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parf-fan · 1 year ago

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Annual fan-theory rehashing:

The shire of Mount Hope is caught in a time-loop, the same day repeating over and over.

Not always, mind you. This event only seems to be triggered by the presence of royalty in the little NightVale-esque village. And even then, not all those present will be caught in it. There is no real rhyme or reason to who will or won’t, but one can live in Mount Hope one’s entire life and never be caught in a loop.

Those trapped in the loop do not notice right away. Oh, the ones who’ve done this a dozen times, of course they can tell immediately. But most will not. How could they? All they will perceive at first is a vague sense of déjà vu. As the loop progresses, things will start to seem actively familiar. Folk meeting for the first time will already know one another. They guess what is about to happen, and they are always right. They mentally recite the words of others as the words are first spoken.

Some may spend time privately questioning their own sanity. Others will take counsel with those they trust as soon as they sense something strange. The loop is openly acknowledged at different rates by different individuals, in part based on the speed at which it is recognized. Some – particularly those whose minds most resemble those of the Fae – recognize it at once. The very second time they live this day, they know they’ve lived it before with only slight differences. Those with more typical minds take over a month’s worth of days to discern what is happening. But sooner or later, all do. And as they recognize it, they speak of it, mostly only to those they are closest to. After a time – a little under two months’ worth of looped days, to be precise – all those within the loop have acknowledged and spoken of it with at least a few others.

Yet time loops are fickle things, and more often than not, the actions of the loop are determined by the attitudes of those within it. So it is with the loop of Mount Hope. Once everyone has spoken of and acknowledged the loop, it changes.

Against all rationality, something new – someone new, often – enters the loop. An element of the supernatural previously absent. It throws everything, everyone off. The day begins as it has for months, but then it changes. Nobody is prepared for this. Some may think that perhaps they had dreamed the loop, that none of these events had truly yet transpired. Others merely stare in disbelief, mentally mouthing phrases in the spirit of what the hap is fuckening.

And so they must begin again, recognizing the repeated events. As before, the Fae-like minds catch on at once. But the process for all is more speedy this time, for they’ve already recognized a loop once before. And as they start pinning down this altered loop, they begin to accept. After all, bizarre though the past weeks of their lives have been, they cannot deny that they have enjoyed themselves immensely. They are living a festival day, after all! And through that time, they have all bonded with each other deeply. One by one, they all come to the conclusion that, well, if they are to be stuck in the same day for the rest of eternity, they couldn’t have chosen better company with whom to be stuck.

But acceptance is just what the loop has been waiting for, precisely what was needed to free its prisoners, to end it. The inhabitants of the loop are somehow aware when it is the last day. How? Who knows. Mount Hope is a strange place, and some things within it do not brook questioning.

And so the visitors and denizens of Mount Hope make their way through one final day. In many ways, it will be a relief to end this, of course; yet there is not one among them wholly pleased. For all have come to love one another immensely, and the routine of the day – moderately terrifying at times though it may be – has grown strangely soothing.

They live through their day one last time, and they stand on a stage and sing one last farewell. A very few eyes may be dry, but these are in the minority.

And then it is over. New-reigning Catherine and Henry depart the village, promising to return someday. The Bavarian representatives stay some days yet, and then they, too, must turn their faces away. The Court of France scarce remains longer before setting off for their own realm. Her Majesty, newly crowned, and her cousin, newly redeemed, take their leave of a village newly at peace. Crisis averted, the newlyweds begin their life together, as the remaining civics folk scramble to rectify whatever other ills had been wrought by the architect of the crisis. Two queens, each both fallen and redeemed in differing ways, bid farewell to that setting of upheaval and most of the supporters who had helped enact such tumult.

Yet there is not one who e’er departs that shire who does not vow to return – for a day, a week, a month, another loop. For such is the power of that strange place, that all who pass through its gates leave a part of themselves there, and all who leave that part of themselves do so because in that place, if only for a little while, they have found their home.

#YES i intended to repost this sooner but things kept getting in the way #i decided to repost it instead of reblogging it so i could update the section with everyone leaving #it's my own post i'm allowed #i devised this headcanon just before oktoberfest 2017 and have interpreted the faire through its lens ever since #it makes a place in-universe for the repeated day #and explains the small changes from day to day #as well as (most important to my mind) the character-development over the course of the season #plus provides an in-universe explanation for why the audience only meets a fraction of the people who must surely live in this village...#...and why the selection we do meet changes almost fully each season...#...even whilst remaining in the same continuity only a year or so apart #i rather enjoyed the fact that many actors this year seemed to be taking a similar approach in interpretation #particularly because i assume they arrived at the headcanon on their own since this blog has been largely inactive for three seasons #annual time-loop theory rehashing #i make words #time-loop of mount hope #wibblywobblytimeywimey #parf fan theory #fan theory #headcanons #parf headcanons #parf #pa ren faire #pa renaissance faire #pennsylvania renaissance faire #renaissance faire #renn faire #ren faire #faire #here's a health to the queuempany

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capitalism-is-a-psychopathy · 19 days ago

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Billionaires destroy more than they create

In a land often championed for its economic opportunity and equality, the American Dream promises that anyone who works hard can rise to prosperity. But for many in today’s middle and lower economic classes, that dream is fading, shadowed by a reality that feels increasingly rigged. At the heart of this issue lies a stark and glaring imbalance: billionaires, a minuscule fraction of the population, wield a staggering concentration of wealth and influence. This is not just an issue of economics but one that touches the foundations of democracy and fairness.

Imagine the economy as a massive machine, built to churn wealth throughout society. In an ideal world, this wealth would cycle effectively, where each part contributes and benefits in turn. But as billionaires amass wealth at unprecedented levels, this machine has come to function more like a funnel, siphoning resources from the broader society and concentrating them at the very top. This dynamic, driven by complex financial structures and tax strategies, isn’t merely an accumulation of personal fortunes but a systematic extraction from the economic potential of others. The capital that could have flowed through wages, education, and public infrastructure is often diverted into private bank accounts and shell companies, rarely benefiting the people who drive and build the economy day by day.

As wealth accumulates at the top, so too does political influence. Billionaires, with vast financial resources, can fund political campaigns, lobbyists, and entire networks of think tanks dedicated to shaping policy. Through these channels, they push for tax policies, regulations, and trade agreements that benefit the ultra-wealthy at the expense of middle- and lower-income families. Politicians, indebted to these donors, increasingly look to billionaire interests rather than to constituents’ needs. This creates a disturbing feedback loop: billionaires influence politics to further policies that reinforce their own wealth and power, leaving the broader populace with dwindling opportunities to influence their own government.

This concentrated power extends far beyond campaign finance and lobbying. With ownership over significant segments of media networks, billionaires control the narratives that millions consume daily. Through these media outlets, they shape public opinion, diverting attention from policies that would challenge wealth accumulation and pushing narratives that frame the ultra-wealthy as essential “job creators” or “innovators” rather than acknowledging their role in widening economic divides. Issues that might threaten their economic stranglehold are often buried, while others, that create division and distract, are amplified.

For the middle and lower classes, this confluence of wealth, media, and political power has a real impact. Stagnant wages, diminishing job security, and rising costs of living aren’t natural outcomes of a complex economy—they’re symptoms of a system shaped to benefit those at the top. Policies that could lift working-class Americans, like raising the minimum wage, universal healthcare, or better labor protections, are often stifled in legislative deadlock, thanks in part to the political influence of the ultra-wealthy who stand to lose from them.

So, as this cycle continues, the gap between billionaires and everyone else widens. The billions accumulated at the top no longer signify mere success but a barrier to mobility for everyone else. The middle and lower classes find themselves carrying the economic burdens, often working harder for less. Meanwhile, billionaires remain insulated, living in a different economic reality, one far removed from the struggles of the average American. This isn’t just an economic imbalance but a distortion of democracy itself, as the machinery of power and influence is pulled further from the reach of ordinary citizens and held more tightly by those whose interests rarely align with theirs.

Without addressing this imbalance, the promise of opportunity, the cornerstone of the American Dream, becomes less attainable with each passing year, not just for the lower and middle classes but for the nation’s future as a whole.

Addressing their manipulation

Billionaires and their advocates often employ a familiar set of narratives to justify their wealth and the structures that enable it. These arguments, framed in terms of the free market, capitalism, or fear of socialism, are not only misleading but often serve to distract from the deeper systemic issues at play. Below is a breakdown of these claims and the counterarguments that expose their flaws:

1. “It’s Just the Free Market at Work”

The myth of the “free market” implies that billionaires achieve their wealth purely through talent, innovation, and competition in a market where everyone has equal opportunity. But in reality, the U.S. economy is far from a genuinely “free” market.

