#if you consider this a show that can be spoiled

[baggebythesea]

What do you consider a rare ship in SPOP fandom. A real one not like a crack ship. Like I guess off the top of my own head Catra and Perfuma

I'll never stop gushing about the good ship Glimmer and Double Trouble. As much as she loves her life as high queen, Glimmer needs to woo her a scoundrel now and then.

Catra and Perfuma is surprisingly sweet. Much like Glimmer, Perfuma - or should I say Tara - has a thing for reformed (or not so reformed) Horde hotties. I could see her having a fling with Lonnie as well.

Adora and Mermista have some really good fics. A bit Spinnerella and Netossa-vibes.

They rarely get over the dating stage, but I do find Bow and Perfuma really sweet (and I see no reason not to bring Glimmer in to get a constructive resolution of their prom woes).

Speaking of, Glimmer and Perfuma are very cute together. And Glimmer and Mermista (especially when Glimmer is young and naive and look up immensely to the cool pirate princess) and Glimmer and Huntara is great fun in "spoiled brat tries to chat up the badest butch in the biker bar" way and... dangit, I'm just recapping Glimmer Dates Everyone again, aren't I?

For some non-Glimmer rarepairs (which is fine too, I guess) Wrong Hordak and Double Trouble are fun in the 'cupcake + scoundrel' kinda way. Perfuma and Mermista can be sweet if you build on their friction in the show. Entrapta, of course, can be shipped with any piece of sufficently advanced technology, ai or princess that needs 'auntie trapta' to show them the ropes.

I don't exaclty know if Shadow Weaver and Castaspella counts as a rarepair - the ship has a dedicated following. Shadow Weaver and Angella on the other hand definately counts, if you are into toxic yuri milfs. I also kinda like to write Castaspella with just the tiniest lingering crush on Angella, and just a tiny bit of resentment that her bro asked her out first. I have also written a fic with Angella and Hordak, that even if it is a horribly wrong politically arranged marriaged can be a foundation to build on.

Bow and Sea Hawk need to go on hot pirate adventures together, and more often than not I like to bring in Mermista. X marks the spot. For whatever reason I also like to give Kyle some high see adventures with hot pirates. Oh! And Double Trouble flirting with Sea Hawk in the Peekablue episode never gets old.

Scorpia is immensely shippable. I don't count her being with Catra and Perfuma as rarepairs, but there are some wonderfully sweet Scorpia and Entrapta (with Emily as a child). I see her with Adora and even Mermista, and of course some glitter cuddles with Glimmer (dangit, I promised to stop bringing in Glimmer).

This is more of crack fick territory, but Horde Prime is useful in a 'bath her and bring her to my chamber' kind of way, as long as the object of his affection gets to bust his fucking orb before the story is over. There is lots of really sweet and thoughtful clone shipping that deal with the concept of intimacy, the hive mind and learning what it means to be your own person.

Oh, and Octavia and Huntara should totally be bitter exes.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. the Spop show is really good at presenting attraction, and that gives us so many fun ships to play with.

[legendary-69420]

Billionaire on the Track MOMENTS-3 (Extras ✨)

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME ?) MASTERLIST : RACING HEARTS

The interview was going well—smooth, lighthearted, and full of the usual banter that came with Formula 1 media rounds. Charles leaned back in his seat, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as the reporter posed the next question.

"Charles, being a Ferrari driver comes with some perks, no? Tell us, if you could have any car in the world, what would it be?"

Charles tilted his head, considering the question, then chuckled. "Well, I’m pretty sure that if I ask, ‘I would like to drive this car,’ then Ferrari will make it happen. So yeah, this is obviously very, very special. Whatever car, whichever year, Ferrari can make it happen."

The room erupted in polite laughter, the ease in Charles’ tone and his casual confidence earning a few nods of agreement from the audience.

But then came Mark’s turn.

Sitting beside Charles, Mark Spencer adjusted his watch—a luxury piece that subtly caught the light—and answered with a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I’m pretty sure I’d already own the car I want in my collection."

The room fell silent for a moment, the blunt honesty of Mark’s words catching everyone off guard. Then, scattered laughter and murmurs filled the space.

