel - she didn't think she could handle seeing him so engrossed in the movie he had been so excited to show her while she sat only a few feet away, coming undone on his couch. She couldn't handle the shame rising in her throat again. If she looked at him, she was sure she'd be sick right there. 

She tried so hard to keep it together - her hips ached from the force of holding them still, her lip surely cracked from biting it. Her chest burned with the moans she had to swallow like acid. But she couldn't keep it all in - it was overflowing. And when finally, the coil in her stomach threatening to snap, a low groan spilled from her lips, Joel turned to look at her. 

Ellie didn't want to think about what he saw, but whatever it was, it made his brow pinch in concern. She couldn't meet his worried eyes when he said, “You okay, kiddo? You don't look too good.” 

Your fingers hadn't even fucking slowed. You looked at her with a mask of concern, batting your eyes so innocently even as you pressed your fingers into her, curling them so you hit that spot that made her see stars. And then Ellie did grab you, gripping your shoulder in warning and glaring down at you. You wrinkled your nose, but relented and slid your fingers out of her; her grip tightened when you slid back over her clit. Fuck, she never should've invited you. 

Ellie cleared her throat; she couldn't look at either of you without feeling sick, so she turned her gaze to the movie. What was it even about? 

“Sorry, I just-” Her voice was strained, suffocating in her own throat. She felt like she was going to swallow her own tongue. The coil in her stomach tightened and she felt nauseous. She groaned again, and the words tripped over themselves in a rush when she said, “I don't feel good.” 

Ellie stumbled to her feet, forcing you to withdraw your hand; when she glanced down, she could see that your fingers were wet and it made her stomach twist. Keeping one hand over her stomach to hide the fact that her fucking pants were undone, she hurried from the room, ignoring Joel when he called after her. She couldn't look him in the eye or else she might actually puke.

Making a beeline for the bathroom, Ellie slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, the wood cold against her back. She took a deep breath, counting the cracks in the ceiling until her heart finally stopped bashing against her ribs, her throat burning. Pinprick tears stung her eyes as she fixed her pants, her fingers shaking so hard she could hardly grasp the button. 

Cursing under her breath, Ellie braced her hands on the bathroom sink, her shoulders sagging. Her eyes were rimmed red; she scrubbed her hands over her face roughly, willing her stomach to settle. 

She shouldn’t have been upset, really. The first time your hand had found its way into her pants, all those months ago, you had made it perfectly clear what this was. She could still hear your voice from that night, saccharine sweet and smelling like the whiskey you had nabbed from her cabinet: Come on, Els, Jackson’s so boring. We can just have a little fun, right? She remembered the weight of your body when you climbed onto her lap, your thighs warm on either side of her hips, your hands pressing her back against the couch. She could still feel the way your breath had ghosted over her neck, your voice dripping with honeyed desire: It's just a little fun.

Her own eyes looked so unfamiliar, a stranger peering at her from the bathroom mirror. 

Cursing again, she turned on the faucet, bending to splash water on her face - it was December and the water was so cold it numbed her hands. It was a welcome relief against her burning skin. 

Ellie felt so fucking dirty it hurt. No matter how she scrubbed at her skin, rubbing it raw, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of it. The cold water stung her cheeks. 

A knock on the door made her jump, cold water splashing down the front of her shirt. She cursed, pulling the damp fabric away from her chest with a grimace before calling, “Give me a minute, okay?” 

But you had never been very good at listening, had you? You didn’t even look surprised when you pushed the door open, ignoring her protest, and found Ellie leaning against the counter, water still dripping from her chin. If anything, you looked almost amused, quirking an eyebrow at her. It was the look you gave her every time you got her worked up, your eyes showing the laughter you bit back. She fucking hated that look. 

Ellie glared over her shoulder at you, but there was no real malice behind it - even when she hated you, something in her still softened when you were around. A switchblade girl with a cotton candy heart. 

You closed the door softly behind you, leaning back against it with a smug smile that she wanted to wipe off your face - she just wasn’t sure how she wanted to yet. Ellie could hear how your ego tinted your voice when you said, “Joel sent me to check on you. Probably thinks you're barfing your guts out or something.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes, looking away from you and mumbling, “Yeah, I guess dinner didn’t sit well….” 

You scoffed and the sound went straight to her stomach. She felt rather than saw you step behind her; she tensed when you placed your hands on her hips, leaning forward to put your chin on her shoulder. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink so hard she thought the porcelain might crack. She could feel the heat of your body all the way down her back, your hips pressing into her ass, and her traitorous heart fluttered embarrassingly. 

Ellie met your eyes in the reflection, watching as your smile grew into something almost mocking. You placed a kiss on the back of her neck, pressing your words into her skin: “Damn, Els, I didn’t know Dawn of the Wolf got you so hot and bothered.” Your fingers pressed into her hips, pulled her back against you. She failed to smother the sigh it pulled from her. She hated how it made your smile widen, and she hated even more how much she wanted to fucking kiss it off your stupid face. She shivered when she felt your teeth graze over her neck, and almost missed it when you muttered, laughing, “God, you’re so fucking easy, you know that?” 

Ellie shoved away from the counter, spinning on her heel and grabbing your wrist before you could flinch away. You had only blinked before she slammed you back against the wall, praying that Joel didn’t hear it. Her fingers wrapped so tightly around your wrist she could feel your pounding pulse, pressing it to the wall above your head. She slipped her thigh between your legs, pressing up into you, and she only had a moment to register that smug fucking grin before she slapped a hand over your mouth. She relished in the way your eyes flashed in something akin to fear. She had to find wins where she could, right? 

Leaning forward so her nose brushed yours, Ellie growled into the back of her hand, “Don’t make a fucking sound.” 

And she did get to wipe that cocky smile off your face. She kept her hand over your mouth, releasing your wrist to snake her arm between your legs. She muffled your moans, hissing when your nails dug into her biceps. 

Joel was in the next room, she thought distantly. Joel was in the next room, watching the movie he had been so excited to show her. He was in the next room, concerned about her, waiting for her, and here she was pressing her best friend into the wall of his bathroom. She had your pants around your ankles, two - three - fingers pushing into you. She could feel the vibrations of your moans against her hand - she wanted to press her lips to yours and swallow them, knowing you would never let her. 

It came too fast, Ellie pressing into you relentlessly if only to make you fucking shut up for once. Your body shuddered against her, and she wanted to hold you through it, but by the time it was over you were already pushing her away. When her hand fell from your mouth, you were smiling again. Maybe she was going to be sick after all. 

@filtered-sunlight

[darlingsblackbook]

Right Next Door

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary : Your mysterious neighbour helps you out when a date goes wrong, what happens when you try to befriend him?

Warnings : Creepy guy, Simon Riley, Delusion

°•���○° Masterlist °•♡•°

The air was biting cold as I climbed the steps to my apartment building, my heart pounding as I tried to maintain a polite smile. The date had been a disappointment from the start, but I’d wanted to see it through, thinking maybe I was just nervous.

Yet, every attempt to cut the night short had fallen on deaf ears, and now he was right behind me, insisting on escorting me all the way for my own 'safety'.

I fumbled with my bag, pretending to search for my keys. “Thanks for the evening,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and turn around.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” He laughed, sidling a little too close, his shoulder brushing mine. “The night doesn’t have to end here, you know. Let’s go to yours for a nightcap.”

I forced a laugh, swallowing down the anxiety building up. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His face shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his expression. “Come on,” he murmured, edging closer, his hand reaching to touch my arm. “We had a nice time. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my voice firm. “I’m just… not interested in taking things further tonight, maybe another day.”

His smile faltered, frustration creeping into his tone. “What’s the problem? You were all smiles back there. Now you're not interested?"

I tried to step back, but he mirrored my movements, closing the space between us as I reached my door and closing in on me. "You know it's not fair to lead a guy on, right?"

My fingers finally found the keys and I gripped it tightly between my fingers, trying to resist the urge to ram it into his eyeball.

He trespassed the line even further as he leaned in, his gross breath burning against my cheek. "Just one kiss,” he muttered, his hand pressing against the doorframe to cage me in.

Panic flared as I shook my head. “Please, I’d rather you didn’t. I just… don’t feel that way.”

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he leaned even closer. “Teasing me all night just to leave me hanging, huh? That’s how you get your fun?”

I felt the words stick in my throat, my pulse racing. His voice grew harsher, thick with frustration as he got angrier. “You think you’re too good for me? That it?”

I barely had a second to process his words when a shadow appeared in the hallway, and I felt a wave of relief and fear as I recognized my neighbor—Simon Riley.

The big guy who had moved here a few months ago, aside of the few times we passed each other in the hallways, I rarely saw him. He was always quiet, I've never heard him talk and not a peep of noise was heared through the walls.

Something about his size and the dark clothing he always wore ( and the usual grumpy expression on his face ) had, for some reason, caught my eye. Maybe it had something to do with all the books I read with the typical older grumpy man and the sweet sunshine girl trope.

That trope was unfortunately a guilty pleasure of mine, having always wanted to feel safe, protected and taken care of by someone. Someone in whose presence I could just turn my brain off without a worry and know I'll be fine

Maybe those desires were born from my feelings of loneliness and my hard time in making friends. Maybe, it was because I wanted someone to love and accept me as I am and see me as me and still fully and wholly love me.

Sometimes, when I would just think and daydream of having such man, I couldn't help the flashes of my neighbours face in my mind. I wanted to actually love and be loved so badly instead of just imagining it, so I had decided to go out for the first time in a very long time, unfortunately I just ended up putting myself in this situation.

But, as I saw Simon standing in the doorway of his flat, right next to mine. His presence as imposing as ever, I was immediately swarmed by images of being wrapped up and safe in those tree trunk arms- ( valid )

His gaze was calm, but the tension radiating off him was anything but. He took a step forward, his voice low and laced with quiet authority that made my brain tingly in all the right ways.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he said, voice gruff and cold. “Leave.”

My date turned, his confidence faltering for the first time, though he tried to laugh it off. “And who are you, her guard dog?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, and he took another slow step toward him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away. Now.”

The guy scoffed, glancing at me as if I would defend him, but I could only stare, feeling my pulse in my throat as Simon’s presence loomed, unyielding and almost terrifying in its intensity.

“Fine,” the man muttered, backing away with a huff. “Good luck with that one. She’s just a tease anyway.” He threw a final look over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath as he disappeared down the stairwell.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body finally loosening. My eyes met Simon’s, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of how close he still stood, the quiet strength and warmth radiating off him.

“Thank you,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s gaze flicked over me, taking in my tense posture, the unsteady breaths. “Get inside,” he said softly, his tone softer but still firm. He didn’t move, just kept watching, waiting until I stepped back into my flat.

I wanted to say more—to thank him properly, to explain—but my voice failed me. I just nodded, stepping back into my apartment as he remained outside, a silent sentinel. As I closed the door behind me, I felt the echo of his presence linger, leaving me wondering who Simon Riley really was behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

°•♡•°

I leaned against my door, heart still racing from the confrontation with my date. What just happened?

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, feeling the heat rising in them, embarrassment crashing over me in waves. I wanted to scream at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

Why hadn’t I been firmer?

My date’s cruel words echoed in my mind. “Teasing me all night…” Had I really been that confusing?

I knew I had always had a hard time speaking to people, but I did not think I had been teasing or anything alike at all. In fact, I was pretty sure I was keeping my distance the whole night.

I sank down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, wishing I could disappear. It wasn’t the first time I had been made to feel this way, but it hurt more than usual. I hated that I had let him walk me to my door, thinking it would be harmless, but now, all I felt was a sense of violation mixed with anger.

But as I replayed the events of the night, my thoughts drifted to Simon. The way he had stepped in, fierce and unwavering, how his presence had made me feel safer. His intense gaze, the way he commanded attention without even trying, sent a flutter through my chest. Why did he even care?

In the days that followed, I found myself stealing glances at Simon whenever I heard him in the hallway or caught sight of him through the window. He always seemed so focused, moving with purpose and intensity that made my heart race. He was intimidating but also…protective. I couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself, confident and strong, making it hard to believe he even lived next door to me.

I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit. What was it about him? There was something in the way he furrowed his brow when he was deep in thought, or how his lips curled slightly when he was amused, that made my heart skip a beat.

I’d catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like to get to know him, to see the softer side that lay beneath his tough exterior.

But would he even be interested in someone like me?

One evening, as I sat at my kitchen table, the smell of cookies wafting through the air, I decided I needed to make a move. Maybe a little gesture would help break the ice. I figured I’d bring him a treat and see how he responded. I hesitated, biting my lip as I gathered my courage, reminding myself that it was just cookies, not a marriage proposal.

After baking, I carefully placed the cookies in a small tin and knocked on his door, my heart pounding. I waited, second-guessing myself. What if he thought I was a silly little girl for doing this?

When the door opened, Simon stood there, dressed in his usual casual attire, the warmth of the lights behind him casting shadows across his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his deep voice grounding me despite the chaos in my head.

“Um, I made some cookies,” I stammered, holding out the tin. “I thought you might like some.”

He glanced at the tin, then back to me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he accepted it without hesitation. The briefest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, I felt a flutter of hope.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other night,” I added quickly, my cheeks warming under his gaze. “You really saved me.”

He nodded, but the moment felt fleeting, like catching smoke in my hands. “No problem,” he said, his voice steady. “Just doing what I had to.”

And just like that, he closed the door, leaving me standing in the hallway, heart racing, filled with a mixture of elation and disappointment.

Was that all?

I turned to leave, feeling a knot of longing tightening in my chest. I wanted more than just a quick exchange; I wanted to be seen by him.

In the following days, I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for him. Each time I spotted Simon in the hallway, my heart raced, a blend of hope and anxiety filling me. I’d muster the courage to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us.

“Hey, Simon,” I’d manage, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to catch his eye. He’d glance my way, a quick nod, but his focus would shift immediately, and I’d feel that familiar pang of rejection in my chest.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself trying harder to initiate conversations. I would catch him on his way to the gym or returning from work. Each time, I’d greet him, my heart pounding, and every time, he’d respond with a grunt or a nod. I wanted to learn more about him, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but he always seemed to have somewhere to be.

One afternoon, I spotted him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. My pulse quickened, and I took a deep breath. “Hey, Simon! How was your day?” I asked, attempting to sound casual.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he replied, “Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I felt a heaviness settle in my stomach.

“Just…fine?” I pressed, hoping to elicit more. “Did you have a busy week?”

He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You could say that.”

I bit my lip, trying to think of something else to say, but the silence stretched awkwardly between us. “Well, if you ever want to talk or hang out, you can—”

“I’m not looking for friends,” he cut in, his tone sharper than I expected. “I did what I had to out of duty. Don’t think about it too much.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I could only stare at him, my heart sinking as his gaze shifted, avoiding mine. “It’s nothing personal,” he added, but it felt cold, devoid of the warmth I’d hoped for.

“I understand,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands trembled slightly, and I fought back tears as I watched him step past me, leaving me standing there, shattered.

I felt the weight of his dismissal settle heavily on my shoulders, a reminder of how invisible I really was to him. My heart ached, not just from his words but from the reality that I would never be more than an afterthought to Simon Riley.

As I stepped into my flat, the door closing behind me, I sank down against it, tears slipping down my cheeks. I had wanted to be seen, to have someone recognize my worth, but instead, I was left with the painful truth: Simon didn’t want me around, and that stung more than I could express.

Each encounter with him became a reminder of my own insecurities, and the ache in my chest grew heavier with each passing day. I felt lost in the maze of my feelings for him, unable to reconcile the admiration I felt with the reality of his indifference.

All I wanted was a connection, but somehow, it felt as if I was always reaching for something just out of my grasp, destined to remain alone while he moved on, unbothered by my existence.

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 23 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake has found everything he needs in one person. He knows deep inside that nothing is going to change Jessica's love for him, but he's nervous to tell her what's been on his mind. When he opens himself up to her even more, she gives him everything he wants.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, pegging, anal, language, 18+

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Epilogue Part Two

Five more months later...

Jessica was just settling down on the couch with a mug of tea when Jake got home from work. "Hey, Baby," he said as he undid the top buttons on his khaki uniform shirt. "How was your day?"

"Not bad," she replied, absolutely loving that her Fridays ended early this term. "I started making a list of what we need to pack for Cabo, and I printed out my final exam sheets. Dinner's in the oven, and I'm about to email Luca back. He asked me if I wanted him to stop by with his skateboard next week. Isn't he adorable?"

Jake smirked as she reached for him. "You made dinner? Seriously?"

She rolled her eyes as she said, "Don't be silly, Smart Boy. I took the pan of lasagna that you left in the refrigerator and put it in the oven."