Counterpoints:

• Government Subsidies and Tax Breaks: Many billionaires’ businesses rely heavily on taxpayer-funded subsidies, special tax breaks, and other forms of government assistance. Large corporations frequently lobby for policies that grant them tax advantages, including offshore loopholes and capital gains tax breaks. This creates an environment where they aren’t competing on equal ground but rather with significant state support, distorting the market in their favor.

• Anti-Competitive Practices: Many large corporations, especially in tech and finance, engage in monopolistic behavior, buying out competitors or using aggressive tactics to drive them out of the market. This concentration of power stifles competition, contradicting the notion of a “free” market where anyone can succeed if they work hard.

• Inherited Wealth and Privilege: A significant portion of billionaire wealth is inherited rather than self-made. Generational wealth compounds, giving the ultra-wealthy an enormous head start over those without similar family resources. This challenges the idea that wealth accumulation is simply the product of individual merit or a fair market.

2. “This Is What Capitalism Is Supposed to Look Like”

The argument here suggests that capitalism is an inherently competitive system, where the most successful rise to the top, benefiting everyone through innovation and job creation. This narrative hinges on the idea of “trickle-down economics,” where the wealth of the richest eventually spreads throughout society.

Counterpoints:

• Trickle-Down Economics Doesn’t Work: Decades of evidence show that wealth rarely “trickles down” to the rest of society in any meaningful way. Income inequality has only widened, with wages stagnating for most workers while billionaire wealth has soared. Billionaires tend to reinvest wealth in ways that concentrate their holdings, like in stocks, rather than in ways that benefit the broader economy.

• Wealth Extraction, Not Wealth Creation: Many billionaires achieve and maintain their fortunes through rent-seeking behavior—extracting wealth from existing resources rather than creating new value. Hedge funds, private equity, and real estate empires often profit by cutting costs (like labor) rather than by innovating or producing new goods and services. This dynamic benefits investors but hurts workers and consumers.

• Capitalism Can Take Other Forms: The capitalism practiced in the U.S. today, sometimes called “neoliberal capitalism,” focuses on minimal regulation, tax cuts for the wealthy, and privatization. However, other countries demonstrate that capitalism can function with stronger social safety nets, wealth redistribution policies, and tighter regulations on corporate power. Nordic countries, for example, balance capitalism with robust welfare systems, ensuring a more equitable distribution of wealth and services.

3. “Without Billionaires, There Would Be No Innovation or Job Creation”

A popular myth is that billionaires are essential “job creators” and “innovators” whose wealth ultimately benefits society by funding new businesses and creating employment. This claim positions billionaires as indispensable to economic growth.

Counterpoints:

• Public Funding Fuels Innovation: Many of the biggest technological advances, including the internet, GPS, and medical breakthroughs, were developed with public funding rather than billionaire investments. Government research grants and subsidies often lay the groundwork for major innovations that billionaires later profit from. In other words, society bears much of the financial risk, while billionaires reap the rewards.

• Small Businesses Create Most Jobs: Small businesses, not billionaires or large corporations, are responsible for most job creation in the United States. Big corporations often eliminate jobs through automation, outsourcing, or consolidation. They may employ a large workforce, but they also tend to exploit workers through low wages, precarious employment, and cost-cutting measures.

• Billionaires Accumulate Wealth Through Wealth, Not Innovation: Many billionaires maintain their wealth not by creating jobs or innovating but by using their existing capital to generate more wealth, often through financial instruments that have little to do with actual economic productivity. Stock buybacks, dividends, and passive investments grow their fortunes without necessarily contributing to broader economic prosperity.

4. “Any Alternative Is Socialism or Communism”

When calls arise for higher taxes on the wealthy, stricter regulations, or broader social programs, the response is often to invoke the fear of “socialism” or “communism.” This argument seeks to paint any attempt at wealth redistribution or regulation as a slippery slope toward total government control.

Counterpoints:

• Social Safety Nets and Regulations Are Not Socialism: Social safety nets, progressive taxation, and regulations do not equate to socialism or communism; they’re features of a balanced capitalist system that seeks to prevent extreme inequality and protect public welfare. Countries like Germany, Canada, and Denmark combine regulated capitalism with strong social programs, resulting in healthier economies and greater well-being for citizens without abandoning capitalism.

• Inequality Threatens Capitalism: Growing inequality and economic instability can undermine the foundations of capitalism. A healthy capitalist economy requires a strong middle class with buying power, which excessive wealth concentration undermines. Reforms like progressive taxation, labor protections, and universal healthcare aren’t a rejection of capitalism but rather a means of stabilizing it.

• Historical Success of Mixed Economies: Many of the most successful and prosperous countries practice a mixed economy, where capitalism coexists with social policies that promote equality. The U.S. itself has employed a mixed economy model in the past, particularly after the New Deal, which implemented social safety nets, labor protections, and financial regulations that led to a period of unprecedented growth and prosperity for the middle class.

5. “They Earned It Fair and Square”

Finally, the idea persists that billionaires deserve their wealth because they “earned” it. This argument suggests that any policy aiming to redistribute wealth is fundamentally unfair, penalizing those who worked hard to succeed.

Counterpoints:

• Systemic Advantages and Wealth Hoarding: As previously mentioned, many billionaires begin with advantages—like family wealth or elite educational opportunities—that aren’t available to most people. Additionally, billionaires often employ complex strategies to avoid taxes, lobby for favorable regulations, and capitalize on government subsidies. These factors mean they haven’t earned wealth solely through hard work or merit.

• Billionaires Didn’t Build Alone: No billionaire operates in isolation; they rely on infrastructure, public education, and the work of thousands or millions of employees. A CEO’s wealth is made possible by a web of collective contributions, yet that wealth is rarely shared equitably. While billionaires might be rewarded for their role, their fortune is far from the result of individual effort alone.

In short, these narratives around billionaires often mask a more uncomfortable truth: today’s system is structured in ways that favor the ultra-wealthy at the expense of the broader population. Economic reform, rather than a threat to capitalism, is a necessary step to ensure a more just, equitable society where wealth accumulation doesn’t depend on privilege, influence, or systemic manipulation.

Making a change

Addressing the economic imbalance and the unchecked power of the ultra-wealthy presents a unique challenge, especially given the intense political polarization in the United States. For the middle and lower classes to push back effectively, they will need to build a coalition that transcends party lines and focuses on shared economic interests rather than divisive rhetoric.

1. Build Awareness Through Shared Issues, Not Ideology

The rhetoric around “free markets” and “socialism” often obscures real issues of economic struggle that affect both conservative and progressive working- and middle-class citizens alike. Instead of framing the issue in ideological terms, framing it in terms of tangible, shared grievances can help bridge the divide:

• Focus on Economic Inequality: Income stagnation, unaffordable healthcare, and housing insecurity are felt across the political spectrum. By shifting the narrative from “class warfare” to “economic fairness,” advocates can sidestep partisan language and emphasize the shared experience of economic struggle.

• Highlight the Impact of Corporate Power on Local Communities: Framing issues around how large corporations hurt small, local businesses can resonate strongly with both sides of the political spectrum. This approach often taps into conservative values around community and self-reliance, while also aligning with progressive critiques of corporate overreach.

2. Organize Around Labor Rights and Worker Protections

Historically, unions have been instrumental in improving working conditions and advocating for fair wages, and labor movements transcend political divisions. Many Americans—left, right, and center—share concerns about the erosion of workers’ rights, stagnant wages, and the declining influence of the average worker.

• Expand Union Participation and Labor Movements: Reinvigorating unions and expanding labor protections could give workers a stronger collective voice. New labor movements that focus on economic rights without overtly partisan language could attract support across the political spectrum, particularly when they champion issues like fair wages, workplace safety, and job security.

• Support Worker Cooperatives and Employee-Owned Businesses: Promoting models like worker cooperatives or employee-owned businesses can offer a compelling alternative to the current structure of corporate ownership without resorting to divisive rhetoric. These models prioritize local control and shared economic benefits, appealing to values of self-sufficiency and fairness.

3. Pressure Politicians on Key Economic Policies

A key to bridging the partisan gap is to focus on policies that benefit the broader populace rather than framing them as part of any ideological agenda. The majority of Americans, regardless of political affiliation, support policies like fair taxation, healthcare reform, and increased access to education when framed in terms of fairness and opportunity.

• Promote Tax Reform as “Fairness,” Not Redistribution: Instead of advocating for “redistribution,” proponents can push for tax policies that ensure everyone pays their fair share. Policies like a wealth tax or higher taxes on capital gains can be framed as holding the ultra-wealthy accountable rather than demonizing them, a stance that resonates with people who value fairness and personal responsibility.

• Advocate for Antitrust Legislation: Pushing for stronger antitrust laws to break up monopolies and prevent anti-competitive practices can appeal to both sides. For conservatives, this aligns with the values of market competition; for progressives, it aligns with corporate accountability and consumer protection.