Charles shot Mark a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, Really? But Mark, as usual, seemed utterly unbothered, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile.

Later, the internet buzzed with reactions to the interview.

"Charles is so spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is such a spoiled brat…who does he think he is?"

"Wait, how rich is this guy to own every car he wants?"

"I like how he’s crazy rich but never actually mentions it."

"Mark really said 'Oh, I probably already own it' like it's nothing 😭🔥. Must be NICE to be that rich 💸."

"Charles is spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is on ANOTHER level 😳. Imagine owning every car you dream of 🚗✨. Unreal."

"The AUDACITY of him to say that so casually 😭. I both hate him and want to be him 🥲💀."

"Charles: 'Ferrari will get me anything.' Mark: 'I already have it.' THESE TWO ARE ON COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LEVELS OF SPOILED 😭🔥."

"I swear this man lives in a different dimension 😂. Billionaire + F1 driver + insanely hot?? UNFAIR 💔🔥."

"Mark is out here reminding us all that we’re broke in the most elegant way possible 💀��😭."

"So Mark’s basically been rich, famous, talented, and handsome his entire life? COOL COOL, I’M FINE, DEFINITELY NOT JEALOUS 🥲🔥."

"He’s so rich, yet so CHILL about it 🤷‍♂️😎. That’s the kind of rich we all aspire to be 💰✨."

Mark’s fans were quick to defend him, though, pointing out that his wealth had little to do with his skills on the track. Still, the intrigue around Mark’s family grew.

At home in Monaco, Charles sat on his couch, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Every other tweet seemed to mention Mark’s comment or speculate about his background. His curiosity got the better of him.

Arthur, Charles’ younger brother, wandered into the living room, munching on an apple.

"Arthur," Charles said, not looking up from his phone, "do me a favor. Look up Mark Spencer’s family. I want to know who they are."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "Why? Feeling nosy ?"

"Just do it," Charles said, exasperated. "He said something in the interview today, and now the whole internet is losing its mind."

Arthur sighed, but he grabbed his laptop and started typing. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. A few minutes later, his eyes widened as he read through the search results.

"Okay," Arthur said, glancing at Charles. "This guy is… loaded. Like, top three billionaires in Italy loaded."

Charles’ eyebrows shot up. "Top three? You’re joking."

"I’m not," Arthur said, spinning the laptop around to show Charles the screen. "The Spencers are involved in everything—Coca-Cola, luxury brands like Louis Vuitton and Gucci, you name it. And apparently, they’ve been doing business with Ferrari for, like, 25 years. It’s practically in their blood."

Charles leaned forward, skimming through the details on the screen. The Spencer name carried weight, not just in Italy but globally. Alessandro Spencer, Mark’s father, was listed as one of the most influential businessmen in the world.

"So, he’s not just some rich guy," Charles muttered. "He’s that rich."

Arthur smirked. "Yup. Makes sense why he chose Ferrari, though, doesn’t it? Family history and all that."

Charles frowned. "Do people think that’s why he’s here? Because of his family?"

Arthur shrugged. "Some might. But listen to this—when Alessandro Spencer was asked about it, he said, ‘My son’s professional life is not affected by his family.’ So, basically, Mark got into F1 because of talent, not connections."

Charles leaned back in his seat, processing the information. Mark was an enigma. On one hand, he was the poster child for wealth and privilege, casually mentioning his car collection like it was nothing. On the other hand, he’d worked his way into Formula 1 on merit alone, proving that he wasn’t just coasting on his family name.

"Interesting," Charles murmured, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He was beginning to understand why Mark carried himself the way he did. There was more to the man than met the eye, and Charles couldn’t help but feel a little more intrigued.

---

The next time Charles saw Mark, it was at the track. Mark was leaning against a wall, chatting casually with a few engineers.

"Hey, Spencer," Charles called out, walking over.

Mark turned, his signature smirk already in place. "LecLec. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Charles crossed his arms. "So, how big is this car collection of yours?"

Mark laughed, a deep, genuine sound. "Not Big enough," he said cryptically.

Charles shook his head, a grin breaking through despite himself. "You’re unbelievable."