"Yeah, that makes more sense," he drawled as she looked up at him from the couch. 

"Your uniforms are ruining my life," she whispered as she ran her hands along his thigh and took his zipper pull between her thumb and index finger. "Ever since I actually flew with you in your flight suit, I can't get enough of all of these things. I've been enjoying all the role playing."

Jake pressed his lips together, a thoughtful look on his face. "I noticed you've been having a lot of fun bossing me around lately."

She hummed as she kissed his zipper. "That's an understatement. I loved it when you called me Admiral Reed while you wore your dress blues. Speaking of which... I haven't seen them recently."

"Special occasions, Baby. Can't wear them every day," he told her, and she made a disappointed sound as he took one step away from her.

"Where are you going? I was about to give you a blowjob."

To her knowledge, Jake had never turned her down. Ever. Not once in over ten months with him. She sat still on the couch and watched him rake his fingers a bit nervously through his hair. The more she looked at him, the more she realized he didn't quite seem like himself, and she hopped up from the couch and went to him. 

"You can tell me what's wrong, Jake," she promised softly. "Did I do something?"

"No," he replied with conviction. "You didn't do a damn thing wrong, Baby. I've just had something on my mind."

"Oh." She was trying to think of a single positive thing that would get this reaction out of him, but she could only come up with negatives. Her mind was supplying scenarios that would be enough to break her heart as he studied her with pensive green eyes.

"I really like that," he muttered, gaze falling to the floor. "When you kind of... take control." His face was flushed a pretty shade of pink, and Jessica couldn't stop staring. He was so obviously nervous, and he didn't meet her eyes until she pressed her palm to his warm cheek. "I like it when you do that."

"Okay," she replied with a little nod. "Then I'll do it more often."

He huffed out an exasperated breath and looked up at the ceiling now. "Jessica... I've never asked for anything like this before. And I don't really know how to do it now."

She used both hands to tip his face down again so he was looking at her once more. His pupils were wide, and his lips were set in a firm line, and she had no idea what was running through his mind that was making him react this way. "You can tell me anything, Jake. You can ask for what you want. I do it all the time. I ask you to buy me lingerie and toys, and you always do."

"This is different," came his immediate response. "I don't know if you'll like it. Hell, I don't even know if I'll like it."

She scraped her nails gently along his stubble and tried to imagine what he wanted. She'd give him anything. "Is it something kinky?" she asked, tracing his lip as he nodded. "You're just going to have to tell me then, and I promise I'll at least consider it."

Jake seemed to be gathering his thoughts as her hand drifted down his neck to his shirt where she slowly traced the letters in SERESIN over and over again until he whispered, "Okay. Baby, you know how we bought all those toys from that one website?" When she nodded, he added, "And you know how we kind of skipped the one category?"

She could picture the night they were curled up on the couch with her phone, adding things to the shopping cart with reckless abandon until they'd spent over five hundred dollars. She could also clearly picture the collection of dildos and straps that were available that they didn't touch at all. 

"Oh."

He swallowed hard, his eyes growing wide as he started to pull away from her. "Yeah."

But Jessica wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tighter against her body. He was getting a little hard, and then she whispered, "You want me fuck you like that? With a strap-on?"

She really didn't even need the verbal confirmation, not with the way his body reacted and the soft moan that came from the back of his throat. But she kissed him as soon as he said, "Yes."

-------------------------

Jake was waiting for things to shift. He was bracing himself for Jessica to look at him differently or change her mind. There was a difference between wants and needs, and he knew that. He wanted to experiment with her, because he trusted her. She brought out emotions he'd never felt before which opened them up to some exciting exploration in the bedroom. He was nervous to tell her what he wanted, but he did it anyway. 

But what he needed was for Jessica to say yes when he proposed on vacation in Cabo with the three carat diamond ring he bought. He needed her to say she'd spend the rest of her life with him before they went to Texas for Christmas. But if it were possible for someone to fulfill all of his needs and his wants too, it was Jessica. It was always going to be Jessica.

So he was surprised but not unpleasantly so when after dinner, she stretched out on the couch with her head on his thigh and brought the topic back to the items she mentioned earlier. She looked up at him and said, "We should make sure you're happy with what we pick, but there are a lot of options. And I guess if we buy something and you don't like it, we could always try again?"

"I love you," he whispered, now knowing he hadn't done anything to change the way she felt about him. She smiled softly as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I love you, too," she promised. "And I'm really excited about this."

Jake sighed in relief. "If you don't think it's fun, we definitely don't need to try it a second time." But she was already pointing out a few different dildos that she found on her phone and holding it up for him to see.

"Oh, Jake," she said with a grin that made him pulse with need. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a great time. And this one comes in navy blue... I'm just saying, it would match your uniforms perfectly."

That comment alone left Jake in a state of constant need for the next week while he waited for the goods to arrive. The box was dropped off the following Friday, and Jessica was wearing his robe and smiling like the cat who got the cream when he got home from work. "How was your last day of the semester, Dr. Reed?" he asked softly as she held up the pink box.

"It was good," she replied easily. "And it's about to get even better. We leave for Cabo in the morning, and the new toys are here."

Jake swallowed hard as she handed him the box, and when she untied his robe sash, he was treated to the sight of her in her navy blue lace bra and thong set. "Jessica," he croaked, already turned on and beyond excited. 

"Look in the box," she told him, and he realized she had already cut it open. Everything was the same blue color as her lingerie, and he moaned softly when he ran his hand along the smaller of the two dildos. He didn't know if this would feel good or not, but the idea of his girlfriend wearing it was making him hard. 

He met her eyes as she said, "If it looks good to you, I'll clean everything and get ready while you change into your dress blues."

"My dress blues?" he asked as she took the box from him. 

She bit her lip and moaned. "Do it, Lieutenant Seresin. Put on your dress blues and wait for me in the bedroom."

"Yes, ma'am," he grunted, heading right for the closet without delay. His hands shook slightly as he pulled his uniform from the hanger. He was so excited, he could barely get the tie on himself. He looked at the shoes. Would she want him to wear the shoes? Did he want to skip them and hope for a reprimand? Would she reward him more if he was wearing the full uniform?

He ended up putting them on, and when Jessica walked into the bedroom, he was standing at attention. But his jaw dropped when he saw that she was already wearing the strap-on. No sound came out, but he was gasping for air as she ran her hand up and down the length, casually strolling closer to him. 

"This looks good on you, Lieutenant," she purred, and his cock stirred a little more. "I like it when you're dressed for the occasion."

"What's the occasion, Admiral Reed?"

She took his hand in hers and turned the palm up, and then she squeezed out some lube. Then she guided his hand to the dildo, and he helped her coat it up. "You're the one who told me this uniform is just for special occasions, so I'll make it a very special one for you. I'm going to fuck you in the ass until you come."

Jake gasped, his hand tightening around the length, pulling Jessica closer to him. "Please," he whimpered, and she adjusted his hat on his head with her clean hand. 

"I can't guarantee this will stay on," she mused, grabbing him by the bicep and turning him so he was facing the bed. Her hands came to rest on his hips from behind, and the toy poked him as she said, "And these definitely won't be staying on." 

She reached around and started to undo the front of his pants. This was his Jessica. This was the self assured, beautiful woman of his dreams, and she started jerking him off as his pants fell to the floor. The strap on was rubbing his backside. He could come simply from this.

"Bend over, Lieutenant," she demanded, squeezing his cock with her slick hand before releasing him. He did as he was told, and when his cheek met the bedding, her hands met his ass. "Don't forget, Jake," she said softly. "If you're not enjoying it, the safe word is Sam Adams."

"Thank you, Baby," he whispered, actually feeling a lot more at ease than he imagined. And that's precisely when Jessica's hand landed on his ass with a hard slap. 

"Lieutenant Seresin," she barked out. "Your uniform is sloppy. Your pants are on the floor. I have told you so many times to straighten this out!"

"Yes Admiral Reed, ma'am," he replied, his voice shaking with need as his cock twitched against the bed. "I'll do better next time."

She laughed, and Jake could hear her uncap the bottle of lube just before he felt her squeeze it onto his backside near where she spanked him. "You need to be taught a lesson. Or you'll keep strutting around here like the rules don't apply to you."

"Yes, ma'am," he gasped as her fingers slid through the slick mess before easing from his balls right up to his asshole. He was already bucking back against her fingers as she teased him, and he'd never been more aware of the fact that he'd never had anything inside him before. 

He looked back at her over his shoulder, his blue jacket all bunched up on his body along with his shirt and tie. When she met his eyes, she smirked and said, "Relax, Lieutenant. Be a good boy. It will all be over soon."

The words Sam Adams were right there on his tongue, and he was ready to shout them out, but he found himself relaxing at her touch as she eased her fingertip along while she whispered, "Just be a good boy."

He grunted at the stretch, because it felt incredible. "Admiral Reed," he whined as she inserted her finger deeper. God, he'd wanted this in the worst way, and it felt so fucking good. Her other hand rubbed circles along his lower back, and when he pressed his hips back for more of her finger, she started to withdraw it instead.

"You want more," she whispered, a statement rather than a question. She could tell he did, but he nodded against the bedding and told her yes. Then her finger was back, slipping inside him as he took fistfuls of the blankets. This was different than he usually felt when they were intimate. Not better or worse, but a different kind of pleasurable. She was easily gliding along a spot inside him that left him a little short of breath, groaning her name.

After long enough that his cock was starting to ache for relief, she said, "I think you're ready for the strap, Lieutenant. And I can't wait to give it to you."

He knew she would be gentle amidst the roleplay, and she was. Jake could feel her coating him up with more lube before she leaned down and kissed his back through his uniform. Then she eased the blunt silicone head to his hole and swirled it around while he did his best to try to relax. Jessica's other hand wrapped around to his cock which was devastatingly hard, and she started to slowly jerk him off again while she pushed. 

If the stretch from her finger felt good, the stretch from the strap felt both incredible and also alarming. He was gasping, knuckles white as he clutched the bedding. Jessica pushed deeper and deeper, still stroking her hand along his cock as she filled his ass completely. Her hips were resting against him as he moaned and whined loudly. 

He squeezed his eyes closed, sucking in air as she paused, fully seated. "How does that feel, Lieutenant Seresin?" she asked, voice breathy as she kissed along his back again. 

Jake tried to find the words to describe the juxtaposition of pleasure mixed with slight pain along with the thrumming desire for more. More of Jessica's voice, more movement, and more pressure. "I like it," he managed, and that was all she needed to hear.

Inch by beautiful inch, she withdrew until that blunt tip was the only thing inside him, and Jake moaned loudly as she thrusted into him faster this time while his body grabbed at the length. "Oh god," he whined when he was full again. "Feels amazing."

She slid her slick hand along his cock and whispered, "You're my good boy," while she fucked him. "You're doing great." She rolled her hips, fucking him with rapid, shallow thrusts while he grunted her name and balled the bedding up tighter. She stroked his length slower as her hips went faster, and Jake's hands shook with anticipation. 

"Baby," he moaned as her hips pressed against his ass, holding herself in place as she filled him completely. 

"Admiral Reed," she corrected, letting her hand drift slowly back down his shaft so she was squeezing his balls. She rolled her hips back and snapped them forward in one fluid motion, and Jake buried his face in the bedding as he cried out. 

"Admiral Reed! I'm close! I'm so close!"

Without slowing her tempo, Jessica grabbed him by his hips, and Jake's cock pressed against the bed. She was rubbing him in all the right places, keeping him full with thrust after thrust, and his cock was throbbing in need. 

"Come, Lieutenant. You earned it," she promised, grabbing at his hips and waist and grunting as she finished him off with all of her remaining strength. Just a few more thrusts as she found every spot inside of him that needed relief, and he was coming all over the bed.

"Fuck!" he growled, lifting his upper body slightly to chase that perfect pressure, and he watched his cum shoot across the bedding as Jessica rubbed his electrified skin. Jake collapsed back down onto his own mess, the sticky warmth on his hands and cheek as he whined and whimpered. 

He felt Jessica remove the strap one inch at a time until she was free of his body, and she hugged him from behind, kissing at his shoulder. "I love you, Jake. I love you so much," she crooned breathlessly, and he at least had the wherewithal to realize she might need some relief now as well. But he couldn't stand up yet. Not when she was whispering the sweetest things in his ear while his legs shook.

When he lifted his head, she kissed his cheek while he tried to formulate words. Then she moaned and licked the cum from his face. Nothing had changed. She was still his in the same way she had been, and if anything, he loved her more for what she just did with him. 

"Jessica," he whispered, kissing her lips, finally. She tasted like him. She tasted perfect. Then he stood, and she was smiling up at him, wearing that pretty strap. And Jake knew. He fucking knew damn well that it was time to ask her. 

"Where are you going?" she asked when he reached for his pants, pulling them up high enough so he could walk. 

He rushed out to the kitchen and opened the cabinet that contained all of the spices and seasonings. She was still apprehensive about cooking on her own, and this was the last place she would have looked for anything. He grabbed the small box and popped it open as he ran back into the bedroom as quickly as he could. Jessica had removed the strap and set it on the bed, leaving her in that sinful looking navy blue set. She adjusted her glasses just before her gaze fell to his hand, and then he dropped to his knee in front of her.

"Jake?" she gasped as her eyes went wide.

"Marry me. Please, Baby. Marry me. You're a need. A necessity. But you're also somehow the only thing I want. I was going to propose in Cabo, but I can't even wait until tomorrow. Will you marry me?"

Her pretty face crumpled as she sobbed, but she was nodding and reaching for him. Her voice shook as she smiled through her tears. "Yes. I'll marry you. You're my needs and wants, too."

Jake stood and scooped her up as he laughed. She ended up beneath him on the bed next to his cum, kissing him and running her fingers through his hair while he tried to get her to hold her hand still. "Let me put it on you, Smart Girl," he whispered, unable to stop smiling as he took her left hand and slipped the ring into place. He loved the way it looked. And then, as if the massive diamond didn't matter much to her in comparison to him, she had her hands back in his hair. And he kind of loved that, too.

"I can't wait to tell everyone how we got engaged," she said as she laughed and buried her face against his neck. 

"You can tell them anything you want, Jess. Just make sure you pack that strap for Cabo along with the rest of the toys."

---------------------------

Thank you so much for coming on this little journey with me! It was really fun to fit Jake and Jessica into the Beer Boy and Sugar universe, and I hope you'll stick around to read about Bob and Anna soon, too! IYKYK...if you follow along with Beer Boy and Sugar, you already knew about Jake and Jessica's upcoming nuptials. More surprises are in store in every corner of this universe soon! Big thanks to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sylviebell for all your help!

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[sysmedsaresexist]

Changing mindsets, from a Real Anti Endo™️

The Release of the (Pro/Endo) Golden Goose

I hope everyone from all sides will give this important, heartfelt post a read.

It's likely something you'll want to be aware of if you have a vested interest in syscourse and the validity of endogenic systems. Please give this a chance.

It's been almost three years since I started my blogs. Wow. I've been on tumblr a hell of a lot longer, but I really wasn't involved in the system community. I started out firm and loud. I probably inadvertently fakeclaimed (I went into this with the rule that I would NOT directly tell anyone they were faking, it was a boundary that I knew would ruin me socially if I crossed it, but I'm sure I probably did without meaning to), I name called and made fun of people and things. I was disrespectful to people. I invaded tags to get my message out there, though I was quick to stop once I realized I was making the tags unusable for the community I claimed to want to protect.

I learned very quickly what was appropriate and what wasn't, what I could get away with and what I couldn't. It started to become a numbers game, influenced by the risk of the post.

I made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies, and I amassed a following of over 2k. More people have come and gone from my little community than I ever thought possible. People made fanart of me, and I cherish those so deeply. I have over 300 asks because I struggle to delete the ones thanking me.

And the more I was thanked, the nicer I got, the more thanks, the nicer I got, rinse and repeat until I had trouble NOT empathizing with pro/endos. The more I was willing to listen, the more legitimate sources I came across that disproved my original ideas about consciousness. The people sharing the sources were more respectful than I thought they'd be. Things were starting to look a bit cloudy.

I talked to my colleagues about how they, as therapists, would handle some of these endos in their practice, and while their belief in the concept varied, kindness and attempts to understand was the consistent answer. When had I lost that kindness and understanding that had driven me to that field to begin with?

Colleagues, yes. For those who don't know, I have a degree in social services and counselling (plus three other degrees). It's why the current situation with the antis turning on me is so funny. I still can't get into the mindset of some of these new anti endos, I just can't imagine justifying that level of cruelty. I had lines that I wouldn't cross, and I didn't think people could be worse than me.