4. Engage in Alternative Media and Independent Journalism

The ultra-wealthy often own or influence major media outlets, which can shape public opinion in ways that protect their interests. For the middle and lower classes to gain a clearer view of economic issues, alternative media sources and independent journalism that aren’t beholden to billionaire interests are crucial.

• Support Independent News Outlets: A growing number of independent news organizations are dedicated to in-depth economic reporting without catering to corporate interests. Supporting these outlets allows individuals to access a range of perspectives that help reveal the true impact of policies on ordinary people.

• Utilize Social Media Responsibly to Build Cross-Party Awareness: Social media, while often a divisive force, can also be used to spread information about economic injustice. When used responsibly to share facts, case studies, and stories of economic hardship, it can cut through the rhetoric and provide people across the political spectrum with a shared understanding of the issues.

5. Prioritize Voting Reform and Campaign Finance Reform

Money in politics is one of the core reasons why economic policies favor the wealthy. Bipartisan support for reducing corporate influence in politics is possible, especially when the focus is on fairness, transparency, and accountability in government.

• Promote Campaign Finance Reform as an Anti-Corruption Effort: Campaign finance reform, which seeks to limit the influence of wealthy donors and corporations on elections, can appeal to conservatives and liberals alike who are frustrated with the influence of money in politics. Instead of framing it as an anti-capitalist measure, framing it as an anti-corruption measure can attract broader support.

• Support Voting Reforms for a More Representative Democracy: Reforms like ranked-choice voting, ending gerrymandering, and preventing voter suppression can help create a political environment that more accurately represents the will of the people rather than special interests. By creating a more representative democracy, policies that reflect the economic needs of the middle and lower classes have a better chance of being enacted.

6. Create Cross-Partisan Grassroots Coalitions Focused on Economic Issues

Many grassroots organizations are focused on economic justice, but they tend to align themselves with one side of the political spectrum, often losing potential support in the process. Building cross-partisan coalitions that emphasize shared economic challenges rather than ideological differences could foster stronger, more united advocacy for middle- and working-class issues.

• Organize Around Issues, Not Parties: Groups like the Poor People’s Campaign, which focuses on poverty and economic justice, have successfully united people across political lines around issues that transcend party loyalty. This approach allows people to focus on their shared struggles, making the movement harder for politicians to ignore.

• Build Community-Level Alliances: Many economic issues are felt acutely at the local level. By focusing on community-level initiatives that address healthcare, affordable housing, and education, people can create practical, on-the-ground solutions that don’t require alignment with national politics. These local successes can serve as models for broader change.

7. Emphasize Civic Education on Economic Policies

Finally, bridging the gap will require education and awareness. Many people accept billionaire-fueled rhetoric because they lack exposure to alternative perspectives. Civic education efforts that focus on teaching economic principles, tax policy, and the influence of corporate power can empower people to understand the real impacts of current policies on their lives.

• Create Accessible Educational Resources: Podcasts, documentaries, workshops, and community discussions can all serve as tools for demystifying economic issues. When people have a clearer understanding of how things like tax policies and wage laws work, they are better equipped to make informed decisions.

• Promote Financial Literacy and Empower Individuals: Financial literacy programs that help individuals understand budgeting, credit, and investments empower people to navigate the economy more effectively. While this doesn’t directly address systemic issues, it gives individuals a greater understanding of the forces shaping their lives and can be a first step toward broader engagement.

By approaching these issues with a focus on shared struggles, fairness, and practical solutions, the middle and lower classes can work together to build a movement that transcends political divides. This movement can challenge the status quo without becoming mired in divisive ideological battles. The real strength of such an effort lies in its ability to unite ordinary people around a common vision for a fairer, more just economic system—one that serves all citizens, not just the wealthiest few.

#capitalism #reality #billionaires #middle class #trickle down economics #facts #economy #economics #wealth #ultra wealthy

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dmitriene · 4 months ago

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padding out to the kitchen in early morning, only to see john price standing there and cooking breakfast, his muscular back turned towards the living room that is connected with a small, cozy kitchen, his body almost fully naked, if not for the dark boxer briefs that hug his wide hips, layers of fat above folded in his relaxed posture.

skin full of fading scars and couple of stretch marks that can be noticed on his sides and back, splattered with speckled freckles, while he shakes the pan with one hand, stirring what is being cooked in it with the other, not paying much attention to your approaching presence, a cigar between his plump lips, filling the air with spicy, tart smell.

john notices that you got out of bed only when your arms loop around his waist, giving an innocent squish to his supple stomach, a rumbling, hoarse chuckle out from his lips welcomes you, as he puts the pan back on the stove and puts the cigar from between his lips in his two fingers, turning to wrap his heavy arm around the curve of your waist, pressing you to his side.

you're dressed in one of his house t shirts, stretched out and hanging comfortably on your body, hiding your still sodden from the night panties, cotton hugging your rounded hips and supple butt, as he gives a rough, possessive squeeze to the fat of the flesh there, rubbing across your pretty ass, as he exhales a cloud of smoke, curling around his mutton chops for a fraction of a second.

john eye's creasing, gazing at you with an subtle tilt of his head, blue of his eyes sparkling softly as he purrs a smoky good morning, putting his cigar in nearby ashtray to free his arms for your form, scooping you to seat your ass prettily on the kitchen counter, cornering you with his beefy body, as he brushes his coarse facial hair against your lips, stealing a sweet peck from you.

perhaps, you'll have to postpone the cooked breakfast, because john won't turn down the opportunity to feast up on your pussy, still glossy with slick and soaked from the cum he pumped in your gooey hole previously, clean you nice and well so you'll cream his fat cock after, girth swelling hot and chubbing in his boxers already, and then you'll start the day properly.

main masterlist. quidelines.

#.𐙚july's writings #john price smut #john price x female reader #john price fluff #john price x f!reader #john price comfort #john price x reader #captain john price fluff #captain john price x reader #captain john price smut #captain john price x female reader #john price drabble #captain john price x you #captain price smut #john price x you #captain john price fanfic #john price cod #domestic!price #domestic!john price

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nocturnowlette · 7 months ago

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do you have any hypnosis audio files youd recommend?

Honestly, the answer is a "maybe".

In my opinion, in my 8 years of listening to files, not even 1% qualify as something I'd consider well made. The vast majority are nsfw, and the vast majority of those just throw any actual hypnosis away for a sake of roleplay. That being said, here are some files that, in my estimation, are at a minimum decent.

And always, read the description of every file before listening, even after reading my descriptions.

There's puppy ones at the bottom, by the way.

First, not an audio file, but an itch.io game.

brainwasher_program by sleepingirl (18+)

This is the most competently made thing I will be showing. Sleepingirl is someone I would consider a good hypnotist skillwise.

There is also test hypnosis game1 and ithinktherefore, also itch.io text hypnosis games/sessions.

Next, to my knowledge, the best file I've personally stumbled on (though it still didn't quite wow me),

Failing to Resist by Jack Drago (18+)

This file is a trance trainer, as in a file meant to use the ideas of resistance and turn that idea against you. It does a passable job, and you might find it quite powerful and helpful if you have some stubborn tendencies as a subject.

Next is another passable trance trainer,

Mind Melt by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This file uses arousal to bring about a specific philosophy of trance, one you might find more conducive to effectiveness: enjoying trance for the sake of trance itself, not just using it as a means to an end. There is no wakener at the end.

Next, a twin pair of files,

The Call of the Void and Hypnotic Acceptance by LilithUnleashed

The Call of the Void is a sort of run of the mill hypnosis file meant to be looped, and designed to condition you to trance and specifically to Lilith to some extent. Hypnotic Acceptance is a conditioning file meant to be played out of trance and doesn't bring you in to it. It's a nice idea that can have some small potential benefits, it's also relaxing.

Lilith, in general, is a competent hypnotist, if not a bit... much... at times. That's more of a taste thing, though. She does a good job, and these files are good.

There is also this conditioning loop file by her which is also nice, as well as this one.

Next is one for the pups,

Collared Obedience by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This one is, at a minimum, a very enjoyable time. It creates a mental collar and links it with actual collars if you wish and have the means. It forms one made out of various concepts relating to obedience. The suggestions didn't stick for me, but I'm a tad stubborn.

Obedience 101 - Welcome to Class! by FlowLikeTea

If you haven't noticed, I like trance training files. It's primarily because they're some of the only ones that aren't trying to just do erotic roleplay with the facile idea of hypnosis and hypnotic aesthetics. It reminds me of the ASMR sphere in that way.

Anyways, this file is just nice. Not much else to mention.

Slow and Gentle Hypnotic Induction by GoddessSoft (NotSoftForWork)

Thank you, Ms. Soft, for making an actually competent SFW hypnosis file. Soft is quite the competent hypnotist, and we'll be showing a few of her files coming up, but this one remains my favorite. It's simply a very well done relaxation file by someone who knows her stuff and has a good understanding of most aspects of audio trances.