"I try," Mark said with a wink. Then, as if sensing that Charles had been digging into his background, he added, "You know, you can just ask me next time, instead of sending your little brother on a fact-finding mission."

Charles froze. "How did you—"

Mark simply tapped the side of his head. "I have my ways."

As Mark walked away, Charles couldn’t help but laugh. The guy was impossible to figure out, but one thing was certain—Mark Spencer was full of surprises. (In reality Arthur just mentioned about it when him and Mark were simply texting about casual stuff)

[maxdibert]

Hii I'm a new follower to your blog, but a quick question (this is after I read your 5 most hated Harry Potter characters, and I agree mostly, ESPECIALLY on Dumbledore): what's your opinion on Darco Malfoy?

Just curious...

Hi there! Thanks for following!! ^^

So, let’s talk about Draco. I always tread carefully when it comes to him because I don’t want to romanticize the character, but at the same time, reducing him (as Rowling does) to this über-evil bully feels shallow and shortsighted.

Draco is essentially a James Potter. He’s a rich, spoiled kid whose parents have always given him everything he wanted and treated him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And yes, lots of people claim Lucius was abusive, but I don’t think that’s accurate. Lucius was a classist fanatic with terrible ideas, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a bad parent. Some folks don’t understand that you can be a terrible human being while still treating your kids well. History is full of examples of people who were absolute trash as human beings but were doting parents, and vice versa: people revered for their contributions to peace or human rights but who, behind closed doors, were awful to their families (looking at you, Gandhi and Mother Teresa).

Draco trusted his father to the point that he felt comfortable writing to him and complaining about every minor inconvenience at Hogwarts. That’s not indicative of abusive or neglectful parenting—it’s quite the opposite. It shows a kid so confident in his parents’ support and protection that he doesn’t hesitate to make a fuss over, say, the Saturday meal in the dining hall. Draco, like James, also believes he has the right to pick on certain people based on what identifies them. Draco mocks people for being Gryffindors or Muggle-born, while James bullied Severus for being a Slytherin and having an interest in the Dark Arts. Both of them feel justified within their own moral frameworks to target specific groups. However, one thing we can say in Draco’s favor is that he never publicly stripped anyone or orchestrated a “prank” that nearly got someone killed by a werewolf (that was Sirius but still-)

That said, if there’s one way Draco differs from James, it’s in the political alignment of his parents. But ultimately, it’s the same situation: rich parents fervently instilling a set of values in their upper-class kids who, because of their privilege and never having been told “no,” completely believe in these ideas and stomp over anyone who challenges them. The only difference is that the values James’s parents passed on were “the good ones,” while Draco’s upbringing trained him to be a massive bigot.

Draco is the typical smug, self-satisfied kid from an ultra-conservative family who has never stopped to question those ideas—and why would he? They’re part of his privileged world. He has a comfortable, conflict-free life. His parents love and support him, his friends share the same beliefs, and in his social circle, these ideologies are considered virtuous. Why would he question them? Nothing in his life sets off any alarms. He’s never suffered, and this ideology has never negatively impacted him or his family.

Then Voldemort returns. The chaos in the Department of Mysteries happens, and Lucius falls from grace. Suddenly, Voldemort’s followers aren’t these wealthy, powerful wizards he always thought they were. They’re pawns to a psychopath who severely punishes anyone who becomes useless. That’s when Draco begins to realize this isn’t a game. It’s not something to joke about with his friends or mock other kids over during recess. This is war, and war costs lives. And he’s on the side of a madman who wants him to kill Dumbledore. But Draco doesn’t want to kill Dumbledore. Sure, Dumbledore’s a dick, and maybe he shouldn’t be headmaster because he clearly plays favorites, but just because Draco dislikes him doesn’t mean he wants him dead—let alone that he wants to be the one to do it.

Draco can be nasty, petty, and insufferable, but he’s not a murderer. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, but he has no choice because if he doesn’t, Voldemort will kill him and his family—or worse, kill his family first and then him, just to drive the point home.