... That might have been a trauma thing, looking back on it.

So I got desperate.

I spoke to the actual doctors who wrote some of these papers all of us are quoting. Everyone was arguing the meaning of the words, so I went directly to the source.

Dr Colin Ross, who wrote about endogenous multiplicity in the 80s. I told him everything-- about plurals, non-traumagenic systems, syscourse, what was being debated, how I and others interpreted his words, and what I wanted to learn.

Was plurality only trauma based?

And back and forth and back and forth we went, with me asking over and over again in different ways, NEEDING to hear that it was.

But I never got that answer. He meant what he meant. He said what he said and he meant it.

That plurality was not only found in the aftermath of trauma.

And I said nothing to anyone because I couldn't reconcile it.

Don't try to read between the lines, I assure you, there isn't some hidden meaning to be found there. I can't share all of the messages because some contained personal information, but my final response will tell you all you need to know.

(It did NOT, in fact, make sense, and it took me three years to "rethink my paper" that endogenic plurality wasn't possible, I did not win that conversation, it was a dying stance that was not supported)

I've been accused of paying too much attention to my follower count, but I can't really help it. It's really scary when you make a post and see a sizeable drop. It means a lot of different things. My posts have less reach and support. I've upset people. I've done something wrong. My community is leaving me.

I'm in a weird spot, where I'm blocked by so much of the pro/endo community that I have nothing to join, and the anti endo community, who I still wholeheartedly support, continues to leave me for -checks smudged writing on hand- being too nice??

Misinformation about DID is a massive problem, and it's why I still consider myself anti endo and support that community. I relate to them in such a way that I'll always gravitate to and empathize with them.

Or at least, that's what I thought.

At this point, though, how can I not be pro/endo when Colin fucking Ross says it's possible?

I've already written about how I'm really struggling with these labels, and I love the people that have stuck around while I struggle to figure this out.

I hurt when I see the people that once supported me leave.

My (online) world is shrinking. Literally.

That's scary.

When you've watched so many turn away, you start to wonder, with every post, where is the line where the rest are going to leave? Is it this post?

I just want to be me, us, we want to laugh at the stupid crap people say, system or not, I want to talk about my disorder, I want to combat misinformation, I want to have productive, fun conversations about ideas and concepts with people who disagree and have different interpretations. I want to play devil's advocate and get people thinking. I want to be able to comment positivity and kindness on any post I see, I want to feel comfortable talking to more people about their ideas. I sympathize with anti endos, I relate to CDD systems, I still firmly believe that CDDs and plurality are different, unrelated concepts.

My priority will always and forever be the CDD community first and foremost.

However, I am a hypocrite. I have gone straight to the horse's mouth and failed. I've seen so much research that I finally get it. I'm grappling with holding on to this conversation with Dr Ross, wondering what harm I could have prevented if I'd gone public with these emails earlier.

Since when has being open to change been a bad thing?

Since when has showing respect to lived experiences been a bad thing?

What am I? What label describes this?

How do I go forward from here?

What are you going to do with this information?

I promise you, hate isn't the way forward.

[castiwls]

unexplained cases

Paring; dean x reader

Requested; @walkinthefairygarden

Synopsis; working as an FBI agent means you were more than used to the unusual but even some things drew the line as to strange for you. Little did you know two brothers were also on the case, and this would lead you down a whole new rabbit hole.

Notes; this is the longest thing I've written for tumblr holy. this idea is lowkey so fun tho!! requests are open!

Masterlist

You were used to strange. You’d spent the last few years of your life dealing with any and all cases which were deemed slightly too abnormal for a normal investigation. You’d seen things most of your colleagues could never imagine, hell even you couldn't have imagined some of the things you’d seen. 

Your time working with the FBI had taught you one thing. People were cruel. Sometimes the worst monsters weren't the ones who lived in the pages of an old Brothers Grimm story, sometimes they were your neighbour or sometimes they were your own family.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be placed on a case which involved situations where people would go out, have fun, get slightly too drunk and disappear off into the night just to be found the next day in an alleyway by an innocent passerby. More often than not if you found yourself receiving the call that the body that had been found was most likely mutilated in a way that would give most people lifelong trauma.

More often than not after looking around for a little and doing some research into past disappearances you would find a pattern in the victims. They were all young blondes or they were all young men between the ages of 19 and 23. That usually led you to the door of the town's new resident killer who got some sick kick out of killing innocent people and mutilating them to ‘leave their mark’.

But in this case. This was different. It had started out normal enough. Victims in alleyways after nights out. They were all mutilated in some way which led you to the belief that yet again, you had a small-town killer trying to make a name for themselves. 

Yet when the bodies began to be autopsided that was when you began to grow confused and…slightly concerned. Nearly all the victims after death had been drained of more the half of their blood and they all had small hole marks on their necks. 

The corner had laughed joking. “Seem’s we have a town vampire.” And you laughed along while staring confused down at the marks. They were nothing you’d seen before. Maybe you simply had a killer with a creative streak but the killings still left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

✧.*

“Another one?” You let a sigh fall from your lips as you mindlessly chewed on your nail. “That's the fifth one this week.” You frowned slightly sitting back further into your seat. The police chief continued to fill you in on the latest victim as you stared down at your laptop. None of this made any sense. 

You had a killer. You were sure. But who the hell was draining their victims of more the half of their blood? And where the hell was this blood going? “I’ll be there in an hour.” You nodded to yourself before ending the call and pocketing your phone.

Luckily it didn’t take you long to get down to the bar where the victims all seemed to disappear from. The police chief waved you down as you approached, he passed you a file which detailed the latest victim. “I didn’t know you had a partner agent?” He crossed his arms as spoke.

Your eyes paused on the page as you registered his words. “I don’t,” You said looking up from the file. You started at him confused for a moment. “I’m the only one on this case.” The chief stared back at you his eyes narrowing. “Two other agents came around just before you got here. They said they’d been put on the case after the most recent killing.” He waved a hand at you. “They knew who you were…well claiming to.”

“What were their names?” You racked your mind for a minute trying to think of anyone who could have been placed on this case alongside you but your mind came up empty. Plus if anyone was assigned to help you with this you would have been informed.

“Osburne and Butler.” You looked back down to the file in your hand nodding slowly. You’d never heard of agents with those names before. “Are they still here?” You looked around for a moment before looking back to the chief who nodded before pointing to a black car parked a little down the road. 

Thanking him you began to make your way over to the car. Clearing your throat you came to a stop just before the car. The two men quickly turned, clearly shocked by your appearance. Tilting your head you narrowed your eyes. You’d never seen these men in your life. “Osburne and Butler I take it.” 

They both exchanged a quick look before the taller of the two nodded. “Uh. Yes. Is-is everything okay?” His tone was masked as concern but you could sense his slight nervousness from the way he shifted. “Yes everything is fine,” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m just wondering why you two think it's funny to pose as FBI agents and walk right onto a crime scene.” You hardened your gaze, watching in slight amusement as the one who had just spoken swallowed looking at his friend for help.

The other man scoffed rolling his eyes at you. “Listen here sweetheart, I don’t know who you think you are but we're not faking anything.” He gestured between him and his friend. “We got put on this case today, you can call our supervisor if you're so bothered.”

You frowned turning your attention to him. “You can’t have been put on this case.” You reached into your pocket pulling out your ID. “Because it’s my case. And in all my time working with the FBI I have never heard of any agents called Osbourne and Butler,” You placed your ID back in your pocket. “And last time I checked they were both pretty old.” 

You watched as the smaller man’s eyes widened at your words. You knew Black Sabbath? 

They both stared at you for a moment before the taller one smiled grabbing onto his partner's arm. “Excuse us for a minute.” You nodded, a quiet huff falling from your lips.

This was the last thing you needed right now. You watched unimpressed as the two seemed to go back and forth for a minute before the taller one turned back to you. He sent you another smile as he came to stand before you. “We’ll talk to our supervisor and find out what happened.” You nodded, looking back at the other man who was currently leaning back against the car. “Alright,” You nodded. 

You bid the two goodbye before walking back towards the bar where you could see the forensic officers beginning to move the body. You frowned to yourself as you looked back down at the file. 

Something about the two ‘agents’ seemed off to you. There was no way you wouldn’t have been informed. You watched as the body was taken away no doubt to the morgue which would be your next stop, though your mind was still stuck on the two men you’d just met.

You were 90% sure they were not agents, but before you acted on your suspicions you had to be sure. There was a low chance they maybe were who they claimed to be and somehow another division had caught wind of the cases and had decided to butt their head in but still never in your career had you seen that happen.

Pulling your phone from your pocket you quickly checked the time. You had more than enough time left to go check the morgue before doing some digging.

✧.*

Your fist banged against the door again for what felt like the hundredth time. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that there had never been any agents with the names Osbourne and Butler. It also hadn’t taken you long to find a case from a few years ago that involved another strange span of killings which had ended with the killer supposedly dead. 

Just as you raised your fist again the door suddenly swung open. The man’s eyes widened slightly as he stared at you. He opened his mouth but you quickly cut him off raising a finger. “Dean Winchester. Right?” You smiled sweetly at the man who simply gapped at you for a moment.

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Like we said yesterday, we got put on this case just like you did alright? Now I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show up unannounced.” He sent you a small smirk. “If you really have an issue take it up with your supervisor.” 

You pursed your lips nodding. “Really?” You held up a file watching his face drop slightly. “Because this says, different Dean.” 

You pushed the file you’d been holding into his hands, crossing your arms over your chest. “According to this, you died a few years back. Yet. You look pretty alive to me.” 

Dean looked down at the file before looking back up at you. “This.” He waved the file. “Was a misunderstanding.” He glanced down the hallway seemingly relieved seeing that you were alone. “How did you find us.” He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

You could tell by his body language that he didn’t trust you. The way he glared at you was enough to tell you that he was less than friendly. Though you couldn’t deny the slight pull you felt towards him. 

You’d noticed him back at the bar but had kept a professional facade knowing that you had bigger problems. Though now being closer to him you finally were able to get a good look at the man and it only confirmed your thoughts from before. He was very attractive.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m more concerned about why you and your brother are pretending to work for the FBI.” You tilted your head as you questioned him. Dean rolled his eyes moving to lean against the doorway. “Well. Like you sweetheart, we were also doing our job.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You narrowed your eyes thinking for a moment. “Your job?” 

He nodded a small smirk growing on his lips. “What job could you possibly have which would require breaking the law.” Just as he opened his mouth to respond the trill of a phone ringing. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out your phone a small sigh leaving your lips as you noticed the caller's ID. “Again.” You mumbled exasperated before sliding your finger across the screen. 

Taking a step back from the doorway you watched as Dean’s gaze softened slightly. He stepped to the side before gesturing for you to come into the room. Furrowing your brows you stood for a moment, listening as the police chief began talking about yet another kill. 

Deciding he seemed relatively harmless you took his offer. When you’d first come you’d been under the opinion that Dean Winchester may have been your killer, and his hostile attitude upon seeing you had only furthered that belief. Yet getting another phone call while he was standing before you made you begin to rethink your original suspicions. 

Taking a seat on one of the beds you sighed. “Two victims,” Dean closed the door before moving to stand a few feet from you. “Alright. I’ll be there in an hour.” You ended the call before groaning. Two victims completely threw your pattern off. 

You looked around the room for a moment as you spoke before a thought hit you. Dean hadn’t been alone yesterday and you’d read on his file that he had a brother. “Where’s your brother?” You looked back over to the man who was watching you from his spot.

“He’s getting food.” Dean shrugged. “So two more victims huh.” He pushed. You nodded. “Yea. Why do you care anyway? What are you some kind of true crime fanatic.” He laughed quietly shaking his head.

“Oh no. It’s a bit more complicated.” He came to sit beside you, passing the file back. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the whole me not being dead to your boss.” You pursed your lips. “Why would I do that?” 

Dean Winchester being alive was very strange to you, but it wasn’t your issue. “Because we can help each other.” 

Dean gestured between you both. You stared at him confused for a moment. You needed to solve this case, and soon. Too many people were dying and you still had little to no leads on who it could possibly be that was committing these crimes. You thought it over for a moment. You were breaking so many rules even being here. You should have reported this to your supervisor straight away but you’d been curious. 

“Me and my brother, we deal with stuff like this all the time. We can help but I need you to promise not to try and shoot me if I tell you what we actually do for a living, alright?” 

✧.*

Working with the Winchesters was… interesting. 

You really hadn’t thought your life could get any stranger, yet here you were staring down at the bodies of three men. Turns out Sam and Dean Winchester had actually not been FBI agents and instead they spent their time traversing around the country killing ‘monsters.’

You initially laughed in Dean’s face calling him crazy before attempting to leave but he’d been quick to stop you. He’d then sat you down and pretty much showed you every piece of evidence they had to suggest that these killings were far from normal.

“A vampire?” You stared at him astounded as he simply nodded. “Yes. And most likely a werewolf. The killings line up.”

You’d not want to believe him but part of you after looking at the evidence knew he had a point. And so that had sent you down a spiral over the last week where you’d learnt of things that you’d only ever known about in your nightmares.

After that, the three of you quickly began comparing notes on the case. In doing this you’d quickly come to find at least three possible culprits. Each of the men had been seen in the club the night of the killings and they were always seen leaving with someone.

You’d surprisingly found yourself beginning to enjoy the company of the two. You normally worked alone during your cases and had always found that you’d worked better alone but during the last few days, you’d found that you actually enjoyed working with others.

Over the last two days, you’d always found yourself steadily growing closer and closer to the older of the two men. Dean Winchester was someone who you’d originally planned to keep at an arm's distance, but that plan quickly fell away.

You’d found yourself spending most of your time interviewing witnesses with him while Sam had stayed back going over your notes.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch.” You smiled at the older woman as she said her own goodbyes before closing the door. Dean let out a breath as you walked down the porch steps towards his car. 

“You still think it could be her son?” You stopped beside the car to face him. Dean crossed his arms nodding slowly. “Yeah. Vamps don’t have to be born. The guy could have been bitten she’d be none the wiser.” 

You nodded pulling your lip between your teeth. “Okay. We got our guy.” A wave of relief ran through you as you stood there. For the first time in the case, it seemed like you finally had a strong lead who you were all sure was the killer.

Everything lined up. Now all you had to do was catch the guy. Dean reached into his pocket pulling his keys out. “We should go get Sam before heading to the bar. If he follows his pattern our guy should be there.” 

✧.*

“So. Case closed I guess.” You mumbled looking down at the body. Sam nodded from his spot opposite you. “Yeah.” You reached into your pocket pulling out your phone. You looked between the two.

“I’m gonna need to call this in, you two should probably disappear before the cops get here.” You smiled at the two. Sam nodded before looking over to his brother who was still looking down at the body. “How are you gonna explain this?” He asked pushing a hand into his pocket. 

“Suicide.” You gestured to the body. “Guy went mad, killed people and then couldn’t live with himself.” You shrugged. “It's more common than you’d think.” 

“Thank you. I don’t think I would have been able to do this without your help.” You rubbed a hand behind your neck before turning to Dean. “I’ll make sure your file disappears, just try and not get framed for another murder.” You teased slightly making the two men chuckle.

“I’ll try.” Dean grinned, his gaze settling on you. Over the last few days, you’d noticed the way he looked at you had changed. At first, he’d been hesitant, he’d always looked at you with a sceptical eye as if he was ready for you to flip on them at any moment but over time he’d realised that maybe you actually did want their help.

Maybe you really weren't going to lead him into a trap. And with that realisation, the way he looked at you had softened. He’d let himself become more comfortable in your presence. The way he looked at you now was different again. There was no lie that you felt something towards him. 

You’d resigned yourself to the fact that he was just another one of your passing crushes. You’d finish the case and he’d move on. Yet looking at him now you could swear he looked slightly disappointed.

“I’m gonna go wait in the car. I’ll see you there.” Sam nodded at his brother before sending you another smile and walking away. You both watched him go for a moment before you turned to Dean.

Dean didn’t say anything as he turned back to face you. He swallowed before raising a hand. “I guess I better let you call this in before someone sees us.” He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck before he turned and began walking away.

You stood for a moment before beginning to follow him “Dean. Wait.” At your voice, he paused turning to face you. You stopped a few feet from him before taking a breath. You slowly stepped closer until your chests were practically touching. 

You heard his breath hitch as he stared down at you, his lips parting slightly. Pushing yourself up you connected your lips with his. His hand wrapped around your waist as your own went to his head. 