Good Puppy Clicker Training by GoddessSoft (18+)

This is a beginner-centric clicker training file by Ms. Soft. It's thorough, long, and pleasurable. If you haven't noticed, I have not recommended files intended to make you finish in any way. I don't like them. They do not work for me. You'll have to ask someone else. That being said, GoddessSoft's page on the link has many different puppy files to listen to. Most deal with that.

Puppydog Fractionation by GoddessSoft (18+)

Another not-specifically-nsfw-focused puppy file from Ms. Soft. If I recall right, the sound balancing might be a little iffy on this one, though. Fair warning.

That's all I remember for now, but I might have more recommendations in the future. I hope you enjoy, and be sure to tell me how you respond to some of them. Enjoy!

#owlette #hypnosis #puppy space #puppy sub #puppyposting #dogposting #puppy brain #dog brain #dumb puppy #mind control #mind conditioning #mind break #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnoposting #hypno pet #hypnosis advice #hypnosis files #brain drain

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frannyzooey · 3 days ago

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Sun Drenched

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: a little something I wrote after the premiere of the trailer — enjoy while I work on some other things! ❤️

—

Marcus’s fingers drum on the table, his eyes drifting over the wood. His gaze is unfocused, every color and fine line blending together, his mind distant from the talk of battle around the room.

The whorls remind him of your curves, the ones he left draped in his sheets.

The slow rise and fall of your breathing, your bare chest on display. He plays with the curve of your breast, reveling in the petal soft skin: fingertips circling your peaked nipple, his thumb skating over the plump weight. Bending to give it a kiss, the skin feels like velvet under his lips. A butterfly’s wings, delicate and achingly soft.

Your fingers run through his curls on a soothing loop, his scruffed cheek resting over your heart. His touch dancing along the inside of your thigh, the bend of your knee, the sloped indent of your waist.

Sated and spent, every sense satisfied.

Touch, taste, smell, all nourished for the time being.

You hum, and he listens, closing his eyes.

“General Acacius?”

His name brings him back to the present, a table of men staring at him.

“Hm?”

Some chuckle, some barely hide their impatience.

“Looks like his mind is elsewhere.”

“Between his lover’s legs, more like.”

“Can you blame the man? He’s been away for almost a year.”

His smile is tired, but good natured. He holds his hand up, silencing their comments.

“My apologies. Please, continue.”

They do, Marcus trying his hardest to focus on the plans they have laid before him, the training suggestions, the maps. Everything plotted, everyone with an opinion to voice. They fight across the table; old men and young.

“Do you have to go?”

He turns, thumbing at a mark you’ve left on his bare chest while riding him this morning.

“I can’t neglect my duty to Rome,” he says, drinking deeply from a cup of wine.

“And what about your duty to me?” you tease, pulling your naked leg out from under the sheets. Your hand drifts down along the inside of your thigh, and he stops his search for a tunic, watching. You skim it higher, and then higher still and his eyes darken when you slip it under the sheets between your legs, just out of sight.

“I think I’ve more than satisfied that,” he replies, abandoning his search for clothing. Climbing up onto the bed to join you, he takes your ankle in his hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips drift higher, his grin pressing into your leg at the giggle you let out when he tugs the sheet from your body.

Settling heavy and warm on top of you, his mouth immediately seeks your own.

His voice is heard above the rest in the end. Plans settled for the day, he stands from the table, rubbing at the stiffness in his lower back from years spent in the training yard, sitting in a saddle, sleeping on the ground. The men shake his hand one at a time as they file out of the room, and he follows, walking out into the courtyard.

The sun shines down on his face, and he tilts it upwards, soaking in all he can before he’s summoned again. A council with the emperors is next, the future of Rome to be decided. More old men sitting around on their pompous asses to decide the fates of both himself, and the men that fight beside him.

Passing the training yard, the men shout their greetings to him as he passes. He molded so many of them, took them from their cradles into manhood, taught them how to be worthy of protecting one of the greatest cities in the world. He pauses, watching, the clang of swords melting into the background.

You buck underneath him, your bare skin flush with his own, your hands splayed across his chest with a shove. As hard as you can, you try to budge him, and he grins above you.

“You can do better than that, my love,” he teases. Still, he lets up a fraction and you use your weight to roll him onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and his mouth waters.

“It’s not fair,” you complain, slightly breathless, your pretty pout making him thicken underneath you. “You’re so much stronger than me.” A mischievous glint dances in your eyes. “Maybe I should wander down to the training yard. See if grappling with those men makes me any better.”

Your fingers entwine with his, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to let you catch your breath – and then he lunges. Sitting up with a cinch, he pins your hands behind your back and tips you backwards into the bedding, trapping your arms. You laugh and fight back, trying hard to ignore the stiff weight of his cock as it brushes between your legs.

“Why, when you have the best one in your bed already?”

You try to dodge him, rolling to the side to see if you can escape the bed, and he snatches you back into place, his strong arm banding across your stomach. Faster than you can react, he’s pinned you face down into the sheets, and his knees force your legs open, his hand wrapping firmly around your plush hips to jerk them up.

Breathless and hard won, he lines up and shoves himself forward, fucking his victory into you.

Stuck longer than he would have liked in councils this afternoon, he feared they would turn into a dinner invitation. The emperors were fond of drawn out, elaborate affairs, tables of food and wine, pleasantries exchanged with the secret intents hidden beneath smiles.

He walks with a purposeful stride and a stern expression, one he’s practiced among the years. It’s a commanding gait he hopes will deter anyone from stopping him for an idle chat. He’s had enough of Rome’s business for today.

“General Acacius.”

A guard greets him as he passes, the man snapping into a rigid stance.

“Is she in there?” Marcus asks.

“She hasn’t left all day, sir. Just like you asked.”

Marcus nods, rounding the corner to his private chambers. Opening the door, he’s greeted with silence.

It’s a peaceful silence, the room drenched in the sunlight of the late afternoon, the lingering smell of the rich oil you use on your skin in the air, the curtains to his balcony billowing in the breeze. It’s there where he finds you, fast asleep on a chaise. A book open and laid flat across your chest, he admires the softness of your profile for a moment.

Long lashes, plump lips, beautiful, soft skin – and completely naked, underneath your thin robe.

He carefully takes a seat and you stir at the shadow that overtakes you, giving him a gentle, lazy smile in greeting.

“You’re back.”

“Finally,” he says, lifting the book from your chest. He gives it a glance, flipping through the pages for a moment before setting it down. “Is this how you spent the day?” he teases warmly. “Lazing in the sun?”

You roll onto your side, your robe sliding open with the movement. His eyes drop to the exposed juncture between your thighs before slowly drifting upwards: the soft curve of your belly peeking through the folds of fabric, the plane of your chest awash in sunlight. Your skin looks freshly oiled and warm, and he longs to press his face against it.

Instead, he leans in for a kiss.

“You told me not to leave, sir.” You murmur the words against his lips, your hand slipping over the curve of his bare thigh, sliding up underneath the hem of his tunic. “So I didn’t.”

He hums, pulling back with a lick of his lips. His eyes make a hooded, dark circuit down your naked body only to slowly crawl back up.

“Did you have a good day, my pet?”

The endearment is one that he knows you like, the implication that you exist only for his leisure and pleasure. If only you knew it was actually the other way around, that you held the leash of the world’s most feared general.

“I did. I’d hoped you’d join me for dinner,” you smile, bringing his attention back to your face.

“And what’s for dinner?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low, raspy tone. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, cupping you wholly between your legs. “This?”

His fingers press against your damp curls, searching, exploring. His hold tightens, and you suck in a breath before melting into the chaise.

“If you wish,” you sigh, letting your legs fall open.

He does. He’s been waiting all day to settle between your plush thighs, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of your body. So much softness, after a life spent so hard. The way he stirs for you makes him feel like a young man again; it’s constant, his wanting. He shifts to his knees, the stone digging into his skin.

The sun catches the chestnut hidden in his curls when he bends for a taste of your sweet cunt, and you brush through the soft locks, twirling them around your finger. Every lap of his tongue makes you lazy and warm with arousal, until his nicked hand splays across the inside of your thigh to open you wider – and then the heat that he’s been stoking turns into a bright flame, his tongue flicking faster and faster.

“Marcus,” you moan, your thighs tensing around his scruffed cheeks.

With a suck, he pushes you over the edge. And when he pulls back, another flame licks hot through you at the sight of his glistening chin.

Status and wealth, lands and glory. Respected and feared, a place of honor in the Roman Empire.

All of it at your feet, lapping at your cunt.

He stands, stripping himself of his tunic, his sandals. Your own robe discarded on the ground, he kneels on the chaise and the body that he’s molded over the years both in the training yard and in battle is bare and firm, your fingers stretching out to brush through the dark hair that collects beneath his navel. His stomach is a soft curve, his cock heavy between his thighs, and you drift your touch down, wrapping your hold around it and giving it a tug. Hard and aching just for you, he groans as you explore the velvet skin, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest.