Draco never particularly interested me as a character until this moment when he realizes what his ideology truly entails and what it means to follow someone like Voldemort. That’s when he stops being a kid playing at being a dark wizard and starts seeing the real consequences of it—and he doesn’t like what he sees. There’s a big difference between holding certain political ideas and being dragged into a spiral of gratuitous violence. He doesn’t want to be part of it. And I think that makes him incredibly human (despite whatever Rowling might say, because she can eat my ass). It’s something that happens to a lot of kids who grow up in environments like his.

I went to a Catholic school full of kids from ultra-conservative families, and I knew people like Draco. People who, as they grew older, started to realize that the ideas they’d been taught to repeat without much thought could become genuinely dangerous. I don’t think Rowling intended this—because she’s pretty one-dimensional when it comes to aligning her characters into good and bad camps—but what she ended up doing with Draco in the end was turning him from a caricature of a bratty bully into a painfully realistic character.

I have a lot of compassion for Draco. He learned his lesson the hard way. But honestly? That’s fine. He needed a reality check, and he got one.

[lightlycareless]

Do you think Naoya and his brothers feel a slight resentment in the change of Naobito’s behavior towards Naohime when compared to raising them? While Naobito is certainly not Grandpa of the Year, I’m sure his behavior is a significant improvement to how he raised his own. So I’m curious if they’d hold some anger towards him or Naohime(I doubt Naoya would but I think he’s feelings might be complicated) since it shows Naobito had the capability to be better but wasn’t? Or do they think that Naohime is just a Naobito whisperer Lol

Now isn’t this an interesting ask? This is a can of worms I feared opening because it might put some of Naoya’s relatives in a bad light but hey, that’s just how some families work haha.

Anyways, I won’t say much here, everything will be either on the actual post or afterwards :> I hope you enjoy my analysis of the situation!!

Warnings: none. Difficult family dynamics.

I would love to say that all of the Nao-siblings are responsible, mature adults when it comes to their feelings but let's be real, when Naohime comes along that’s when the real issues with their nephews begin.

Sure, they always considered them to be quite spoiled from Naoya’s willingness to give them whatever they want, followed by having an actual mother that cares for them, to finally, how they don’t seem to go through the same suffering they did when growing up around people like the Zen’in. (You defend them, Naoya is somewhat softer when training them, etc)

They don’t like the whole dynamic around your family…

BUT Naohime just takes it to a whole ‘nother level. At the intervention of Naobito, they finally realize that what they felt upon seeing your family… might’ve been akin to jealousy. It’s just that Naoya gets to experience that as well this time around.

However, the worst part of it is that nobody really expresses their sentiments, so they kind of just continue to grow bottled up inside them—and you don’t blame them. It’s the first time they get to see Naobito being… well, an actual human being and not the monster they grew up to fear and avoid, so they just don’t know how to process it.

Naofumi kind of gives you hints about their current turmoil, or at least that what affects those present at the estate—I dare say Naosuke and Naohito couldn’t care less about this because they’ve moved on, really. They’re rarely home anyways. And truth to be told, when they’re told about Naobito’s and Naohime’s relationship, they don’t really believe it— but outside of that, he’s used to never being up to anyone’s expectations so there’s no difference now :’(.

Naohiko is very vocal about it too, always complaining about how the old man “now has a heart” and how “ridiculous he looks” acting like that. He blames it to old age, that he’s growing senile, or he’s finally lost it, but…. Well, he won’t do anything outside that. Like Naofumi, he’s accustomed to never being to anyone’s expectations. Dare say, he probably has children too at this point, so he can’t bother himself to care about other kids that aren’t his.

Naoaki and Naoya though… they take it the worst.

Naoya is conflicted in the sense that he’s happy that finally one of his kids appear to be of his father’s approval (he’ll never admit it, but he’s unfortunately cursed to always seek his approval, one way or the other.) it’s just that… he never expected to see that kind of behavior coming from him. For the longest time, he believed it was too ingrained in Naobito’s DNA to be evil… alongside the eternal questioning of “what does Naohime have that I don’t to earn that kind of treatment?”