His thumb rubbed circles against your waist as he slowly pulled back. A slight blush covered your cheeks as you panted softly. “Hey. Why don’t you come with us?” Dean whispered moving a hand to brush against your cheek.

“What?” You gasped, furrowing your brows as you looked at him. His eyes had lit up slightly at the idea and he smiled resting his forehead against yours. “Think about it alright. We’ll stick around for two more days and if you decide you wanna come with…you know where we’ll be.” He pressed his lips against yours again for a moment before pulling back. 

You frowned slightly watching him disappear around the corner before your attention turned back to the body. Pulling out your phone you found the chief's number before pressing call. As it rang you found yourself nervously chewing on your nail.

You felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Stay here and continue working for the FBI and leave behind a man who you were very much falling in love with or take his offer and discover a whole new world.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Blood Play w/ Sam Winchester (ft. Vampire!Reader)

a/n: OMG IT'S FINALLY HERE!! i can't tell you guys about how excited i've been to finally be able to work on kinktober — like you guys have no idea. anywhozers, here's day one, and i hope you guys enjoy!!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

Sex between Sam and you has always been fun. 

With you being a vampire, you always had more stamina and a higher sex drive than the older - albeit younger seeing as you’re a whopping one hundred years older than him - man. 

There were always new things to try with your immortal abilities, but feeding off of Sam while you were going at it had never been a line you could bring yourself to cross. Sure, you’d thought about it once or twice, but that was only logical seeing as though you could hear each beat of his heart, the heated blood continually running through his veins; but you could never, you loved him too much to even fathom hurting him and drinking from him beyond repair. 

Until now… that is.

You’d been going at it for hours now, the amount of orgasms you had pulled from each other's body had been lost to the adrenaline fogging your thought process. You were currently riding him with such fervor that you could almost feel your own undead heart race.

“Fuck, Sam.” You sighed, head falling back as you gripped his shoulders painfully. He’d gotten used to the accidental slip of your restraint, the evidence of your super strength slipping through the cracks being the bruises that were most definitely going to be there tomorrow. He bounced you on his cock repeatedly, your ass meeting his lap in loud slaps that resounded lewdly throughout your shared bedroom. 

You could feel him nearing his own climax, the occasional thrusting up of his hips being almost once or twice to none.

“Bite me.” His voice was strained, jaw clenched tightly in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from cumming without stating his desires. “What?” You breathed out in shock, your bounces faltering. He nearly whimpered at the loss of friction, but he held himself back, his big brown eyes staring up at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction.

“I said bite me.” He huffed, lungs finally taking in much needed air. 

“Sam…” You started unsurely, “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.” 

“I do. Fuck - I spent hours researching just to make sure it was safe.” Your heart warmed at the confession, but remembering the precarious situation you were both in, you sobered up, slipping back into that sultry mindset as you dragged the tips of your fingers up the side of his neck.

“That's what you want, Sammy baby?” You whispered seductively. Your thumb pressed on the pulse point under his jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut at the tempting feeling of his blood rushing under the pad of your finger. “Yeah, ‘want that real bad.” He groaned out, his hips jumping up at the pleasurable pressure.

You felt yourself let go internally, murmuring out, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?” He nodded fastly, “I promise.”

You began to ride him again, hand still pressed against his throat. The dominance was accidental, but he knew it was your hunting instincts. You hadn’t fed off of a human in the last 90 years, it had always been animal blood or an underground network of willing donors - even though Sam really doesn’t like the shady latter.

You could feel your body thrumming with excitement even though you knew this wasn’t going to be an actual kill, but just the idea of biting into someone’s skin - Sam’s skin - for that matter, had caused your body to gain a never ending pace, one that Sam had found quite difficult to follow, but you weren’t doing this with yourself in mind. 

You wanted to share a part of you with Sam that would mark him as yours forever. So, to do that, you wanted him to reach the highest high, then give him the finishing blow. Sam could feel his balls tightening, that familiar coil in his belly as he desperately chased after his release. Before he could crash over the edge, you roughly exposed his neck to you and bit down, hard. 

A strangled moan lodged in your boyfriend’s throat, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he felt you take blood from him. The taste of him was incredible, but you had forced yourself to pull off of him, your mouth stained with his copper essence as he released his seed inside of you, a whine wedging its way out of you.

Sam flopped onto his back, chest heaving as you placed bloody comforting kisses all over his chest.

“You okay, baby?” You asked gently, running your fingers through his long brunette locks. 

“Mhm.” He hummed with a dopey smile on his face.

“Sure,” You giggled, “I’m gonna go get you some water.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @zippertwat @hallecarey1 @alixwriter

[bambifornia]

huuUOOoLRgGghh fiinnne I can't stay away from you all

i bring more autobot!swindle. plus my attempt at writing his backstory

disclaimer : most of the stuff below isn't canon i just wrote this for fun. if u guys wanna make ur own swindle backstories i invite yall to do so :D we will make our own swindle content

swindle came online during cybertron's early years of the age of expansion. the autobots (with their goal to expand cybertron's empire) engineered a set of bots who would serve cybertron as its intergalactic merchants, programmed to be ambitious bots who sought profit. they also came with bigger processors (for storing transactions and whatnot) and versatile frames (so they could withstand organic climates)

shortly after coming online, swindle was assigned a teacher (another merchant) who'd pass down the knowledge of the trade. swindle did his best to keep up with his lessons

as a student, swindle was determined and clever. as a bot, though...eughh...

- he had less of a filter, and didn't know how to keep a poker face

- his little new England accent used to be a lot thicker (think earthspark swindle)

- very friendly, had a lot of amicas back in the day (he was definitely the "I know a bot" guy). it was a struggle for him to keep quiet

- loved hands on activities, hated sitting still

- kept a journal detailing his intergalactic trips. tried to doodle any organics he found interesting

- LOVED shiny stuff. he was like a crow lmao

- his sharp glossa would sometimes get his aft beat

- despite being a chatterbox, he wasn't as suave back then. he'd often get himself in awkward situations, which he'd try to talk himself out of the embarrassment but he'd end up digging a deeper hole for himself

- petty king. also kinda nosy and had a thing for gossip

- loved pranking, and teased the bots he liked

once he was ready, swindle was given a ship and assigned a trading post (as a starting point). from that point, swindle was a rootin tootin merchant and nothing bad ever happened to him again :D...

...

until the quintessa skirmishes

the age of expansion ended with border disputes between cybertron and quintessa. multiple skirmishes sproutted along the border, and while swindle didn't fight in them, he was certainly caught in the crossfire. swindle ended up with a broken ship, a looted inventory, and a bungled up frame. he had to return to cybertron for repairs

back on cybertron, swindle finds a planet wildly different from the one he knows. tensions between autobots and decepticons are rising, and the banks aren't holding up that great. swindle finds himself in a tight spot (financially speaking) since he still has to deal with his losses from quintessa. unable to go back to his actual merchant job, swindle resorts to taking odd jobs to keep himself afloat (yes, even stealing)

when the war breaks out, swindle gets drafted into the front lines (a decision that still baffles him to this day). since he's not much of a fighter, the autobots have swindle work as a spy, ordering him to smuggle weapons out of decepticon servos...

in future hindsight, that was a poor decision

---

wrapping it up here because i don't want this post to get too long LMAO but I still have more ideas for him if yall are interested. just know that this is not the end of swindle lore

ALSO I finally came up with autobot!swindle designations :D I've narrowed it down to 3 and I need help deciding. it's either between

quickdime - cuz. you know. he's always looking to make a quick buck

treasury - his subspace acts like a treasury if you kinda think about it

fortune - idk it sounds cute. besides fortune tends to "favor the bold and clever"

if u made it this far then congrats. thank u for listening to me yap. have a bonus doodle

[cloudyskydreams]

SO on period UT,UF,US,HT!

Ive had this sitting in my notes for awhile wasn't super proud of it still ain't but I wanted to post something, I just had to slap the HT brothers on and boom new post.

Also I've been wanting to write swapfell but I don't know the difference between that and fellswap or really their personalities cause it's so different for each fanfic so if someone could pls explain 🙏

Anyways here y'all go hope you enjoy!

Undertale:

Sans: I feel like sans is pretty knowledgeable so you didn't have to explain it to him. He takes it pretty maturely it's a natural part of life. The puns the horrible puns. He has so many specifically for this time of the month. He's always got your comfort snack on hand in his jacket pockets. He doesn't really change much he'll get off his ass if you ask him to but he sticks by your side mostly and lazes out cuddled with you while watching shows. Pretty good at getting products and snacks you might like he likes to get you some new snacks to try with him and he's good at guessing what you might like.

Papyrus: This man is prepared. After you tell him what it is he researches it and WOWIE he wishes he just asked you to explain but now he's over prepared with knowledge! He has hot water bottles and weighted blankets at the ready. Any snacks you want, heck you want a whole meal? He's on it and it's prepared with extra love. He carries around your products for you and always has pain medicine in his bags. Pretty good at picking them up from the store too and has no shame getting them.

Underfell:

Red: You gotta explain it to him and this man is bewildered for a bit. ya bleed from there for how long??? every month?! He's a little impressed?? Last he checked humans weren't supposed to lose huge amounts of blood but you're treating it like it's a normal thing. After he gets over his initial shock he'll try and help the best he can which is a little awkwardly. He makes a little nest for you out of blankets and pillows and makes sure you're comfortable. He and his magic run warm so he'll lay on your stomach and cuddle to help with cramps, pet his head and he might purr. He's pretty confused about products def one to send Babe what's your pussy size.

Edge: He's aware, he's done his research on his own when you were ovulating about the human "mating cycle". Not a fun experience but he takes it in stride. He listens to what you need and trys to deliver. Massages for sore muscles and heating pads for cramps. He'll make you comfort food while you relax watching a show and join you afterwards for some cuddles. He's pretty good at getting products for you and takes the ones you like into consideration but he's always looking for better healthier alternatives for you.

Underswap:

Stretch: Knows about it (blue taught him when he found out and Stretch showed interest in humans)and is a little awkward(traumatized from the talk with Blue). Hate to say it Stretch doesn't really know what to do he's not grossed out he just doesn't know how to handle it. He tries his best to be comforting giving snacks, heating pads, and cuddles. He's so awkward going to the store to get products plays it cool but has no idea what he's doing and definitely gets the wrong thing after his mind blanks while staring at all the products for too long. You just gotta train him he'll get better.

Blue: Also knows and he's handling it alot better. He takes it in stride and understands the biggest part is you're uncomfortable and he's going to do his best to help with that. He takes care of chores you don't want to do, makes you comfort meals, and always has a heating pad ready. Has so many two player comfort games lined up for you guys, he has stuff to do but most of his work stuff can be done at home! Which means he'll just be a shout away if you need anything . Pretty good at getting products and is one to carry some around in his bag just in case when you guys go out.

HorrorTale:

Axe: You have to explain it to him… Multiple times. He's confused as to why you smell like blood, he likes the smell but he's confused for a bit until he writes a note about it. He will not remember which products to get unfortunately. He's so confused staring at them you'll have to instruct him very clearly over a call and he still probably grabs the wrong one. Cuddles are supreme he's a giant so he'll engulf you in his form and his purrs practically shake your whole body. It's like a free massage chair whenever you want. He sticks closer by your side during this time of month knowing blood means your wounded and his protective urges flare up.

Willow: You'll also have to explain it to him and he's extremely worried when he smells blood. Even more so when he learns how long you bleed, he knows how much blood a human can loose and it worries him you're losing so much. After you explain it's a normal thing and a part of life he calms down slightly. He cleans and cooks a lot when stressed or worried so you constantly have something to munch on and you don't have to worry about any chores. He stays over stocked up on supplies, he doesn't like going out in public very often but for this he will because he deems it important enough. It's why he stocks up so much when he goes out. Mother hens over you hard and you might have to pull him into cuddles to get him to relax for a bit.

[starrylothcat]

My queen! May I humbly request to you a dialog burned into my skull for hunter ? I know you have a promt list but I have thought of hunter saying these lines ever since they came to me (I hope u don't mind a suggestion that's not on a list🖤🖤🖤)

"Do you have any idea how intoxicating you are to me? Do you even know what you Do me? How much you drive me wild?"

"Oh I think you do. Oh mesh'la, If I didnt know any better I'd think you like driving me crazy"

-I've had no thoughts other than hunter and his God damn inhanced senses and that scent kink 🙈 Nonthing but sinful smutty thoughts

Ofc my queen, you can go for whatever context you think fits. ☺️🖤🖤🖤

Essence

Summary: Your scent drives Hunter wild and his desire for you has been building. He’s been able to hold it together until a new scent from you pushes him to the brink.

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi Fem!Reader

WC: 4700 whoops

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. Scent kink, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it yo), cunnilingus, cum eating, praise, Hunter being a horny beast. Takes place during TCW. Reader is a Jedi for fun, not really described.

A/N: Let me tell you, I have no THOTS other than Hunter and his senses either! Thank you so much for this request…this dialogue is DELICIOUS and you sent me down a rabbit hole. I do not mind at all! I got a bit carried away, but I hope this is what you envisioned! This is what I humbly offer in return! Enjoy~

Ever since you introduced yourself to him all those weeks ago, Hunter has been captivated. 

Whenever his mind was idle his thoughts drifted to you, the ghost of your scent always teasing his senses. He both wished he could be near and as far away as possible from you, your entire being taunting him whether you knew it or not.  

It wasn’t just your beauty that beguiled him or your skill on the battlefield, it was your alluring and downright intoxicating fragrance that overtook his senses any time you were near. 

Hunter was used to people’s smells, it was the downside of being genetically enhanced to notice such things. He often found other’s natural scents overpowering, learning to ignore them quickly.

But you, you were something else. 

Per the Jedi Council’s request, you were assigned to Clone Force 99 to assist with a  few delicate retrieval missions and had been given orders to train with them in the weeks leading up to the assignments.

His brothers grumbled, not liking having a Jedi on the team, even temporarily, thinking it was some sort of insult and insinuating they couldn’t handle themselves.

Hunter was skeptical too, but ever since first meeting you on a landing platform on Coruscant, your natural perfume ignited his senses like a newly formed star.

During missions, he could ignore it long enough to be successful and keep his mind clear. 

But when you were training, or on The Marauder, or just catching him in the halls of Kamino to say hi, he was tormented, and ached in silence.

You had just returned to Coruscant, having completed a mission successfully. You were back at the main GAR Headquarters and Master Kenobi wanted a debrief from you and Hunter. The war was picking up, and more and more Jedi and clones were needed in the coming battles.

Hunter was trying to clear his head before the meeting. He was stuck on The Marauder with you for a few rotations and his body was buzzing with need, his mind cloudy and spinning. He wanted so desperately to explore your body inch by inch, peel back your Jedi robes and become completely lost in you. 

It was all he could think about.

Every night, even when you weren’t near, he dreamt of the sounds you’d make as he took you apart and pieced you back together, how your curves would feel under his palms, desperate to be between your legs and drink at your source. Every morning he’d wake uncomfortably hard, hoping his hand would help him forget, but it only provided temporary relief.

Hunter was almost glad your time with them was nearing an end, not knowing how long he could suffer like this. 

Hunter had another problem, and it also had to do with you. He had been avoiding you the entire trip back to Coruscant and practically ran off The Marauder when you landed.

He knew you noticed, and figured you assumed he was angry at you. He watched as your face fell when you asked if he wanted to join you after the mission debrief for a drink, to celebrate the mission success. 

Hunter mumbled he was busy, not even looking you in the eye. 

How could he when he was seconds from wanting to taste your lips and fuck you senseless?

Hunter stood outside the door to the debriefing room, knowing you’d be in there. It was probably for the best if you thought he hated you. 

It wasn’t like you’d be able to be with him, anyway. 

You were standing in the conference room, knowing Hunter was going to walk in any minute.

You were trying to figure out Hunter’s increasingly strange behavior toward you, not knowing if you did something to upset him, or if something else was bothering him.

The mission was a success, no losses were sustained, and you and Clone Force 99 worked well with one another, so that couldn’t be it.

Your heart sank a little, thinking maybe he figured out your feelings toward him. He did have heightened senses, maybe he noticed something, and you weren’t as subtle as you hoped? You were trying your best to keep everything strictly professional, the mission always coming first.

You couldn’t deny your growing feelings toward the broody Sargeant though, his smokey voice, curly locks, broad shoulders, and thin waist just begging for you to grab on to. Those exact fantasies were going through your head just a few moments ago when you were in your quarters. 

You meant to take a nap and rest, but your mind wandered along with your hand under your panties. You didn’t mean to think about Hunter, but it was his face that was between your thighs in the dream, his deep voice whispering praises as he entangled his body with yours. 