Stopping, you pull him down to join you and he lines up, pushing himself inside.

He fucks like he’ll never be able to stop.

Like he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance again.

Like every push inside is a claim, like every kiss is a mark he’s branding on your skin.

The silver at his temples and that dusts the corners of his jaw are indicators of his age, and he fucks with the same experience it would imply.

He fucks like he fights; ruthless and hard. With his hand wrapped around the curve of your shoulder, to keep you underneath him. With your leg hitched high over his hip to force himself deeper.

He’s insatiable; your cunt sore, and yet begging for more.

Sweat slicks across his back, the sun of the fading day beating down upon it. He sits back on his heels, and brings you with him, and then you’re both drenched in the light. Your arms wound tight around his broad shoulders, his arms keeping you in place on his lap.

His mouth lingers against your own, labored breathing passed between the two of you and he fucks until you cry out his name into the sky, your own on his lips shortly after.

Then he lays with you, entwined, until dusk dims the sky.

The warm breeze skims across your flushed skin, and he stands, walking back into his room.

Admiring his bare ass and strong back, you watch him call to a guard for dinner – and then close your eyes, stretching with content.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius/you #marcus acacius/reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator ii

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navybrat817 · 5 months ago

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Hold You Tight: Part 4

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 3 | Series Masterlist | Part 5

Chapter Summary: You try to continue the date like "normal" after Bucky's promise.

Chapter Word Count: Almost 3.4k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, unease, tension, possessiveness, mental and emotional whiplash, reader is trying to stay calm, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you again for the feedback so far! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . I no longer do taglists, so please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“You’ll be out of your apartment before the end of the month.”

The statement played on a morbid loop in your mind as Bucky pulled you up from your chair. The guard gave you two plenty of room to enter the penthouse again. You looked at him, trying to convey in your expression that you needed him to do something. Anything. The man gave you nothing in return. It was pointless to try. He worked for Bucky, not you. He wouldn't care.

“Did you mean what you just said? Your promise?” You asked as you followed Bucky to the dining room table. You wanted him to take it back, to tell you it was a joke. He couldn't make you leave your home by the end of the month. He had no right.

“I think you know the answer,” he said, pausing when you yanked your hand away and crossed your arms.

“And I think you have a lot of nerve,” you uttered as he pulled out your chair. “Where the hell do you get off? And how do you even plan to get me out of my home? It’s not like you own the building.”

You had no idea how deep Bucky’s pockets ran. There was a chance he could buy the building tomorrow or bribe someone into evicting you. Would he stoop that low?

“I adore you, Kotyonok, but I’m not going to tell you and ruin the surprise,” he smiled, gesturing for you to take a seat. “And you haven't seen me get off yet.”

You ignored his comment as you sat down and stared into the flame of the candlelight. The familiar scent of the meal drifting from the kitchen put you at ease for the most part, but your stomach turned. Would this really be where you'd spend your meals from now on? It didn't matter that the penthouse was beautiful. You had a home. Maybe it wasn't as nice as this, but it was still yours.

Did Bucky care about your distress at all?

You blinked when you saw your wine glass on the table. The guard had grabbed both of your glasses from the balcony. For a man of his size, he sure as hell moved quietly. “Thanks,” you whispered, taking another swig to help calm your flaring nerves.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“You know, I was so excited to have you in our home I don’t think I introduced the two of you,” Bucky said as the man stood tall. “This is Raymond, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you call him Ray since you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Bucky said “our” again. Not “his”. You wanted to go back to bed and hide under your covers. “It’s nice to meet you. Is it okay if I call you Ray?” You asked, not wanting his boss to speak for him.

How and why did he work for him anyway?

His eyes were a brighter shade of blue than Bucky’s, but still had a touch of coldness. Though his expression did soften a fraction as he considered your question. “You may. And it’s nice to meet you, too,” he replied, nodding toward the kitchen before he stepped back.

The chef walked over seconds later with plates in hand, a large smile on his face. “Here we are. We have the…” You tuned him out as the dish was set in front of you, your eyes on Bucky across the table. He didn’t look at the chef either, your gazes locked in a silent battle. Your hand began to ache before you realized you were gripping the handle of your knife. You released it and looked away, but you caught his smirk anyway.

He won.

“Enjoy!” The chef finished, clasping his hands together.

Bucky shot him a look before he could walk away. “I’ll enjoy it once I know she does,” he said, his smile soft as he turned his attention back to you. “Dig in.”

A beat passed and all eyes were on you, waiting for you to have the first taste. It was unsettling to say the least as you blindly grabbed a piece of flatware to take a bite. You slowly chewed the food and wished you could've appreciated the additional flavors the chef added to make your favorite meal that much better, but being under the scrutiny of the entire room took away the delight.

“It’s delicious,” you announced, bringing another piece to your mouth. The chef’s audible sigh made it hard to swallow. What would Bucky have done if you didn’t like the food? “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky added, still gazing at you like you were the center of his world. “Ray, would you show him out please?”

The chef didn’t have to be told twice as Ray wordlessly led him away.

You didn't miss the way Bucky's eyes followed your motions as you continued to eat. They told you he’d rather have you for the meal. That he’d reach under the table at any moment and part your thighs to gather the taste of you on his fingers. You firmly pulled your legs together.

“Are you not hungry?” You asked. He hadn't touched anything on his plate. Too busy staring at you. Why was he so fascinated with watching you do something as mundane as eating?

“I wanted to make sure you ate enough before I dug in,” he answered, finally taking a bite. He groaned as his eyes slipped shut, the sound making you press your legs even closer together. Being handsome didn't excuse a thing and you refused to let him get to you. “You're right. This is delicious.”

You averted your eyes when he ran his tongue over his lips. “Well, you hired him, so I imagine he's an amazing chef.”

“He is. I’m not a bad cook, but I don’t cook as often as I'd like.”

You nodded. Running a club likely kept him busy, but he could've used his free time cooking or doing something else instead of looking into your life. You ranted about that already though.

“Maybe we can have a day of the week where we make a meal together. We’ll take turns picking different meals to try, like pizza. We’ll have to make a pizza together,” he said, leaning forward as his eyes lit up. “I could even set up a projector on the balcony if you wanted to cuddle outside and watch a movie. Or we could do something indoors.”

“What if I don't want pizza? Or a movie night?” You asked, trying to gauge his reaction since you actually enjoyed pizza and movies.

“If that isn't what you're in the mood for, we can figure it out together,” he offered.

“Can we?” You asked, pushing a bit of the food around with your fork. “Or will you just make the decisions for me?”

You were speaking as if you planned to continue with his delusion. That you would actually have dinner dates and movie nights and cuddle. Things you always wanted with the right partner. The one you chose.

He twirled the knife in his hand before he pointed it at you. “I told you I don’t want to control you.”

“Yet you’re putting me in a cage.”

“You have a lot of freedom,” he retorted, taking another bite. “It’s not like I’m telling you to stop spending time with your friends or not have hobbies. I just want you close by. And about your job-”

Your eyes flashed. “If you’re about to tell me I have to quit, I will throw wine on you.”

“Thought you said it was too delicious to waste.”

“I’ll throw your glass on you and enjoy the rest of mine,” you said, warmth creeping up your neck when he chuckled. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not going to quit my job. I don’t care how much money you have. I love what I do.”

He laughed still, but held a hand up on surrender. “Kotyonok, I won’t make you quit your job. I know you love being a florist and I’m not about to take something away that makes you happy.”

You reigned your inner claws in. “So, I can keep working like normal? And why are you calling me Kotyonok? What happened to doll?”

“Doll, Kotyonok, you suit them both.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, looking every bit like the king of his castle. “And you can.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you said, wishing you didn’t feel the need to thank him when it shouldn’t be his decision to begin with.

The two of you ate in semi-comfortable silence after that. You wanted to trust that he wouldn’t mess with your job, but he was interfering in the rest of your life. Maybe it wasn’t a cage he had you in after all, but he did have you on a leash.

Either way, you were his pet.

“Dance with me,” he stated once your plates were clear.

“There’s no music,” you said before a soft melody began to play in the room. You glanced around and tried to find where the speakers were. Ray must’ve turned it on.

You allowed him to help you up from your seat to hold you close. You bit back a protest when he guided your hands to rest at the base of his neck. There was hardly any room between you as he rested his hands on your hips and helped you sway to the slow beat. It contrasted with how your heart raced and you had to close your eyes to escape his gaze.

“I felt like I’d been asleep for a long time until you came along. You woke me up. Made me feel,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’ll be happy together.”