He eventually overcomes this when Naohime reassures him of being the best father ever (it’s a type of “Father adores Naohime, but Naohime adores me, so take that!!), because to him being a good father is much more important than being a good son (at least to someone like Naobito.) and besides, to compare himself to Naobito is… his worst nightmare haha. But all possible thanks to your and the kid’s support ♥️.

Naoaki… yeah, he’s the worst. He effectively hates Naohime, unjustifiably, but he couldn’t hate Naobito more so he has to take it out somehow, you know?

Now, he won’t do anything outrageous, but… he’ll try to diminish her achievements, make her feel guilty about what she does or doesn’t do, and most importantly, project his own insecurities onto her, like comparing her to her siblings. Naoaki genuinely believes she doesn’t deserve all that she gets, thinks that he's worked harder and such. Kind of a “I spent my whole life training to try to appease my father, and this kid is just born and suddenly she’s all he’s ever wanted?”

But by that point Naoya is the leader of the clan so if anything happens he’ll make sure to take the necessary measures to protect his family, though I think that Naoaki would rather live anywhere else than be under the control of his brother. So, kind of like Naosuke and Naohito.

Naohime is quite a spoiled kid, but nonetheless, she’s equally loved by you and Naoya, and Naobito, it seems haha. You really did come to change the Zen’in estate for good 😭😂.

TLDR: Naoya is a bit conflicted but eventually surpasses this situation because he loves Naohime too much to let such petty things bother him. (It took YEARS to get this mature version of Naoya OOF worth it) Naoaki already disliked everything that had to do with you and Naoya so now this is just— great lol. He’ll avoid Naohime most of the time… unless Naobito inspires her to mock him 💀

There you have it :> what I believe their thoughts would be regarding Naohime’s odd relationship with Naobito. They for sure think she’s some kind of Naobito-whisperer lol and those bold enough might use that to their advantage (like get favors and such, very bad influences indeed) but I also believe it doesn’t really matter since I envision that by the time she’s around Naoya is effectively clan leader. It’s a miracle that Naobito is still around by that point lol.

I hope you enjoyed my short analysis, and you don’t know how happy it makes me to read that y’all are interested in my other characters 😭!!!! It’s the highest compliment I could get, so thank you so much for sending in this ask 🥺♥️

Take care and hope to see you soon!!

[usoinked]

🥀Metal and Roses🌸

Summary: Rhea Ripley and Tiffany Stratton couldn’t be any more different. There was a tough, dark-haired Aussie with an edge, exudes raw strength and had a no-nonsense attitude. Then there was a blonde beauty with a glamorous, spoiled persona, lived for the spotlight and wasn’t afraid to show it. The two women clashed from the moment they crossed paths with their contrasting personalities and aesthetics making it seem like they could never coexist. But when night of unexpected chemistry forces them to face their differences—we start to see what may lie beneath the surface of both of them 👀🥀🌸

CW: Smut, Explicit Language, Sexual Tension, 18+ MDNI

Enjoy! 😈🖤

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As she stared into the mirror, she remembered that Rhea was supposed to be coming over soon. The two of them had to go over their plans for tomorrow night on Raw, considering they were now a tag team, set to face Liv Morgan and Raquel Rodríguez. Tiffany was still fuming from Friday—Liv had attacked her from behind, all because Tiffany had taken her sweet time deciding who she would crash the next Pay-Per-View with. Liv thought it would be cute to get a little revenge, so she asked Adam Pearce for a match against Tiffany. But, of course, Liv needed a partner for the match. And who else could stand to have issues with Liv more than Rhea Ripley? That’s how they ended up here.

Tiffany finished slipping her Dior jacket on, just as a knock echoed at the door. She hesitated for a second, already knowing who it was. She got up, walking over and opening the door with a quick flick of her wrist. “Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t think you’d actually bother to show up,” Tiffany teased, putting her hands on her hips.

Rhea gave a sarcastic roll of her eyes, propping herself up with one arm against the door, an annoyed look painted on her face, though she forced a brief, fake smile. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you think, princess.” She lifted her chin slightly. “This won’t take long. Can I come in or not?”

Tiffany stepped aside, letting Rhea into the room, closing the door behind her. “Since we’re partners now for this tag match, I think we should go over some strategy—” Tiffany started, but was quickly cut off by Rhea, who shot her a sharp look, holding up a finger.