The chirp of your commlink interrupted your “nap,” alerting you that the debrief was starting earlier than expected. Begrudgingly, you dressed and headed to the meeting, not satisfied and a little more frustrated than before.

Hunter entered the room, and his nerves were immediately on fire. You were chatting with another clone, a Commander from another unit. 

You glanced at him, nodded, and went back to speaking with him.

A new odor from you was assaulting his senses that wasn’t your usual exilarating aroma, this was different.

Very different.

It was arousal. 

Hunter bristled, fighting the sudden and intense urge to rip his clothes off and yours, taking you right then and there in front of everybody.

It was hard enough to ignore your usual natural perfume, but this was almost cataclysmic.

Obi-Wan’s hologram popped up, exchanging short courtesies with everyone, before diving into the topic at hand.

Hunter was barely paying attention, voices fading as he tried to hold himself together.

Why would you smell like sex? 

Hunter scanned the room, looking at the troopers and other Jedi that were listening to the debrief from Obi-Wan. 

Was it one of them? 

Jealousy stabbed his chest like a blade, imagining you in the throes of pleasure with a reg between your legs. You can do better than that. He thought bitterly. It could be me if you wanted.

Your demeanor was calm, listening intently to General Kenobi’s report, which was the opposite of what your pheromones were telling him. 

The other clones seemed at ease too, and Hunter couldn’t pick up the hint of your arousal on anyone else in the room.

Does that mean…?

If Hunter wasn’t sweating before, he was now. 

The image of you laying on your bunk in your quarters, touching your own body, and pleasing yourself was almost too much to handle in this public space. 

Jedi were people too, people with needs. And you were taking care of that need right before this meeting. 

Hunter glanced in your direction, your body radiating arousal, burning him from the inside out. 

You were horny, there was no denying it. Still horny, it seemed, as if your private time before this meeting wasn’t quite enough.  

Hunter’s body went into overdrive, picking up your needy pheromones as they wafted to his nose. 

Was this purposeful? Did you know what you did to him and were testing him? Some sort of kriffed-up Jedi trial of will?

Hunter clenched and unclenched his fist, praying for this debrief to be over soon, or else he might implode, a beast clawing its way out that he wasn’t sure he could contain for much longer.

Who were you thinking of while you writhed under your hand?

The image of some shiny reg popped into his head again, or that Commander you were just speaking to, the sharp blade of jealousy threatening to split him open.

He wanted you, all of you. The thought of anyone else made his blood boil, though he knew he had no stake in you. No one did. You were a Jedi. 

After what seemed like hours, the meeting ended, and General Kenobi signed off.

Hunter had to get out of here, get away from you before he did something he regretted.

He wanted to pull you into the nearest supply closet and give you what your body needed. But did you even want him? Could you feel the same way, if things were different?

Hunter knew the Jedi had their codes, their honor. He didn’t want to put you in a position of temptation or disgrace.

Hunter barely heard you call his name, trying to get his attention as he quickly strode out of the mission room, needing to be alone, needing to get away from you. Once again, he was running away from you.

You were aware of Hunter’s strange behavior throughout the meeting. He almost looked ill, sweating and fidgeting, the muscles in his neck tense and his jaw set tight.

There was definitely something wrong with him. He raced off The Marauder, and now he’s avoiding you again like you were made of bantha dung.

You frowned, your patience thin.

You had to know what was going on. 

You left the room, scanning the hallway to see which way he went. You caught a glimpse of his armor and red bandana turning a corner some ways down the hall, and you jogged trying to catch up with him, calling his name. 

“Hunter! Wait!

Hunter didn’t look back, increasing his pace. His head was throbbing, his codpiece uncomfortably tight,  trying to get you out of his head. It didn’t help that you were chasing him down the hall. 

Hunter took a quick turn down another hallway, opening the first door that he saw. It was an empty training room, with floor mats and other exercise equipment scattered about the room. The door hissed closed behind him, hoping he had lost you.

He wasn’t fast enough, it seemed, as you slammed the button to open the door, stepping in.

“Hunter, what the kriff  is going on?” He could tell you were mad, your lips pursed tight and a flash in your eyes that told him you were here for answers.

Hunter was balling his fists again, not wanting to put you in a situation that made you uncomfortable, hoping he could come up with something to ease the situation.

“Nothing, I just needed some air.”

You glowered, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Hunter, you’ve been avoiding me like I have the plague…did I do something to upset you? If so, let me apologize. You’re acting strange!”

“You didn’t upset me.” Hunter’s response was quick. “It’s just…”

 “Just what?” 

Hunter took in a deep breath. He knew you wouldn’t believe any excuse he came up with. You weren’t stupid.

“You.” Hunter grumbled, unable to look you in the eyes.

“Me?” You questioned. “So it does have to do with me? Hunter, I don’t want to play games!”

Hunter could hear the drop in your voice, not wanting you to think he was angry with you.

“No…it’s something else. My senses…” Hunter scrubbed his face with his hands. 

Hunter sighed. “Whatever you were doing before the debrief…..I can still smell it on you.”

“Hunter, what do you-?” You stopped, processing his words.

Hunter stayed silent.

Oh.

Oh.

Heat scorched your face, wanting to become invisible and shrink into nothing. He could smell that?

“Hunter I’m so sorry, I…umm…” You were almost too embarrassed to speak, your anger replaced with mortification, not realizing his senses were that acute.

“Don’t apologize.” Hunter started toward you. “It’s okay, it's just…overwhelming.”

You bit your lip, your face on fire, seeing how disheveled he seemed, but you could tell something was bubbling beneath his surface.

Your Jedi senses were picking up a need, a desire that he was holding back, one that was boiling over, one that has been held down tight for some time that was finally slipping through the cracks.

“I… didn’t have a chance to finish.” You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of your mouth. “I got a comm for the debrief right as uh…I was almost done.” 

Hunter stared at you, mouth open.

“What are you saying?” His voice was low, his gaze narrowing.

You boldly lifted a hand and traced it down his armored arm. “I’m saying…I’d let you help me finish what I started earlier. If that would fix things, clear your mind.”

Hunter was speechless momentarily, not believing the words coming out of his Jedi’s mouth. 

You were close to him now, closer even than you were in the debriefing room. 

“I…I was thinking about you.” You whispered, your fingers still lightly outlining his armor.

Hunter brought his hand to your neck, tracing his fingers up to cup the side of your face, testing the waters. 

“Has…my scent been making you feel this way the entire time?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Hunter closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, slowly bringing his forehead to yours. 

“Yes. Every waking moment.” He admitted.

The tension that had been building in Hunter, between the two of you, finally snapped. 

Hunter pressed his entire body into you, walking you back against the wall of the training room, pinning you. Intense heat radiated from him turning your blood into magma, your hands flying to grasp at the back of his head as his armor dug into you.

Hunter leaned down into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Do you have any idea how intoxicating you are to me? Do you even know what you do to me?” His tone was a hoarse whisper, like wisps of smoke from a recently doused fire, his hands tracing up your torso over your robes, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“Do you realize how much you drive me wild? How often have I thought of you like this?”

It was all out in the open now, there was no point in holding back.

His lips hovered above your pulse point, watching it beat and hearing the blood rushing through your veins.

Your body was engulfed with want, your core aching as you felt Hunter’s breath pant against your neck. “Your body…your smell…you tear me apart at the seams, mesh’la.”

“I didn’t realize…I didn’t think you’d notice-“ you gasped as his lips connected with your neck, his tongue tracing a pattern on your skin, his fingers locked on your waist. 

“I think you did. Oh mesh'la, If I didn't know any better I'd think you like driving me crazy.”

Hunter lifted his head from your neck, locking his eyes with yours. His usual honey-brown irises were almost black, pupils blown wide with unbridled lust. 

You didn’t realize he felt this way for you for so long and felt a little guilty for unintentionally driving him mad. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” Hunter gasped, his cock aching in his pants, waiting for your answer, your arousal stronger than before, your body begging to be ravaged. 

You swallowed, momentarily wondering if you should stop this before it got too far, but his touch and feral desire for you were too enticing to ignore. 

You closed the distance between you,  crashing your lips against him. You dug your hands into his hair, kissing with uninhibited abandon, giving him your answer. 

He immediately kissed back with equal fervor, loving the sensation of you gently pulling on his hair, causing the burning flame in his chest to ignite hotter and brighter as your mouths greedily danced. 

You boldly nibbled at his bottom lip, earning a groan from Hunter as you slid your tongue against his, intensifying the already feral kiss. 

You knew this was wrong, against everything, but you didn’t care. The worries of being caught were carelessly thrown to the ground with your robes and his armor, quickly stripping one another, not wanting to waste a single second. 

You traced your fingers over his broad, powerful body as he gave you equal attention, running his thumbs over your soft curves, marveling at your figure. “You’re beautiful.” Hunter rasped. “Maker, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

He searched your eyes one more time for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

 “I’m flattered, Sarge.” You teased, tracing your hand down his biceps, touching his sculpted muscle under his tanned skin. 

Hunter sloppily kissed down your neck and took one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling and teasing, gauging your reaction with every flick of his tongue, quickly learning what you liked. 

You gripped his hair again, panting and moaning as he lavished your breast before switching to the other.

“H-Hunter…” you could barely speak, still tugging at his locks which seemed to spur him on further. 

 “I can smell how much you want me.” Hunter rasped as he slid to his knees, hands caressing your thighs, looking up at you.

 “Can I taste you? Give you what your body has been begging for?” You looked down at the man kneeling before you, a dark and hungry look on his face, sweat beading at his brow, his chest heaving. 

“I need to know if you taste as good as you do in my dreams.”

You swallowed thickly, a new rush of desire flooding your senses. He's been dreaming about me, like this?

“You’ll have to let me know how it compares.” Your voice was raspy, trying to steady yourself, leaning back against the training room wall. 

Hunter smirked as he pressed his nose into your mound, inhaling deeply. 

He was finally at the source of what has been eating him alive the last few weeks, and it was intensely satisfying.

 “I can’t wait to see if your sounds are as pretty as this pussy. You’re dripping. All for me, hm?”

He brushed his nose against your clit, a jolt of pleasure electrifying your body as a lewd sound escaped your lips, louder than intended.

 “Did you like that? Do you want to cum on my face?” He mumbled, nuzzling his nose again against the sensitive nerve. 

You whimpered, needing more, so much more. 

“Y-yes…please, Hunter. I want to cum in your mouth.” 

You were begging now, his stubble scratching against your thighs and his lips gently kissing your labia. 

“That’s my girl, I’ll give you what you want for asking so nicely.” He rumbled into your soaking cunt, his cock weeping at the sight and the scent of you. 

Hunter wasted no time starting his feast on your pussy, probing his tongue and hungrily lapping at your folds.

He truly was eating you like a man depraved, your nails digging into his scalp. It was intense, better than you could have imagined, better than your hand under your blanket, wishing it was Hunter between your thighs. 

Your body shook and you couldn’t hold back the blissed sobs as Hunter gorged himself, his groans increasing in volume as he felt you get closer and closer to your peak, his jaw soaking with your fluid. 

Once again, Hunter quickly recognized your subtle reactions and knew exactly where to lick and suck.

His hooked nose pressed and ground against your clit, bliss building quickly, your legs threatening to give out at the sheer intensity of it all. 

You were a blubbering mess, words not coherent as Hunter moved his focus solely to your clit, needing you to cum. He flattened his tongue and pressed against your bud, grinding his mouth into you as you reached your peak. 

Hunter was barely holding himself together, his hands tightly squeezing your thighs to keep you upright, holding you as you came apart above him. 

Hunter let out a feral growl as you came, catching your release on his tongue, loving how your pussy clenched and legs quivered as your orgasm hit you like a ship going into hyperspace. 

Your vision went white and anything tangible vacated your mind, letting the ecstasy course through your body.

“Kriff, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” Hunter mumbled into your pussy, still licking and kissing between your folds.

 “So much better than my dreams.” You were breathless, coming down from your high, sliding down the wall. Hunter realized your legs were about to give out, wrapped his arms around you, and held you against him. 

Your heart was pounding, trying to piece together what just happened, Hunter’s cock rubbing up against your stomach as he kissed you again, as ravenous and desperate as before, his face dripping with your release. It wasn’t enough, though, for either of you. 

“Hands and knees.” He demanded between your lips furiously molding together. “Now.”

You immediately complied, any shred of your dignity completely gone. You shakily knelt on the ground on a floor training mat, resting your weight on your elbows, your ass sticking in the air.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, and the look on his face was predatory, dangerous even, his eyes completely black with craving.

Hunter knelt behind you, his chest heaving, rubbing his red cock head through your slick folds. You quivered, your cunt still sensitive from your orgasm. 

Hunter slowly nudged against your entrance. “That’s right, relax, mesh’la.” 

His breath was ragged, holding back wanting to slam straight into you and fuck you into oblivion.

 “There you go, just like that…Kriff you’re so warm.” Hunter’s voice was gravelly, letting out a low hiss as he bottomed out. The stretch was wonderful, being stuffed full of him, his hips meeting your ass. 

Seeing you like this, on all fours willing and taking him so effortlessly was almost overloading his system. 

He squeezed your waist, giving a few shallow thrusts that practically made his mind melt, feeling your walls clench and take him perfectly. 

 “Hunter…” You dug your fingernails into the mat, not caring about how desperate you sounded, or how you were exposing your ass to him like an animal in heat. 

“Fuck me, please.” You gasped, pushing back against him. 

“So needy…” Hunter squeezed your ass, slowly pulling out almost all the way. “You’ll get what you’ve been wanting, mesh’la. Don’t worry.”

Hunter quickly pushed back in, earning a pleasured whine from you. He was deliciously thick, and you could feel his cock head and veins glide against your walls as he picked up his pace, fucking you exactly how you wanted for who knows how long. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He grunted, breathless, his broody Sargeant composure crumbling with every thrust deeper inside you, his pace increasing. 

“Did you want to be fucked by me? Did you dream about me, too? Did you touch your perfect pussy and think of me?” 

You nodded, your eyes half-lidded and your mouth hanging open as he fucked you senseless, your cheek now pressed against the mat.

You knew you would probably have a red mark across your face but you didn’t care, just like you didn’t care how his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips as he pounded into you. 

You were thankful these training rooms were soundproof, the obscene slapping of sweaty skin and excessively loud moans hopefully muffled to any passerby.

Hunter groaned at your admission, his calloused hands leaving a trail of fire as they roamed your backside, one hand reaching under you and his finger finding your clit. 

“Did you touch yourself just like this right before the meeting? Wishing it was your Sergeant’s cock?” 

You nodded into the mat again, tears forming at the sides of your eyes, drool pooling under where your face was pressed into the firm fabric, the sheer intensity of him pulling you apart with every frantic thrust.

“Y-yes Hunter, I wished it was you, I wished it was your cock filling me up…” 

Hunter growled, pleased at your answer. 

He applied more pressure to your clit, causing you to convulse and shake against him, crying out his name, his cock pounding into you without pause. 

 “You’re so close, mesh’la, I can feel it. Be a good girl and cum for your Sergeant.”

Hunter leaned down, pressing his abdomen to your back, truly mounting you like an animal, his hips pistoning into you, growling in your ear. 

His control was gone. He needed one thing and one thing only, his mind now focused on a singular task, to feel you come apart on his cock, inhale your release, hear your voice shake as you cry out his name and his name only. 

Hunter’s hand was rubbing perfect, quick circles on your engorged clit, tears falling down the sides of your cheeks as the coil in your belly was wound tighter and tighter with every movement of his finger. 

“H-Hunter I’m so -“ You sobbed, so close to crashing over the edge, his finger relentless against your practically overstimulated bud.

 “Cum for me, now.”

 Hunter snarled in your ear, needing your orgasm more than you. 

“That’s it…let me hear you…” His voice was strained through his clenched jaw, inhaling deeply in the crook of your neck as your walls clenched and trembled around his cock, soaking him as your release rocked your body, every one of his nerves in charged with electricity at the sound and fragrance of your second orgasm.

“So perfect…just like that…” 

Hitched sobs of his name were more than enough to bring him excruciatingly close to his own explosive orgasm that was building quickly. “Where?” His hand was still working your clit, shocks of pleasure jolting your body, his hand soaked with your cum. 

“Inside…implant.” you gasped, and that was more than enough to unload inside you. Hunter bit into your neck, letting out a final low, guttural moan as his cock swelled and twitched, pulsating his release into your cunt. 

Your body was completely wrecked and overstimulated, clenching around his softening cock, feeling his spend leak out of you and onto the mat below. 