His words had you catching your breath. He wasn’t the kind of predator who went right for the kill or the kind that merely stayed in the grass to bide his time. This was a cat and mouse of sorts. He caught and released you. The scary part was you didn’t know how long he’d hold onto you before he sank his teeth in or how long he’d let you run before he caught you again.

“I really want to kiss you,” he murmured, your heart thudding more as he rested a hand on your cheek.

“Not on the first date,” you said, hoping it sounded more like a tease than a complete refusal.

He chuckled and brought his lips to your ear. “What does our second date get me?”

You didn’t want to say the wrong thing, especially since he was playing along. But how long would you be able to fight off his want for you? “I guess we’ll play it by ear,” you answered.

“Making me work for it. I respect that,” he said, checking his watch as the song changed. “Speaking of being respectful, I should probably get you back to your place.”

As eager as you were to leave, you still asked, “No dessert?”

His heated eyes swept over you as he traced the diamond necklace with his finger. “I want you for dessert, but I’m trying to be good,” he replied, his voice husky as you held your breath. “I also made sure we’d have dessert to share in the car. Why don’t you go get your clutch and we can go?”

“Sure,” you said, taking one last look around the place as you went to get it. Bucky went to Ray and whispered something you couldn’t make out, but you went to the door instead of trying to eavesdrop. You didn’t want to know what the conversation was about. If it didn’t involve you, well, it wasn’t your business to begin with. And if it involved you, you were bound to find out anyway and you were too tired and mentally drained to deal with it.

A bath and more wine wouldn’t even help.

“I hope you like it,” Bucky smiled, holding up a small container as he joined you with Ray right behind him.

“Let me guess,” you said, taking the container from his hand. “It’s my favorite.”

“Of course,” he said, opening the door and putting an arm back around you.

You looked back when Ray didn’t follow you into the elevator, wishing he’d join you so you wouldn’t be alone with Bucky in there. You supposed it didn’t matter. Would he stop his boss if he tried anything or just look the other way?

It was surreal to leave the penthouse. You half expected him to go back on his word and not let you go. You glanced at him as the elevator went back down to the garage. Besides being a walking red flag, he was still a mystery.

“You said your mom would’ve loved me. Past tense,” you said, seeing his jaw clench. “Did something happen to her?”

He tightened his arm around you as the elevator stopped. “She’s gone and that’s a topic for another day,” he said, pausing to give you a tender smile. “But thank you for asking.”

The man had issues, but you hadn’t meant to touch on a sore topic. Why were you asking personal questions about him anyway? You weren’t his girl. He wasn’t going to be your guy. This wasn’t a fairytale. If it was, he would be the villain disguised as a king.

Bucky helped you back into the car, once again not waiting for the driver, and got in beside you. He barely had the door closed before you pulled you into his lap, the container almost falling from your hand as the other went to his chest. “Bucky, what are you-”

“I said you could sit in my lap after dinner,” he smirked, running a hand along your thigh. Your body went rigid as his hand trailed higher. “I won’t do anything except feed you.”

You stayed perfectly still as he moved his hand away and opened the container. He promised he wouldn't force anything tonight, but you didn't want to throw fuel on the fire by shifting and inadvertently teasing him. It would be fine. A short drive and you’d be back at your apartment.

“Open,” he ordered. You obeyed, your mouth opening up for him to place a piece of the dessert on your tongue. He swore under his breath as you closed your mouth to chew and his hand found its way back to your thigh. “Swallow it, Kotyonok.”

You were lucky you didn’t choke, the normally sweet treat sliding bitterly down your throat. He probably imagined saying those exact words to you in a very different sort of scenario. Feeling his hips move slightly beneath yours, he was likely imagining it right this second.

“Good girl,” he sighed, feeding you another piece before he buried his face in your neck. “I can't wait until you're really home.” His breath tickled your skin. “I won't have to say goodnight and watch you walk away. You’ll be beside me and fall asleep in my arms.”

“In your home,” you whispered, tilting your head to give you some space, but he followed.

“Our home,” he corrected you. “End of the month.”

Your chest ached, but you breathed evenly. You were almost home and could panic once you were alone. “It’s too soon. You understand that, right?”

“I went too long without having you by my side. You understand that, right?” He asked, cupping your cheek to make you look at him. “You went too long without me, too.”

It wasn’t fair that he was trying again to prey on your loneliness. “Bucky, you have to give me some leeway here.”

“We can figure it out together,” he said, the same thing he said during dinner. Dismissive. He thought he was going to get his way. And he would, wouldn't he?

“Well, we aren’t figuring that out tonight,” you said, pushing off his lap when the car came to a stop and fixing your dress since it rode up. “Good night.”

He stopped you from getting out. “I have to walk you to your door.”

“I’m not letting you in,” you warned. You needed your space.

“You do remember that I can get in your place without you opening the door for me, right?” He cupped your cheek again when your eyes rounded. “But I won’t do that tonight. I’m just making sure you get in safely.”

“That’s ironic coming from you,” you mumbled.

He chuckled and helped you out. Your building normally looked like a safe haven, but it was like there was a clock overhead counting down the moment until it was no longer yours. “I really do love how sweet you are, but I love your claws when they come out.”

“Careful. I just might scratch you.”

He groaned, leading you inside. “You know, you’re welcome to scratch up my back. Leave your mark on me and I’ll leave one on you.” He winked when you caught his eye. “And in you.”

He caught you when you stumbled. “Stop saying stuff like that, please,” you begged, straightening yourself out. You weren’t sure how much more you could take tonight.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, taking your phone from his pocket once you got to your door. “I had a really nice time tonight.”

His fingers touched yours as you took your phone back. “I had a nice time, too,” you said. Under normal circumstances, a romantic dinner and diamond necklace would’ve been a dream come true. “Good night, Bucky.”

He lingered as you unlocked your door. You turned to remind him that you weren’t inviting him, but you couldn’t speak when he leaned in. His lips brushed the corner of yours, all too gentle and intimate.

“Sweet dreams, Kotyonok.”

You ducked inside without another word and locked the door, listening for his footsteps. It took a moment, but you heard him walk away before you slid to the floor. It felt like you could finally breathe again since you were home and he wasn’t going to bother you again tonight.

Your heart sank though when you checked your phone and saw a message from Addison.

“Change of plans for tomorrow and I’m so sorry, but Brady somehow got us a reservation at The Terrace. Can you believe it?! Maybe we can hang out the day after?”

Tears burned your eyes. You were looking forward to seeing her. It would've been nice to pretend that everything was normal. Or maybe you would've told her at least something about your situation.

Your mind drifted to Bucky. The Terrace was one of the best restaurants around and usually booked a couple of months in advance minimum. Was it a coincidence that Brady somehow got them reservations on the day you were supposed to hang out with Addison or did your new suitor have something to do with it?

Speak of the devil, you received a new message from the man himself.

“Thank you again for the wonderful date. Are you free tomorrow night? I’d love to introduce you to some of my friends.”

Your eyes narrowed. The second you see that your plans are broken, he messages you? If you didn't think he meddled before, you certainly did now.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

He messaged back seconds later. “Yes, you do. I can have it sent over or have it ready for you here.”

You huffed out a laugh before a couple of tears fell. Meeting Bucky’s friends would be another step in his plan to make you his. If they didn’t like you, maybe they’d sway him into forgetting about you. It was wishful thinking. Because you knew in your heart that Bucky wasn’t going to let you go.

But if he was going to play, maybe you could find a way to throw him off his game.

“I actually have plans. Maybe another time.”

You didn't bother looking to see if read the message or if he responded. Your life was your own. Bucky would have to deal with it. But knowing how he handled things so far, he’d find a way to have you on his arm tomorrow night.

Yay to @targaryenvampireslayer for guessing who the guard is! And what's Bucky going to do since you declined meeting his friends? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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irreverentworm · 2 years ago

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OH HELL YEAH NESTED TIME TRAVEL PLOT

#god this rules #sgu #at first i was like what this isn't a time loop #and then i realized they split the timeline #AND THEN THEY SPLIT IT AGAIN #this is only a fraction as fucked as Homestuck #but it's still way better than literally any other time travel media

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

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I’m Your Daddy Now

Day 6 → Daddy Kink 💋 Carlos Sainz

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Carlos steps out of the club, the air heavy with the distant thrum of bass. It’s Ibiza — sweltering, chaotic, suffocating.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead and stretches his neck, glancing back at the mess inside. VIP, the promise of space and status, had turned into a sardine can. No room to breathe, no air to think. Everyone’s clamoring for more — more drinks, more noise, more of each other. He needs a break.

Outside, it’s no less chaotic, but at least there’s air. The lights from the club cast strange shadows across the street, flashing in sync with the music that pulses through the walls. His shoulders drop a fraction, relaxing.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you.