Hunter’s thrusts slowed, mumbling incoherent words in your ear, your head ringing and blood pounding in your ears.

Hunter slowly pulled out of you, watching as his cum dripped from your swollen pussy.

“Gorgeous.” He murmured, not being able to help himself as he grabbed your hips, earning a surprised yelp as he flipped you on your back, yanking your pelvis up. 

You were completely blissed, mind hazy, eyelids fluttering, trying to come down from your high. 

Hunter couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of you. He wasn’t done yet.

You gasped as Hunter lapped at your folds once more, gently this time, tasting himself mixed with your juices. You let out a choked groan as he softly teased your clit, cleaning you up with his mouth.

“Too much…Hunter…” You could barely speak, watching as he slowly ate you out. Hunter locked his eyes on you, continuing his languid pace, putting your boneless legs over his broad shoulders for better access. 

Hunter knew he could get one more out of you. “One more, pretty thing, for me.” He mumbled into your folds, swirling his tongue carefully around your aching clit.

You were grasping at nothing, digging your nails into the mat, your gasping mewls music to Hunter’s ears. His hands carefully caressed where he bruised you, gently suckling on your overworked clit, careful and precise. 

Your legs shook as a slow, rolling orgasm washed over your body, sounds unable to leave your mouth, Hunter’s sudden gentleness surprising but welcome.

Your body was covered in sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead and back stuck to the mat, trying to piece yourself together as Hunter removed himself from between your legs, barely registering him kissing you softly, stroking the side of your face, kissing the bite mark on your neck.

You wanted to say something, but the moment was interrupted by Hunter’s commlink chirping in his pile of armor. He cursed, standing up and rifling through his pockets, still buck naked. You sat up on your forearms, trying to figure out how you’d both get out of this room unseen, and what came after.

Hunter grabbed his device, speaking quickly to Tech who was on the receiving end. You didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying, trying to dress yourself and look presentable.

“Tech wants us to run through a simulation of our next assignment.” Hunter handed you your belt as he fixed his blacks, snapping his armor back into place. “But I told him it could wait until tomorrow.” 

You raised your eyebrow, trying to fix your hair. “I’m surprised you’re not running away from me again, Sarg.” You teased lightly, not quite sure what to say after your intense coupling.

Hunter chuckled. “I figured we could get that drink.” 

You looked at him, a blush forming at your cheeks. “To celebrate a successful mission.” He smirked as he adjusted his viroblade on his arm. 

“Agreed.” You answered, touching his arm like you did before, a mischievous flash in your eye.

“Since we are ditching training tonight for a drink, “ You continued, “perhaps we could discuss future strategies in my personal quarters afterwards?”

Hunter’s eyes met yours, the hungry look from before returning.

“Sir yes sir.”

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @littlemissmanga @secretthegriffin @secondaryrealm @sinfulsalutations @anxiouspineapple99 @idontgetanysleep @starqueensthings @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @aconstructofamind @wanderer-six @blueink-bluesoul @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @dukeoftheblackstar @pb-jellybeans @sleepingsun501 @coraex

[mask-of-prime]

TLG: Final 10 Episodes Sketch Dump

September 2nd once again fell on a Labor Day, like it once did when the final 10 episodes of TLG dropped on WatchTLG (due to its early release on the old DisneyNOW app). The alignment of the exact day, month, and holiday five years later put me in the spirit to sketch away as I rewatched these episodes.

I was there when the countdown on the WatchTLG site had about an hour left. I hadn't seen a full episode of TLG until that point because I at the time thought I wouldn't be into it. I saw the synopses for these episodes leaked somewhere online and was doubtful yet VERY hopeful that the one with Vitani's Lion Guard was going to be a real episode simply because I wanted to see her in new content, regardless of my familiarity with the show.

When I binge-watched these final episodes with a friend, my relationship with the show improved as I went to watch the rest of the show over the next few months. I was so grateful to see so much content and worldbuilding for the TLK universe

Sketch descriptions under the cut:

1. Friends to the End

I've said this before in a review of this episode, but whether or not the writers intended this, their portrayal of irritability brought on by an anxiety attack is astounding. Kion's anxiety is piled up more and more when he's in a hurry to find a cure at the Tree of Life, Bunga repeatedly tells him he's becoming like Scar, and the rest of the group just "blind leading the blind"-in their journey SO badly because they're a bunch of unsupervised freshman-aged kids who are in their "Well I wouldn't go THAT far" or "Can I be the devil's advocate" phase.

This situation of fearing becoming like a shitty family member and being told you are by people when you're already in a vulnerable state is just SO vile and unfortunately so real. I found myself relating hard to this episode due to Kion's valid af anger in this episode, which is why I had to draw Kion claiming his "Don't you just wanna go apeshit??" era.

Kion is basically me throughout this episode and the entire first half of Season 3. It is SO HARD to get through this season sometimes when these same couple of lines keep coming at least once per episode. As soon as I hear Fuli saying "Uhh... Kion?" or "KION!!" I know exactly what's coming.

2. The Tree of Life:

Since we never get to see Sahasi and Ananda's color palettes they had in life, I took what I could make out from their spirit forms as well as some creative liberties, and came up with what they may have looked like on Earth.

Ananda is where Baliyo gets his freckles and dull, dark pelt, and where Rani gets her purple pupils, red nose, and dark tail. Sahasi is where Rani gets her richer pelt and where Baliyo gets his nose gradient, multicolored mane, and lighter tail color.

Fun Fact: According to some email responses from a member of the team who worked on TLG, they said that Sahasi was meant to be Janna's son, which for me, puts an end to a debate I had in my head where I was stuck between either him or Ananda being Janna's child: On one hand, I liked the idea of Sahasi and Surak being the foils of Mufasa and Scar, but also liked the idea of Ananda as Janna's daughter and heir since they looked so alike, as well as it solidifying the martriarchy headcanon I have for the Night Pride. Though the team member didn't straight-up provide Sahasi's relation to Janna and Surak as an absolute fact, rather it was simply the gist they got from the creation of Sahasi's character, it's an answer from a team member at all, which I can absolutely settle with. I decided to give him a similar fur color to Surak because of that.

3. The River of Patience:

I just HAD to doodle eepy Kion. It's like the one part of this episode that sticks with me outside the wholesome therapy dynamics and Kion heroically holding the flower between his teeth. This is basically him but if he fully succumbed to falling asleep waiting for the log.

4. Little Old Ginterbong:

Can I just say that I fucking LOVE Mama Binturong's character?? She's absolutely insane and constantly looks like an addict that needs her fix. She makes me nostalgic for some reason, and I think it's gotta do with her Mama Gunda vibes (which is odd because I wasn't even that young when I saw Tarzan II). I had to draw her doing the thing lol

5. Poa the Destroyer:

All I could think about throughout this episode besides the rare Evil Beshte is how insufferable Pinguino is. I mean it in kind of a good way, his personality is so ridiculous that he's made me laugh a few times.

6. Long Live the Queen:

Surprisingly, the sketch regarding this episode is probably the least expected subject matter out of anything I could've put here: An idea that's been forming in my head for a bit now was the idea of Bunga and Binga continuing the fostering/babysitting business of Bunga's "uncles". Bunga is shown to be a natural with young animals in a few episodes, and it continues in the subplot of this episode where he watches over Varya's cubs.

7. The Lake of Reflection:

The one thing that viscerally stuck with me in this episode was the unbelievably cute design they gave bby Cheezi. Had to sketch him.

8. Triumph of the Roar:

Obligatory Askari sketch because I actually love drawing him and making headcanons of his era. Looking back... he kinda looks like he's looking down at the events of the bottom drawing in slight disappointment.

9. Journey to the Pride Lands:

Drew Azaad (for what I think might be the first time) with the only thing he seemed to be doing throughout this episode -- taking any opportunity he can to comment about how much better cheetahs are at basically everything. He's fun to draw and I'd like to do more art of him one day.

10. Return to the Pride Lands

This is a sketch of what I deadass thought was gonna happen during this scene the first time I saw this episode lmao. At the time, the previous two episodes were fresh on my mind so I thought Kion was once again going to spam his tornado ability, but with Vitani as his subject for his demonstration. She already knew so little of the Roar as it was, given her absence throughout most of TLG's storyline, but could you imagine what she must've been thinking seeing how much Kion's Roar evolved?

[my-naughty-writings-and-musings]

omfg your writing is SO good!! 😭 if you’re feeling up to it, could you please write some sub mirage x reader! the way you write him is literally perfect 😭🫶

You're too kind! I had so much fun writing that fic! I would love to give that a try, so here you go!

"Come on, you're so mean!" Mirage whined as you removed your fingers from his spike yet again, hips thrusting upwards in open frustration. Watching him wiggle against the bindings keeping his hands over his head, you allowed yourself a grin as the mech once more failed to behave, his desperation for release making him kick up a fuss despite the fact that he'd agreed to the rules. In his defense, you had him quivering and breaking out in a thin sweat of coolant, so even while playing the dominant you were content to let him off the hook for now. 

"We can stop at any time, you know." you reminded him playfully, making a point to smile up from between his legs as the mech pouted down at you. His thoroughly unsatisfied erection throbbed between you, which you ignored as you continued speaking in the most mock sweet voice you could manage, loving how his usual confidence had been replaced with desperation. "That's what the safeword is for."

"That's not what I... I don't want you to stop, I want you to stop teasing me!" he whined in response, bouncing his hips in frustration and making your satisfied grin deepen. In the leadup to this session you'd repeatedly told him what it would entail, including how you'd be pushing him to his limits as the dominant (within the agreed upon parameters, of course), but it was no surprise his impatience was getting the better of him. Truthfully, you just found that added to your fun. Watching him squirm against the bonds you'd tied over his helm gave you a sense of power like no other, and the pleading in his big blue optics only made it all the sweeter. "Seriously, Y/N, I'm gonna overheat before I overload! Can't we skip ahead to the ending?"

"I still think you're missing the idea of what being a "sub" entails." you teased, running your fingers up his heated thighs. Mirage moaned and obediently leaned into your touch, which you rewarded with more focused massages along his transformation seams, using your tiny human fingers to reach where no bot could. His erect spike throbbed at the attention, the biolights pulsing as if trying to draw you in for the relief he needed. It was delicious to deny him and let the pressure continue to build. "Remember what I said? You get what you want when I decide, and I've decided you get it when you're good."

"But I am good! Look at this face!" he pleaded, widening his optics and giving you the most pitiful expression you'd ever seen. It actually stirred a touch of pity in you, but you kept that to yourself, hands resting on his thighs as you kept up your unreadable smirk. His lack of progress made the mech whine once more. "How can you say no to something this cute?"

"Unfortunately, cute doesn't mean well behaved." you teased, compelled to grant him some mercy so long as he played his cards right. Reaching for a tiny bullet vibrator you'd kept hidden in your person, you ensured it was out of sight as you set it to maximum, keeping your face neutral the entire time. Mirage didn't suspect a thing and merely continued to huff and whine, unintentionally giving you an ideal opening when he plopped his helm back on the berth in frustration. Excitement fluttered up from your stomach as you eyed up the most sensitive part of his spike; a stretch of soft mesh just below the head on the underside, and lined up the flattened tip of the vibrator. "Just using the magic word will get you a lot further. So, if you want me to keep doing this..."

All at once, the mech had a powerful buzz running up and down the most tender part of his oversensitive spike, and he responded just as passionately as you'd hoped. 

Arching into your touch as if you were a final lifeline, the big mech cried out in surprise that quickly shifted into openly eager moans for more, his whole frame writhing with ecstasy as you pleasured him. Biting your lip at the beautiful sight, you needed a moment to remember what you'd intended to follow up with, finding him so engrossing you wanted nothing more than to watch him all day. A bead of transfluid on the top of his length gave you the push you needed. "What do you say?"

"Please!" he begged in a rush, optics shut tight and vents heaving out deep, hot blasts of air. The sight sent equal arousal through your own body, and it was a challenge to remember what your original desire was, and that as delightful as this was you hadn't achieved your goal just yet. There was still a little more pushing, a little more denial, just to get him to the point of total need rather than simple want.

Removing the vibrator, you smirked at his resulting cry of betrayal and moved back when he thrust blindly for it to be returned. "Hm? What was th-?"

"Pretty-pretty-pretty-please! With whatever you want on top!" he shouted in total abandon, quivering and near to tears as transfluid dribbled down his throbbing spike. Taken aback but absolutely euphoric at the sight, you let him suffer for only a few additional moments to admire your work: the speedster was dripping with coolant, trembling hard enough to rattle his armor, and so heated that steam was rising from his vents. You weren't sure he'd ever been so pretty.

"That'll work." you said as you granted him mercy, bringing the vibrator back to his spike and rubbing it in with a not insignificant amount of force. His voice trembled as he moaned in relief, hips spasming as more fluid dribbled down the length of his spike and he closed in on his overload. The transfluid helped lubricate your actions, making it that much easier to slide up and down his length with one hand whilst the other wrapped around the base to keep him somewhat still. You could feel by the way he thrust into your hand that you owned him completely, and he wouldn't have denied it even if he had the capacity to speak. The total submission was rewarded with even more passionate ministrations, your shoulders growing sore from the speed of your pumps and your breath coming fast from the strain as you pleasured him for all you were worth. 

Mirage came right to the very precipice of release, and you used the opportunity to whisper a final bit of encouragement, playing the Ace he had never wanted to admit you had.

"Good boy."

Mirage came with a gush of transfluid that made your eyes go wide in awe, the heavy ropes splattering on his front and surging from his spike at a volume that would have been more fitting for a bot twice his size. Every throb of his spike spread your fingers as it rolled up his length, the explosive release coming with cries of euphoric relief that shook the walls of the garage. Only your dedication to him allowed you to muster up the focus to do more than watch, the gorgeous spectacle of the mech's release as enrapturing as it was overdue. A thick, sticky mess coated the entirety of his front by the time the overload finally faded, and you felt his spike go from hard as a rock to limp in your grasp as his frame did the same. His body collapsed with enough force to make the berth tremble, and were it not for a murmur you'd have thought him unconscious. It didn't seem a stretch to say you'd done a marvelous job.

"I don't remember saying you could finish, but I'll let it slide." you teased as you clicked off the vibrator and crawled up the berth. Mirage tried to reply something snarky, but the words came out as nothing more than another slurred murmur, his optics blinking at you unevenly as you arrived at his helm. Ego thoroughly pleased with his current state, you merely cupped the side of his helm and chuckled before laying a kiss on his crest, looking down at his steaming, sticky frame and swelling with pride at a job well done. 

"Let's give you a few minutes to recuperate. Then, you can return the favor..." you encouraged gently, hoping he'd be coherent before the end of the evening. In the meantime, you were quite content to cuddle him as he purred through the bliss of the afterglow, loving how he behaved more like a giant cat than a warrior after all you'd done to him. You adored his sass, obviously, but sometimes it was just nice to leave him speechless.

[agentstarkid]

AN ETERNAL LOVE BULLSHIT ✦ DR3

Based on this ask

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.7K words (I tried to keep it short, oops)

✦ TRACK LIMITS: angst, self-doubt, crying, feelings of not being enough, heartbreak.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I've had this on my drafts, ruminating on it for days, soooo I hope you guys like it. Vitto, Iza and Chloe are the real MVPs of this chapter! Queens uplifting another Queen 💅🏽💖 This was fun to write! Thank you so much nonnie for this idea! ilysm <3 p.s. can y'all spot the song references? 👀

This is set during Saudade. | Everything between "—" and italized are flashbacks.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

The end of April in California had days of clear skies, endless blue, and a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The sun shone warmly, casting a golden glow over everything it touched, yet the cheerful weather felt almost mocking to her current state.

Her guitar lay across her lap, repurposed as a makeshift table for the notebook where she hastily scribbled words, each one an attempt to capture the storm of emotions swirling within her. The grass beneath her was cool and grounding, but it did little to tether her to the present. Every line she wrote was a desperate attempt to process the pain, to make sense of the abrupt void he had left behind. 

Life moved on around her with an indifferent rhythm, but her mind was still stuck replaying the scenes in a Bahraini hotel room on a fateful Friday morning in March. She was stuck, a relic in a world that had already moved on, trapped in the shadow of what once was. The ache in her heart was a constant companion, a reminder that she was still right where he left her, struggling to find a way back to herself.

Her pen moved frantically across the pages, as if the act of writing could somehow release the torment inside her. But each word, each lyric, only seemed to root her more firmly in the past. The guitar beneath her fingers, once a source of joy and creativity, now felt like a conduit for her sorrow. She was lost in her own words, hoping that somewhere in the tangled mess of emotions, she might find a way to heal.

But amidst the ache, she found solace in the unwavering support of her friends. 

Since landing in Los Angeles, her friends had been her rock. When days of isolation had left her feeling like a shell of herself, Vitto and Andrew had intervened, offering her refuge in their home outside the city. Their house, tucked away from the relentless glare of cameras and the whirlwind of drama, had become a sanctuary. The quiet of their surroundings was a balm for her frayed nerves.

Baby Iza, their little bundle of joy, at almost 1 year old, was a constant source of comfort. The child's tiny hands and infectious giggles seemed to have an almost magical ability to lift her spirits. It was as if Izabele could sense her sadness and made it her mission to shower her with love and affection. 

With the sun casting gentle rays through the window, the child would toddle into the room with her tiny feet pattering softly on the floor. Her face, a picture of innocent determination, was often lit up by a bright smile. She would clutch a small toy in her chubby hands—a plush animal or a colorful block—and make a beeline for her godmother, as if to say, “Here, play with me. Everything will be okay.”

Sitting down beside her, Iza would arrange her toys with meticulous care, her eyes occasionally glancing up to gauge her mood. They would sit together in quiet companionship, the simple act of play bringing a semblance of peace.

As the night fell and the room grew dim, she would make her way to her aunt's side once more, but this time with a special gesture. She would carry one of her favorite teddy bears, its soft fur worn from countless hugs—she recognized it as the one that Daniel had gifted Iza when she was born. 

Her sleepy eyes would barely stay open, and the pacifier bobbing gently in her mouth gave her a serene, dreamlike appearance. She would approach her aunt with the bear in tow, offering it with the sincerity only a child can muster. The gesture, simple yet profound, was Iza’s way of offering comfort and reassurance. The irony wasn’t lost on her, as the comfort offered by the bear was tied to the person who had broken her heart.

Despite the tangled emotions that the bear represented, she’d accept the gesture with a quiet grace. Each night, she would clutch the teddy bear tightly in her arms as she lay in bed, she would close her eyes and allow the bear’s presence to soothe her. It was a small, ironic comfort, a connection to a past she was still grappling with. She never spoke of it to anyone, keeping this bittersweet detail to herself. 

Vitto and Andrew's kindness, along with Baby Iza’s innocent charm, and Fio and Danna’s constant facetime calls—and impromptu visits—, were her anchors, grounding her in a time of turbulence.

Rumors had started circulating about Daniel moving on with Heidi, emerging just two weeks after their breakup. As she heard whispers and saw the headlines, she felt a deep internal conflict. One part of her mind tried to dismiss the rumors, knowing all too well how the business thrived on gossip and sensationalism. She had been in this world long enough to recognize how quickly false narratives could spread and how little they sometimes reflected the truth.

Yet, another part of her, the part that had been wounded by every argument they’d ever had about their future, couldn’t silence the inner voice that screamed she was a fool. It was the same voice that had questioned every promise, every declaration of eternal love Daniel had made. How could someone profess to love her, to call her the love of their life—a million times—, to talk about rings and cradles, and then, almost as soon as it was over, move on to someone new?

But a single text changed her entire world.

The moment she received confirmation from Chloe that the rumors were true, a wave of crushing disappointment and pain washed over her. It felt as if the ground beneath her had given way, leaving her in a freefall of disbelief and heartache. The confirmation struck her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs and leaving her feeling hollow inside.

The betrayal was sharper than she could have ever imagined. Daniel, the person she had known better than herself, had indeed moved on after only two weeks. The image she had clung to, the person she had given the benefit of the doubt, shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. How could someone who had claimed to love her so deeply and had spoken of a future together move on so swiftly? The realization was a bitter, choking pill to swallow.

Her heart ached with a profound sense of loss, not just of the relationship but of the person she thought Daniel was. The trust she had placed in him, the dreams they had shared, all felt like a cruel joke. She felt duped, as if she had been sold a "get-love-quick" scheme by someone who never intended to follow through on his promises. The sense of being deceived cut deeply, leaving a wound that seemed impossible to heal.

She sat there, gripping her pen tightly, her mind swirling with the betrayal she felt so deeply. Without a moment’s pause, her pen began to race across the pages of her notebook, pouring out the raw, unfiltered emotions she could no longer contain. The lyrics flowed from her as if they were the only way to make sense of the chaos within:

And ain't it funny

How you ran to her the second that we called it quits? 

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends? 

Now it sure as hell don't look like it 

You betrayed me 

And I know that you'll never feel sorry 

For the way I hurt, yeah 

You'd talk to her 

When we were together 

Loved you at your worst 

But that didn't matter 

It took you two weeks 

To go off and date her 

Guess you didn't cheat 

But you're still a traitor

With each line, she felt the searing pain of his betrayal more acutely. How could he have moved on so quickly? The words “two weeks” echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat, reminding her of how little time it had taken for him to replace her. The sense of being betrayed, of having her trust shattered, was almost unbearable. She had loved him at his worst, given him everything, and yet it had taken him mere days to discard their love and move on to someone new.

The realization that she was right, that he had been talking to her while they were still together added salt to the wound. It made every moment they had shared feel tainted, every promise he had made feel like a lie. The anger and hurt intertwined, fueling the lyrics that poured out of her. He might not have cheated in the traditional sense, but the emotional betrayal was just as devastating, if not more so. To her, he was a traitor, someone who had violated the sacred trust of their relationship.

The pen in her hand paused for the first time in days, the words unable to flow as freely as before. The grief was too raw, too overwhelming to articulate. She felt an intense, suffocating sadness, mixed with anger and a sense of foolishness for believing in him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her chest tightened with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Her phone storage has been filled with voice notes for the past weeks, but the number has elevated exponentially since the news had hit. Her chat with her producer has been overflowing with “What do you think of this?”, demos shared between them back and forth. 

For moments, she was consumed by raw anger, her pen becoming a weapon as she furiously wrote songs that painted him as the villain he had become in her eyes. She felt the fierce determination to make him know—and if his treacherous heart allowed, to feel—her pain.

Each line dripped with venom and sorrow, a raw portrayal of the anguish he had inflicted upon her. The thought of him reading her words and realizing the depth of her suffering provided a fleeting sense of power and justice.

But after the anger came a deep, suffocating depression. The reality of his betrayal settled over her like a heavy, oppressive fog. Each day felt like a battle to simply get out of bed, and her once vibrant spirit seemed to wither under the weight of her grief. She found herself crying at the smallest things, her emotions a raw, open wound that refused to heal.

—

One night Vitto found her in bed, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red and swollen, looking every bit as miserable as she felt inside. Without a word, Vitto quickly gathered her in her arms, holding her tightly as the heart-shattering sobs began anew. The weight of her friend’s pain pressed heavily on Vitto’s heart, but she held her close, whispering kind and reassuring words, trying to contain the pieces of her shattered glass heart.

In a voice barely above a whisper, filled with desperation and heartbreak, she asked the questions that had been gnawing at her soul. “Why can't it be me for once, Vitto? Why can't someone choose me?” Her voice cracked with the weight of the pain she felt. “Is it so hard to love me? What's so wrong with me that no one has the will to stay?”

Vitto's heart ached at the sight of her friend so broken, so lost in her despair. She tightened her hold, pulling her closer as if she could shield her from the cruel thoughts that plagued her mind. “There's nothing wrong with you,” Vitto whispered back, her voice gentle but firm. “You are so easy to love, fofinha, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool.” She prayed that her friend would see the truth in her words. “You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are and who will never let you go.”

Vitto rocked her gently, smoothing her hair and murmuring softly. “You’re strong,” she whispered. “Stronger than you know. You’ll get through this, one step at a time. You have us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

That night, after the tears had subsided, she found herself sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the vast, indifferent sky. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest as she gazed at the stars, feeling more alone than ever. 

In the quiet darkness, she whispered her desperate plea to any entity that might be listening. She wasn’t asking for fame or fortune, but for something much simpler and infinitely more precious: love. A love that wasn’t for the artist she became on stage or the persona she put on for the cameras, but for her—the real her, with all her flaws, insecurities, and hidden depths.

She was on her knees, metaphorically, begging for someone to change her fate, to alter the prophecy that seemed to doom her to be always left behind. Why couldn’t someone love her as fiercely as she loved them—or even harder?. 

The question lingered in the air, a painful echo of her deepest fears. She longed for someone who would choose her, who wouldn’t toss her aside once the initial novelty wore off and someone else, shiny and new, came along.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the burning ache inside her. She closed her eyes, letting the silent tears fall, each one a small release of the pain she carried. 

She wasn’t asking for much, just someone who would love her, not for what she represented, but for who she truly was. Someone who would see her, really see her, and still choose to stay. The silence of the night offered no answers, but she hoped—prayed—that somewhere, someone would hear her and bring her the love she so desperately craved. The stars offered no answers, but in the quiet of the night, she found a sliver of solace in the act of voicing her deepest wish.

—

The phone rang late in the evening, its sound piercing the quiet of the room. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the screen. Chloe's name flashed across it, and a part of her almost didn’t want to pick up. But Chloe had been there for her in ways she hadn’t expected, turning from an acquaintance into one of her closest friends. With a deep breath, she answered.

“Hey,” she said softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Hey, you,” Chloe replied, her tone gentle, almost cautious. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?”

There was a brief silence, the kind that stretches out when you’re trying to find the right words to explain a pain that feels impossible to describe. “I’m… surviving, I guess. It’s been hard,” she admitted, her voice wavering.

Chloe sighed on the other end, a mix of empathy and frustration evident in her breath. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I hate that I had to be the one to confirm it. You deserve so much better.” 

Her heart ached at the sincerity in Chloe’s words. “I don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that he moved on so quickly, or that I still can’t hate him for it. I feel like such an idiot, holding on to the person I thought he was.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Chloe reassured her. “You loved him, and you believed in him. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you have to remember that this isn’t about you, it’s about him and his inability to recognize what he had.”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you. It’s just… I keep asking myself how someone can move on so quickly. I thought what we had was real. We talked about a future, Chloe. The farm, rings, babies, all of it. And then, two weeks after we break up, he’s with someone else? It just… it doesn’t make sense.” she said, her voice cracking. “How could he say all those things to me, make all those promises, and then just... move on? Like I never mattered.”

Chloe hesitated, knowing that what she had to say might sting, but also feeling that honesty was necessary. “I know, and I wish I had the right words to make it better. I don’t understand it either. But people… they’re complicated, and sometimes they don’t even realize the damage they’re causing until it’s too late. Sometimes-” she let out a sigh, “Sometimes people make decisions that don’t make any sense, that hurt the ones they’re supposed to care about the most. But that’s on him, not you. You’re allowed to grieve, to be angry, to feel everything you’re feeling.”

“Do you think he ever really loved me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had haunted her since the confirmation of Daniel’s new relationship, and now it hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded with vulnerability.

Chloe paused, her heart aching for her friend. “I think… I think he loved you in the way he knew how, but maybe that wasn’t the way you deserved to be loved. And that’s not your fault. It’s his loss, really. You gave him everything, and he’s the one who couldn’t appreciate it.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. “It just hurts so much, you know? I keep thinking that if I had done something differently, if I had been better, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Chloe said firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You were yourself, and that should have been enough. He’s the one who couldn’t see what he had in front of him. But I see you, and so do the people who really care about you. You’re not alone in this.”

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat, grateful for Chloe’s words, for her friendship. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you, no matter what,” Chloe replied warmly. 

As the conversation between the girl and Chloe lingered, an uncomfortable question bubbled up within her. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally asking, “Chloe, how is Heidi? Is she… nice? She looks like she is.”

Chloe paused on the other end, considering her words carefully. “She is nice,” she admitted softly. “She’s kind and sweet, and she seems like a good person.”

The girl swallowed hard, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “I figured as much,” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet resignation. “At the beginning, I wanted to tear her apart, you know? I wanted to pick out every flaw she had, convince myself she wasn’t good enough. But I couldn’t do that… because she just looks so nice and kind. It’s almost like it made everything worse, knowing that I couldn’t even hate her.”

Chloe sighed, understanding the conflict in her friend’s heart. “It’s natural to feel that way, to want to protect yourself by finding reasons to dislike her. But you’re also showing so much strength by acknowledging that she’s not the enemy. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”

The girl nodded, though her throat tightened. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much, Chloe. I wish I could be happy for him, for them. But it’s hard when it feels like I’ve been discarded, replaced by someone who seems perfect in every way.”

“Listen,” Chloe said, her voice firm yet gentle, “you’re human, and it’s okay to feel hurt and conflicted. But don’t let those feelings define you. You’re more than what he made you feel, and you deserve someone who will see all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between”

“I know,” she whispered, though the knowledge didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. “It’s just hard to accept sometimes.”

“It is,” Chloe agreed. “But you’ll get there. One step at a time. And remember, just because she’s nice doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. You’re allowed to grieve what you’ve lost, even if it’s complicated.”

—

Slowly, the depression began to give way to a semblance of acceptance—or something that resembled it. It wasn’t forgiveness, nor was it forgetting, but a grudging acknowledgment that clinging to the pain and anger would only prolong her agony.

She continued to write, but the tone of her lyrics shifted. They were still tinged with sadness and loss, but there was also a hint of desperation and sometimes hope.

We broke up a month ago

Your friends are mine, you know, I know

You've moved on, found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you.

[...]

And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean

Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

And now I'm pickin' her apart

Like cuttin' her down will make you miss my wretched heart

But she's beautiful, she looks kind

She probably gives you butterflies.

[...]

I hope you're happy

I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.

Acceptance came in small, painful increments. It was in the quiet moments when Baby Iza’s tiny hand rested on her cheek, or when Vitto and Andrew’s unwavering support reminded her that she was not alone. It was in the act of writing itself, where she could pour out her heart and begin to untangle the threads of grief and loss.

As she sat on the grass, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows around her, she realized that while Daniel’s betrayal had broken her, it had not destroyed her. She would rebuild herself, piece by piece, word by word, until she was whole again. Despite everything, she was still standing.

Through the anger, the depression, and the acceptance, she learned that she had the strength to endure. The scars from this heartbreak would always be there, but they would also be a testament to her resilience and her capacity to heal. And in those moments of writing, she knew she would emerge from this experience stronger, wiser, and ready to embrace whatever the future held.

[sapphic-agent]

Let's Talk About Izuku and Bakugou's Relationship

Happy New Year, everyone! Thought I'd kick 2024 off with a new post. I haven't written an in-depth analysis in a while, so I figured now was a good time.

So, I've touched on this before, many times in fact. If you've seen my other posts, you know that I think that the BKDK relationship is a clusterfuck of codependency, abuse, and toxicity. But I don't think I've ever analyzed it frame-by-frame, so here's an attempt.

Childhood

The lake scene has the most focus than any other flashback in the series. It's meant to show us why Bakugou hated Izuku; he assumed Izuku looked down on him and saw him as weak. It's supposed to support the idea that Bakugou has an inferiority complex that's been present since he was a kid and that's why he lashes out at Izuku and wants to be rid of him. Because Izuku makes him feel weak.

But this isn't true. Or, it doesn't paint the whole picture.

One thing the lake scene seems to gloss over is the fact that Bakugou was always mean to Izuku. Maybe he wasn't as harsh and could be written off as just a kid being a kid, but he still made fun of him. He still went out of his way to make him feel bad about himself and humiliate him. He called him "Deku" way before either of them were (or weren't) given a quirk.

And he only ever did this to Izuku, not the other kids part of his posse. He, even at such a young age, saw Izuku as an easy target, someone he could easily shove around because he knew Izuku wouldn't fight back (this would persist for the next ten years).

It's important to note that there's only one instance where Bakugou's behavior towards Izuku turns violent. It's when Izuku defends a kid that Bakugou and his posse are picking on. This is the moment where Bakugou becomes physically aggressive; not when he found out Izuku was quirkless, during the lake, or any time before. It's here, when Izuku stops being the defenseless wimp who won't stand up to him. He doesn't like that Izuku stepped out of the mold he had confined him to (I'll come back to this later).

The truth of their childhood together is that Bakugou was always inherently awful to Izuku. It wasn't like he experienced one bad moment that flipped a switch, Bakugou liked picking on Izuku from day one.

Middle School

There isn't much to say about their days at Aldera other than it's just a progression of escalation from their childhood. They've settled into their roles as abuser and victim. Bakugou knows he can say and do whatever he wants and Izuku won't defend himself because it's been the status quo for a decade.

He revels in that power he has over him, likes to remind Izuku of his "place." And if he steps out of line, Bakugou exerts that power over him to shut him right down, stressing his inability to do anything about his situation. It's a cycle of abuse.