You’re stumbling — no, swaying, more like it. The dress you’re in barely qualifies as clothing, clinging to your body, shimmering under the lights. He knows the look in your eyes too well, glazed over, the movements too slow, too disjointed. You’re too far gone. Drunk? High? Probably both.

Carlos watches for a second, maybe two, before his instincts kick in. His feet start moving, eyes narrowing, as if zoning in on you could fix you in place, prevent you from drifting any further into the chaos of the night.

When he’s close enough, he leans in just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle. His voice is low, authoritative. “What would your daddy say if he saw you like this?”

You blink, unfocused. “Daddy?” Your laugh comes out broken, short. “Never had one. Wouldn’t know.”

Carlos straightens up, a frown flickering across his face. “You don’t have a daddy?” His tone is almost mocking, teasing. “Then I guess I’m your daddy now.”

You laugh again, stumbling forward, nearly toppling into him. “Yeah?” You slur. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Carlos doesn’t laugh. He hooks his arm under your waist, pulling you upright before you faceplant onto the cobblestones. Your body’s limp against him, your breath reeking of tequila or something even stronger.

He speaks, more to himself than to you. “You’re not staying here. Not like this.”

You mutter something, but the words dissolve into gibberish. Carlos shakes his head, feeling a strange knot twist in his chest. Something between concern and frustration.

Where are your friends? How did no one notice you slipping this far? His mind flashes back to earlier in the night — the crowd, the sea of faces. None of them would care, not really. Not if you didn’t show up tomorrow.

“Well,” Carlos says, more determined now. “I’m taking care of you.”

Without hesitation, he bends down, looping his arm under your knees and tossing you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp, but it quickly melts into incoherent mumbling as your head dangles, your arms limp.

“What? What are you-” you sputter, but your words are barely strung together.

Carlos adjusts you on his shoulder, firm but not rough. “Taking you home,” he replies, his voice steady, controlled. “Can’t leave you like this. Not a chance.”

As he walks, you start to squirm, but it’s weak. “No, no, no,” you mutter, but there’s no conviction in it. You’re too far gone to fight, too far gone to think straight.

Carlos ignores your weak protest, his stride never faltering. He knows what people might think if they saw him now, carrying you like this, but the crowd is oblivious, and he doesn’t care. His mind is set.

Reaching his car, Carlos shifts you in his arms, carefully lowering you into the passenger seat. He brushes your hair out of your face, taking in how disoriented you look. You’re barely holding on to consciousness, your head lolling back against the seat.

You glance at him, trying to focus. “Why?” You mumble, eyes half-closed. “Why are you ... doing this?”

Carlos pauses, his hand resting on the edge of the door. “Because no one else is,” he says simply, his voice firm, but there’s a softness beneath it, a quiet protectiveness. “You can’t take care of yourself right now. So, I will.”

You squint at him, as if trying to piece together what he’s saying, but it’s clear you’re losing the battle to stay awake. “Don’t ... need you,” you slur, though it lacks any bite.

Carlos raises an eyebrow, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, you don’t get to decide that tonight.” He shuts the passenger door with a solid thud, circling to the driver’s side.

As he starts the car, you slump further into the seat, murmuring something unintelligible. Carlos glances over at you every now and then, his grip on the wheel tight, jaw set. There’s a heavy silence between you two now, but it’s not uncomfortable — it’s just ... there.

You shift slightly, eyes half-open again. “Where’re we going?” You ask, your voice a quiet, broken whisper.

Carlos doesn’t look at you when he answers. “Someplace safe.” His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something else there — something resolute, something protective. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You close your eyes again, too exhausted, too far gone to argue. Carlos drives in silence, the night stretching out in front of him, the lights of Ibiza flickering in the rearview mirror.

He doesn’t know what your story is, doesn’t know how you ended up in the state you’re in tonight, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t care. You’re his responsibility now, at least for tonight. And that’s enough for him.

Carlos glances over at you one last time as you drift off into a restless sleep, your breathing deepening. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his mind already set.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up in a safe place. Tomorrow, you’ll be sober, and maybe you’ll hate him for taking control when you couldn’t. But tonight? Tonight, you’re his to protect.

And he’s going to make damn sure you’re safe.

***

Carlos pulls up to his hotel, the valet glancing at the car before quickly looking away, recognizing the man behind the wheel. Without a word, Carlos steps out, walks around the car, and opens the passenger door.

You're still barely conscious, slumped against the seat. With an ease that speaks to both his strength and control, he lifts you out, cradling you against his chest as he strides toward the entrance.

The elevator ride is silent except for your shallow breathing. Carlos’ jaw is tight, his mind churning with a mix of concern and frustration. The numbers blink by, floor after floor, until finally, the doors open to the luxury suite. He walks inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality.

He sets you down on the plush couch, your body slumping into the cushions. You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, struggling to focus.

“Where ...” You start, but your voice trails off, weak.

Carlos stands over you, arms crossed, looking down with a mixture of disappointment and something deeper — something protective. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed tonight,” he says, his voice low, firm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You blink again, the words barely registering in your hazy mind. “I wasn’t ... I don’t know,” you mumble, trying to sit up, but your body doesn’t quite cooperate. “I’m fine.”

Carlos’ eyes narrow. “Fine? You can’t even sit up properly.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “You put yourself in danger. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

You don’t answer, your mind still foggy, but something in his tone makes your heart race. There’s an edge to his voice, a command that cuts through the haze.

Carlos steps closer, looming over you. “I can’t believe you’re just brushing this off.” His voice is sharper now, frustration lacing each word. “Do you have no idea how stupid that was?”

You shake your head, but it’s a feeble gesture. “Didn’t mean to ...” you mumble, not even sure what you’re apologizing for.

Carlos doesn’t let up. “You need to understand something.” He crouches down in front of you, his face close, his voice low and intense. “If you can’t take care of yourself, then I’ll have to do it for you. And clearly, you’ve proven tonight that you need someone to teach you better.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. There’s a tension in the air now, thick and heavy. Carlos stands again, his expression unreadable as he reaches down, taking your wrist in his hand and pulling you gently but firmly to your feet. You stumble slightly, but he steadies you, his grip unyielding.

“Come here,” he says, his voice softer now but still carrying that commanding edge.

You’re too dazed to resist as he leads you to the large armchair by the window, sitting down and pulling you across his lap in one swift motion. You let out a soft gasp, but the reality of the situation still isn’t sinking in.

Carlos’ hand presses against the small of your back, holding you in place as he speaks. “You need to apologize.”

“For what?” Your voice is small, unsure.

“For putting yourself in danger,” he says, his tone firm but controlled. “You need to understand how serious this is.”

Your heart races, the fog in your mind starting to clear just enough for you to realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, though the words feel hollow, automatic.

Carlos’ grip tightens slightly. “No, you’re not,” he says quietly. “Not yet. But you will be.”

Before you can process his words, his hand comes down against you, a sharp crack that makes you gasp. It’s not painful, not really, but the shock of it sends a jolt through your entire body.

“Count,” he commands, his voice steady, unyielding.

You hesitate, your breath hitching. “One.”

Another crack, this one sharper, more deliberate. Your body tenses against his lap.

“Two,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Carlos doesn’t slow down. His hand comes down again and again, each time punctuated by your trembling voice counting the numbers aloud. By the time you reach five, your voice is barely a whisper, your body trembling with each strike. Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to keep counting.

“Six ...” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek. “Seven ...”

Carlos’ movements are measured, controlled. He’s not being cruel, but there’s no mistaking the firmness in his actions, the lesson he’s intent on teaching.

By the time you reach ten, the tears are falling freely, your voice shaking with each apology. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, over and over again, the words barely coherent.

Carlos pauses then, his hand resting on your lower back as he watches you. “What are you sorry for?” He asks quietly.

“For ... for putting myself in danger,” you sob, your voice broken. “I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to ... I’m sorry, Daddy.”

The words slip out without thinking, but Carlos doesn’t react immediately. He lets the silence hang between you for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you.

Finally, he exhales, his hand moving in slow circles over your backside, soothing the sting he’s left behind. “Good,” he says quietly. “That’s what I needed to hear.”

You’re still trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks as you lie across his lap, your body limp with exhaustion and emotion. Carlos’ hand moves to your legs, gently lifting you off his lap and shifting you into his arms. He holds you against his chest, rocking you slightly, his fingers brushing through your hair.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his voice softer, gentler. “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him, your tears soaking into his shirt, but you don’t care. All you can do is keep whispering the same words, over and over again. “I’m sorry, Daddy ... I’m so sorry ...”

Carlos’ hand continues to rub your back in slow, soothing circles, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “I know,” he says softly. “I know you are. But you have to be better. You can’t do this again.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I promise ... I won’t.”

Carlos pulls you tighter against him, his chin resting on top of your head as he continues to rock you gently. “Good girl,” he whispers, his voice low, soothing. “That’s my good girl.”