Deku vs Kacchan Part 1

I've already talked about this scene before, but this is also another example as to what I was alluding to above.

As @delawaredetroit pointed out in a post from a while ago, Bakugou isn't feeling betrayed here. He himself has said time and time again that he and Izuku weren't friends. He cares about the fact that his victim now has power of his own.

All their lives, Bakugou had the power and Izuku was powerless. That was the dynamic they were used to and the one that Bakugou was aware and repeatedly took advantage of. But now, Izuku isn't powerless or defenseless. He no longer fits the mold that Bakugou had tied him to since childhood. That's why Bakugou is so upset; not because Izuku kept something from him but because the power imbalance between was shifting.

And it's why he tries to use guilt-tripping here. He wants Izuku to feel bad, wants to reestablish some of the control over him he just lost. And it works, because Izuku tells him he inherited his quirk completely unprompted after the fact. Bakugou knows he has the power in their relationship and has no issues abusing that power.

Sports Festival

I don't have much to say here, but I would like to point out something very inconsistent concerning Bakugou's interpretation of his relationship with Izuku. He claims that Izuku kept following him around and that he couldn't get rid of him, which attributed to his dislike. But even if that was true when they were 5, it's actually the opposite at least from middle school on.

Bakugou went out of his way to target Izuku in the first chapter/episode. He also tracked him down after the Sludge Villain incident. He's initiated every one of their confrontations in UA. And here, he deliberately eavesdropped on Izuku's conversation with Todoroki.

I don't know whether to call it hypocrisy or ignorance, but Izuku was content to leave Bakugou alone. Bakugou's the one who's constantly harassing and obsessing over him.

Final Exams

Izuku daring to display confidence and competence invokes immediate physical violence in Bakugou. He doesn't like that Izuku is talking to him like he's an equal, he doesn't like that Izuku dares to step outside of his role as a victim. Bakugou wants Izuku to act like he's below him and gets agitated when he doesn't do that. He, in this moment, cared more about putting Izuku in his place than his own grade.

Deku vs Kacchan Part 2

I mentioned that BKDK is codependent in the beginning of the post. This is what I mean.

Bakugou can't cope with the fact that he isn't the best and takes it out on the only target he has. Izuku had nothing to do with his shortcomings, but he still felt the need to establish superiority over him; a grasp for some measure of control.

Like I said above, he's well aware of the power he has over Izuku. Do you think he would have tried this with Todoroki? Or Tokoyami? Or Iida? No, because he knows that none of them would have even dignified him with a response. But he knows he can control Izuku in a way he can't with other people. He feels comfortable treating only Izuku as his emotional and physical punching bag.

The Apology

It's interesting that prior to apologizing for treating him badly, Bakugou proceeds to treat Izuku badly.

This interaction is important because it's their first major conflict after Bakugou's "redemption." We're supposed to be at the point where he's changed. But he still resorts to insults and goading. His first instinct is still to put Izuku down.

I've said most of what I needed to about the apology. But I do want to mention that coming from Bakugou's mouth, it grossly understates what happened during those ten years. Because the abuser is the one telling the story, his transgressions don't seem that bad. He's the one controlling the narrative, so his classmates- Izuku's friends- don't know the full story. They don't know what Bakugou put Izuku through. Bakugou comes off looking sympathetic to their peers by speaking "his truth."

Was this his intention? Probably not as Bakugou doesn't really care what others think about him. But it does raise the point that this is the extent as to how Bakugou sees his past self; as a stubborn, overzealous child and not the abuser that he was

[little-pondhead]

Wanted to hop in on the supervillain Danny au questions! Do we think Valerie would have any interest to get in on this? Between being a pawn for Vlad as Red Huntress and her "friends" ditching her as soon as she stopped being rich, I like the idea that evil billionare mastermind is her general vibe. Heck, maybe she and Tucker flip roles and she becomes the guy in the chair, not being a front line powerhouse and actually coming up with elaborate plans.

And on that note, do we think that if Vlad somehow found his way into this mess, he'd see the whole thing as a fun little game of "opposite world" and try his hand at being a hero? Because I for one think that would be hilarious, I actually don't have ideas for that because I can't imagine a heroic Vlad.

Amyway, that's all I got for now. Love your work!

You're one of the vertebrae creatures who keep hoarding all the brain wrinkles, aren't you??

---

[Okay, so I lost your ask, wrote this shit, then found it again so it's not exact but I'm trying here.]

Let's start with Valerie, or keeping up with the trend, Gray in the DC universe.

Valerie is so tired. It's a different kind of tiredness that has a grip on the others. Danny is tired of being a hero, Sam is tired of her parent's expectations, and Tucker is tired of being unable to protect his friends. Jazz is tired of being the bigger person, and Dani is tired of not having someone to rely on. The DC universe is their escape, and honestly, it's doing wonders for their mental health. Valerie notices. She has a shaky truce with Phantom and his crew, but she can't just let him get a leg up on her, can she? So Valerie follows them, through town, through the portal, through the new world they popped up in.

There, she stops. Phantom is now Fenton, and doesn't that make sense? Many things click into place and Valerie starts to understand as she watches the others from the shadows. She's surprised they haven't noticed her, but a little green sticky note on her visor says she had a little hand in her reconnaissance. So when she's done, she returns to her dimension. Back to Amity Park and back to her bed. Valerie lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling and fingering the sticky note, committing every detail to memory.

And you know what? Valerie gets pissed. How come Danny and his friends lovers? and family get to just visit other dimensions whenever they want a break and have no repercussions whatsoever? Just because hero work is hard?? She's a hero too, dammit!

Obviously, someone out there apparently agreed with her because, in a quick, dizzying moment, Valerie finds herself suddenly in the Ghost Zone, plopped down on a ratty blue couch with a very old ghost sitting across from her. He introduces himself as Clockwork, the ghost of time, the regent of the king, and Danny's guardian. Mentor? She wasn't sure; ghost speech always gave her a headache. Either way, Valerie found herself exceptionally calm and somehow struck a deal with the Ancient. To her chagrin, Clockwork informed her that Valerie was well and truly Liminal now, despite her best efforts. (What did she expect? Her suit was practically drenched in ectoplasm.) As part of the deal, Clockwork extended the same courtesy to her that he had to the others. Anytime she wanted, Valerie could have free reign and access to the DC universe and could do anything she liked with no bad consequences. And because of her liminality, he was able to grant her just enough power for her to create her own portals directly to the other realm.

[What did Clockwork get out of this deal? Well, that's up to someone else who's not me.]

So Valerie goes to this new universe. She switches her name to Gray, as if to mock Fenton, who had no idea she was there. She does not try to become a supervillain. And what's this? Outfit analysis time!!

In the show, I've always liked Valerie as a character, and whether it was intentional or not, her design seems to fit her attitude and actions. They were in high school in the early 2000s before her dad lost her job; Valerie was very popular, from what I remember. Her family had money. Other kids expected her to keep up with social norms, so her outfit looked more stylish than practical. She wears yellow, which is most commonly seen as a happy color. Her hair is slicked back so people can see her whole face. She has nothing to hide. She's confident and youthful, ready to lead, and overall enjoying her lot in life. Then ghosts start appearing, and we all know her backstory as Red Huntress. Her suit is tight to her skin, bright red, and overall she's armed to the teeth. Everything about that screams DANGER! Valerie is a threat now.

Her civilian outfit also never changes, which is understandable because this is a cartoon from 2004. But it's secretly genius because yellow is often considered a cautious color. It turns from being a happy color to a warning. Yellow is also associated with anxiety, betrayal, and even egotism, which is something both she and Danny experience during their interactions. She's uptight and constantly on edge. She feels like she has to provide for her family and is quick to anger.

Now for the opposite of that? Valerie is tired of being angry all the time. Rather than go apeshit on a bunch of poor heroes and villains-been there, done that-she treats this whole thing like an actual vacation. Gray wears a soft long sleeve, sweats, and fuzzy slippers. Her hair is relaxed and in a bun, with her bangs hiding half of her face. It takes some pressure off of constantly keeping her expressions in check. People also can't see how she's silently judging them. She lets the stress melt from her shoulders and lets herself curse like a sailor whenever she feels like it. Her clothes are dimmer colors, which don’t stand out or demand attention. She lets herself be not perfect.

Although, just because this is a vacation for her doesn't mean Gray can't just lounge around doing nothing. She has no money! So Gray, after shuffling through a couple decades of this world's history and discovering that Craigslist is universal, applies for the first work ad she sees. In short, Gray joins the Goonion. She ends up making a deal with the guy who hired her. And her new boss. And her new neighbor. And-

Gray very quickly becomes the John Constantine of the criminal underworld. She brushes up on her people skills and learns to talk rings around other people, getting people to owe her favors as much as she dishes them out. Balance is the key here, as she’s learned from Danny. Gray is never tied down by too many IOUs at a time, and her tight grip on her companions and team quickly earn her a questionable but reliable reputation. She presents a morally-gray character, if you will.

Gray’s quick climb to power-that was definitely sped along by Clockwork-earns her a powerful position in the Goonion. If she plays her cards right, Gray doesn’t have to do any work at all. She just leans back and enjoys being paid for wearing pajamas all day and occasionally signing some paperwork. She siphons away bits of her own paycheck to a dimensional bank account she threatened asked Technus to set up, and Gray is finally able to slip more than a few tens into her father’s wallet when it’s time for him to pay his rent. It’s a good life.

Now, Vlad? Oh, he's fucked. This can work for whatever redemption au you want. He can be exactly like he is in the show or working towards bettering himself as a person. I imagine him being halfway to a redemption plot, and in an effort to gain the Fenton's trust, he starts hanging around with the family more. Jack loves this. The others do not, but what can they do? Everyone is just trying to be civil to each other in an effort to make Jack happy. Since old habits die hard, Vlad very quickly notices Danny's improved state of mind and is attuned to the Zone enough to feel when Clockwork stops time on their end. He starts to purposefully rile up Danny and realizes that the time stops happen right after Danny leaves the room in a fit of anger. Then the boy comes back all smiles and sometimes doesn't even remember what Vlad had said to him in the first place.

So he puts his ear to the ground. Whispers are floating around about a new portal that's been opened near Phantom's Keep. A natural one. A permanent one. No one can investigate due to its location, but the young king and members of his fraid have been seen frequenting it more often than late. Not suspicious in the slightest, Danny would have protested. Vlad goes poking around. Entering the Keep uninvited felt like millions of bugs tugging at his skin, but turning human helped ease the sensation. It was laughably easy to slip between the cold stone walls of the Keep, avoiding Fright Knight's walking path and sticking to the shadows. The portal was in the courtyard, under the watchful gaze of two stone gargoyles leftover from Pariah's reign. Right before Vlad can investigate further stick his head in and see what happens the world warps, and suddenly the older halfa is sitting on his ass in front of a very old ghost.

Looks like Vlad fucked around and found out.

Basically, Clockwork yoinked Vlad to his side of existence right before he entered the portal. Even if all he wanted to do was relate to Danny in an effort to mend their relationship, The Master of Time wasn't okay with Vlad going off into the DC universe all willy-nilly. Oh no. Letting Vlad loose in this world would lead to bad things regardless of his intentions. Even if Vlad promised to play by all the rules and pretended to be human, he was bound to slip up and cause trouble.

So there were two courses of action Clockwork could take here. One, he could pull in a few favors and wipe Vlad's memory, sending him back to his own universe until he inevitably went sniffing around again, and this whole song and dance continued. Or second, he could equip Vlad with similar ghost artifacts Manson and Foley possessed and temporarily seal away Vlad's powers while he was gallivanting around the DC universe. He'd be on Clockwork's payroll, so to speak, and could only act on the older ghost's instructions. Clockwork presented these two choices to Vlad. The older halfa chose the second option after weighing the pros and cons. He didn't want to be controlled by Clockwork, but he also didn't want to lose his memories (over and over again, from how he worded it.)

This is how Vlad's hero persona is born. I'm unsure if he should stick with his last name, Masters, or take on something different to distance himself from Fenton and his family. Let's stick with Masters for now.

Clockwork has this drowning little rat man on a rehab program and uses some fancy ghost jewelry to inhibit his halfa abilities. He doesn't make Masters do much, just drops him in here and there when the DC timestream needs a little nudge. It's not like Clockwork will have Danny deal with it; the kid already helps out with every other timestream when asked. Masters can help out here. And since his halfa abilities are blocked, he gets to do everything as a human, which brings its own set of challenges. The idea is that by throwing Masters face-first into a new world filled with people who could end his existence and be forced to win every fight or else, he'll come to appreciate what Danny goes through on a daily basis.

The JL Dark becomes very familiar with the mysterious Masters, who doesn't seem to have any powers but still fights like he does. The man can be extraordinarily clumsy and short-tempered but still graceful and light on his feet when it matters the most. More than once has someone caught Masters muttering under his breath, cursing out gravity and a 'purple-cloak wearing bitch.' Masters always shows up out of the blue at the most random times. He is literally just there, and sometimes even Masters himself looks shocked about his sudden scene change. But he's always suited up and ready to go, so not many heroes question it. They usually need the help anyway.

In the DC universe, Masters is wearing four magic bands, each engraved with the words Dominion of Time on them. Several bands made from tungsten were buried deep with Clockwork's Tower in an old wooden box made from aspen and diamonds. Each band was a blank slate, glowing slightly from magic long past. Clockwork had simply selected the four he needed, engraved the spells needed in ghost speech, and handed them over. Vlad grumbled and tried to find a loophole in the artifacts, but ultimately accepted his fate and wore them whenever Masters was needed.

Vlad's new outfit for this outfit is similar to Valerie's; it's loose and uncomplicated. (Actually, there are a lot of parallels between these two.) In the show, Vlad always wears a tailored suit and dress shoes. He's well-groomed and his hair is slicked back. He always tries to show off his wealth and power by having full control over his appearance. In layman's terms, he's the walking cliché trope of a rich billionaire villain in every superhero media to ever exist. After all, in a kid's show with a teenage protagonist, what's more intimidating than an adult nemesis who has their life together?

As Masters, Vlad is forced to throw all that out the window.

The hero outfit he wears was literally picked up off the street. If glowing metal bands were not adorning his arms, some would assume that Masters was a homeless man. The top was dug out from a dumpster behind a costume store, and the sandals were given to him by a woman who couldn't wear them anymore. His arm sleeves were sewn together from some blackout curtains he found at an old housing demolition site, and the pants were just some sweatpants that were a tad too short. The mask was bought from the corner store, his belt salvaged from a junkyard, and his scarf was actually a gift from Jack-not that he'd wear it around the oaf. The only 'expensive' things Masters wore were the four magic bands, a handful of large glass beads hanging from his belt, and the sharp metal claws he wore on top of each finger. The claws were bought on a whim years ago when Vlad was building his fortune, and boy, was he glad for them now. They were the only real weapons Clockwork allowed him to carry for some reason.

In other words, Masters is exposed. With his loose hair and flowing clothes, Masters is forced to trust the others around him to have his back. He's humbled every time someone covers an obvious blind spot of his that he's not used to compensating for. He gets dirty and messy, fighting to survive against enemies he knows nothing about. His outfit symbolizes his efforts to change. Masters is re-learning what it's like to be truly vulnerable in a world you don't understand with no help whatsoever. Clockwork has no issue pitting him against demons and ghouls even John Constantine would hesitate at, and his narrow victories quickly earn him an invitation to the Watchtower.

The Justice League is puzzled by this walking lump of wet spaghetti. He disappears so easily into the background and doesn't stand out at all. Every once in a while his eyes scrunch up like he's confused about something, but he won't admit that he's lost the conversation. Masters will offhandedly say weird things and turn as if expecting someone to be there, then suddenly stop himself with a soft flinch. He refuses any form of payment. He can stare down Batman. His appearances are random and the man carries no form of contact. Masters often has an aura of resignation and regret around him, as if he didn't want to be there in the first place. He's awkward around kids but fiercely protective of a few teen heroes. (Mostly Conner.)

It finally starts to come together in the JL's mind when Masters becomes more widely known in the world of supers. One of the higher-ups in the Goonion hates him. Dani held a gun to his head. Manson screeched bloody murder when she saw him. Nightingale declared herself his official nemesis. The final piece was when, after a long and exhausting fight, Masters temporarily removed his mask to wipe away some blood around his mouth.

The Flash, who was sitting next to him, nearly let out a squeak.

Masters' blood was bright green.

Masters' teeth were shaped like a shark's.

Masters was another fucking Fenton, wasn't he?