You stay like that for what feels like forever, wrapped in his arms, the weight of the night slowly melting away. And as your tears dry, and your breathing steadies, you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time — safe.

And you know, deep down, that Carlos isn’t just saying the words. He is your daddy now. And he’s going to make sure you never put yourself in harm’s way again.

***

The first light of morning filters through the heavy curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Carlos shifts slightly, his back against the headboard, one arm wrapped protectively around you.

He hasn’t slept much. Not that it matters. He’s content, watching the way your chest rises and falls steadily, your body curled up against him, your face nuzzled into his side. You look so small there, tucked against him like you belong.

A soft sound breaks the silence — a quiet whimper that escapes your lips, almost inaudible, but it catches Carlos’ attention immediately. You shift slightly, your brows furrowing, and you whimper again, a breathless, needy sound.

Carlos tightens his arm around you, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. “Shhh, cariño. I’ve got you.”

You press yourself closer to him in your sleep, your legs tangling with his as you move, your body instinctively seeking his warmth. Carlos watches you for a moment longer, his hand sliding down your side, his touch gentle and possessive all at once.

His hand moves lower, and he feels the heat of your skin beneath the thin fabric of your nightdress. His fingers slide between your thighs, finding the soft bundle of nerves that’s already swollen and sensitive. He circles it slowly, deliberately, his touch light but insistent.

Your body reacts instantly, a soft moan slipping from your lips, your hips shifting against his hand. You’re still mostly asleep, hovering somewhere between dream and waking, but your body knows him, responds to him without hesitation.

Carlos leans down, his lips brushing your ear. “Wake up, princesa,” he coos softly, his voice low and tender. “You’re so close already, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

You stir, your eyes fluttering open, dazed and unfocused at first, your mind still catching up to what’s happening. But the sensation between your legs, the way Carlos’ fingers circle you so perfectly, pulls you fully into the moment.

A whimper escapes your lips, your hips bucking slightly against his hand. “Daddy …”

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his other hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you even closer to him. “Just enjoy, cariño. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you.”

Your breathing quickens, your body arching against him as his fingers work you over, slow and steady, bringing you right to the edge without pushing you over. It’s torture — sweet, aching torture — and you can’t stop the soft moans that spill from your lips, each one more desperate than the last.

“Please …” you breathe, your voice shaky, barely coherent.

Carlos hums softly in response, his thumb pressing down on your bundle in a way that makes your entire body tremble. “You want to come, don’t you?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper, full of dark, teasing promise.

You nod frantically, your hands clutching at his arm, your body moving on instinct now, your hips grinding against his hand. “Please, Daddy…”

A low, satisfied sound rumbles in Carlos’ chest, and he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs. “Let go for me. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers press harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. You’re teetering on the edge, your mind foggy with need, and when his lips brush your ear again, whispering sweet encouragements, it’s enough to push you over.

You cry out, your body shuddering against him as the orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure that makes your head spin. Carlos doesn’t stop, his fingers working you through it, coaxing every last bit of release from you until you’re a trembling, breathless mess in his arms.

When it’s over, your body goes limp, slumping against him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Carlos’ hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle now, soothing.

“There you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s my girl. You did so well for me.”

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. But you manage a soft, broken “Thank you, Daddy,” as you nuzzle into his chest, your eyes fluttering shut again, exhaustion overtaking you.

Carlos holds you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you as you drift back to sleep. His mind is quiet now, the frustration from the night before gone, replaced by something softer, something more possessive. You’re his now. And he’ll make sure you never forget that.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispers, his lips brushing your hair. “I promise.”

***

The air in the room is warm, filled with the soft hum of the city outside the window. Carlos stands by the floor-to-ceiling glass, one hand resting against the frame, watching the traffic below. The months have slipped by in a blur of race weekends, private jets, and the quiet moments in between where he has you.

Always there. Always close. Just how he likes it.

He glances over his shoulder at you, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs folded underneath you, your soft gaze fixed on him. There’s something about the way you look at him now, like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. You’ve grown so used to his presence, so accustomed to his touch and his commands, that it’s like second nature to you. It pleases him, the way you’ve fallen so easily into this role.

But tonight, there’s something else on his mind. A question that’s been nagging at him. How far under his control have you really fallen? How deeply has he embedded himself into your mind, into your very being?

Carlos turns from the window and walks toward the bed, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But there’s none. You look up at him, your expression open, expectant, as if waiting for whatever he’s about to say or do next.

He sits down beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. For a moment, he just looks at you, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. There’s something intimate about the silence between you, the unspoken understanding that has developed over time. But tonight, he’s going to push a little further. See just how far he’s brought you.

“Come here,” he says softly, patting his lap.

You move instantly, like it’s instinct now, settling into his lap, your head resting against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you close. For a moment, he simply holds you, letting the quiet stretch out between you both.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me these last few months,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Haven’t you?”

You nod against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, the words so automatic now, so ingrained in your mind.

Carlos smiles at the sound, that familiar name falling from your lips like it’s the only one you’ve ever known for him. And that’s exactly what he wants to test.

He tilts your chin up with his finger, forcing you to look at him. “Do you know how good you’ve been for me?” He asks, his voice low, almost teasing. “So good that I’m starting to wonder … if you even remember anything before me.”

You blink, confusion flickering in your eyes for a brief second. “What do you mean?”

Carlos smiles again, this time with more purpose. He strokes your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a touch that’s both gentle and possessive.

“What’s my name?” He asks quietly, the question dropping into the space between you like a stone into still water.

You blink again, and Carlos watches the subtle shift in your expression. You hesitate, just for a second, like the question doesn’t quite register with you. And then, your lips part, the softest sound coming out.

“Daddy.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “No, no. I mean, my real name. What’s my name?”

The confusion deepens in your eyes, and you shift slightly in his lap, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as if searching for some anchor. Your brows furrow, and you bite your lip, trying to think. But the answer doesn’t come as quickly as you’d expect.

“Daddy,” you repeat, your voice a little more uncertain now, like you’re not quite sure if that’s the right answer, but it’s the only one you have.

Carlos hums thoughtfully, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hip. “Are you telling me you’ve forgotten my name?” His voice is soft, teasing, but there’s an edge of control there, a test of how deep his hold on you really is.

Your eyes search his, desperate for some clue, but all you find is that same patient, knowing smile. Your heart races, your mind suddenly blank. “I … I don’t …” you stammer, your voice trembling slightly.

Carlos’ hand moves to your hair, his fingers tangling gently in the strands as he tilts your head back a little more, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Say my name,” he commands softly.

Your breath hitches, your mind scrambling, but the only name that comes to your lips is the one you’ve been calling him for months. “Daddy.”

Carlos’ smile deepens, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “That’s the only name you know, isn’t it?” He whispers, his voice dark and velvety, filled with satisfaction.

You nod slowly, the realization dawning on you that you can’t remember ever calling him anything else. That name — his real name — it’s there, somewhere in the back of your mind, but it feels so distant, so unimportant compared to the one you’ve grown so used to. The one that feels right.

“Good girl,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re so far gone, aren’t you? You don’t even need to remember my name anymore.”

You shiver in his lap, a mix of fear and something else — something deeper, more vulnerable — filling you as his words sink in. The way he looks at you now, like he’s proud of how far you’ve fallen under his control, makes your heart race.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you’re not even sure why. It just feels like the right thing to say.

Carlos chuckles softly, his hand sliding down your back, holding you tighter against him. “Sorry for what, cariño?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone.

“For … for forgetting,” you say, your voice small, your fingers clinging to his shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says, his voice gentle now, soothing. “You’ve done exactly what I wanted. You belong to me. And from now on, the only name you’ll ever need to remember is Daddy.”

You nod against his chest, your body relaxing into his hold, the tension slowly fading as his words sink in. He strokes your hair, his touch comforting, reassuring.

“I’ll always take care of you,” Carlos whispers, his lips brushing your forehead. “You don’t need to worry about anything else. Just stay here, with me, and I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

You breathe in deeply, your body going limp in his arms, the last remnants of doubt fading away. “I will,” you whisper back, your voice soft but certain. “I’ll stay with you, Daddy.”

Carlos smiles, satisfied with your response, his fingers trailing slowly down your spine. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence once again, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside and your steady breathing as you rest against him. Carlos holds you close, his hand stroking your back, his mind still turning over everything that’s happened.

He knew you were his. He knew you’d fallen completely under his control. But hearing it now — seeing the way you can’t even remember his real name — fills him with a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t expected. You’re his, fully and completely, and there’s no going back.

“It’s a good thing,” Carlos says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re mine. And you’ll never need to worry about anything else.”

You nod against his chest, your body relaxing even more, your trust in him absolute. “I’m yours, Daddy,” you murmur, your voice soft and full of quiet devotion.

Carlos smiles, his hand continuing to stroke your hair as he holds you close. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride. “Always mine.”

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