Rhea’s voice was firm as she shook her head. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t follow rules, and I sure as hell don’t need your help to take out Liv and Raquel. The way we’re gonna win this match is by you staying out of my way, and letting me do what I do best—rip Liv and Raquel to pieces.”

Tiffany raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over her chest. “That’s not how a team works. You’re not doing this alone y’know. Liv attacked me on Smackdown too, and I want to get my hands on her just as much as you do. I might not be the muscle here, but I’m Ms. Money in the Bank for a reason, so you don’t get to tell me what to do. If you want to take down Liv and Raquel, we’re doing it together. That’s why we’re tag partners, hello?”

Rhea clicked her tongue, a smirk forming on her lips. “I don’t need you to help me, Tiffany. Your job is to stay on the sidelines, play with those curls of yours, and look pretty while I handle business in the ring. That’s it.”

Tiffany couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the fact that Rhea had acknowledged her looks. “First off, thanks for the compliment,” she said with a wink. “But second off? Rude.” She pouted dramatically, arms still crossed. “I know I’m pretty, but that’s exactly why you need me. Hello? How else are you gonna get the prettiest moonsault ever if I’m not there. I’m known for that by the way.” She bragged.

Rhea rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop herself from letting out a quiet laugh. There was something about Tiffany’s cocky yet playful energy that amused her. She wasn’t sure how, but the blonde had a way of making her smile—even if it was against her will.

Tiffany shot her a sly grin, her eyes glimmering with a challenge. “Trust me, you need me more than you think. That’s why we need to go over strategy for this match.” She said before walking over to the bed and sitting down crossing her legs. “Come on, we can’t win if you just stand there.”

Rhea just looked at Tiffany a moment before pinching the bridges of her nose reluctantly sitting down. “Fine, make it quick.”

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

In the ring, Rhea gripped Liv by her hair, a wicked grin on her face as she slammed her into the mat causing Liv to let out a cry. “Aww, Liv, cry me a river,” she taunted, watching as Liv flailed on the mat.

Tiffany, eager to get into the match, bounced on the apron, hands outstretched. “Tag me in!” she shouted, her voice full of anticipation. Rhea glanced at her briefly, but she was too focused on keeping Liv under control. Finally, with a sigh of exasperation, Rhea reached over and slapped Tiffany’s hand, tagging her into the match.

Tiffany entered with a burst of energy, immediately going after Liv. But just as she was getting into her rhythm, Liv immediately crawled over to Raquel who then tagged herself in. The powerhouse slowly entered the ring before her and Tiffany circled each other a few times before charging at the blonde, throwing her weight into a brutal shoulder block that sent Tiffany stumbling back.

Raquel wasn’t about to give Tiffany a moment to breathe. She threw a series of punishing strikes, forcing Tiffany into the corner. Tiffany tried to fight back, landing a quick kick to Raquel’s midsection, but Raquel was relentless, lifting her up and slamming her back into the turnbuckles with a devastating Irish whip.

Tiffany staggered, trying to regain her footing, but Raquel was already on her, catching her with a big clothesline that instantly took her off her feet. Tiffany groaned in pain as Raquel’s strength was overwhelming.

“Tiff! Get up!” Rhea shouted as she slammed her foot down on the steel steps.

She struggled before shouting back, “I’m trying!” as she gave Raquel a massive kick to the mid section as the woman attempted to pick her up, trying to buy herself some time before she was ultimately struck in the face sending her back down to the mat.

The match was greuling, Rhea was tagged back in eventually but not before witnessing Tiffany go through a cruel state of affairs with Raquel. By this time though, Liv was tagged back in as well and Rhea took her opportunity to implement her favorite strategy of them all. Brutality of course.

As Rhea dominated Liv in the ring, her strength overwhelming her opponent, she finally hit a successful Riptide, planting Liv hard on the mat. Just as Rhea was about to go for the three-count, Raquel, who had been outside the ring, slid back in and broke up the pin with a brutal kick to Rhea’s back.

The referee immediately signaled for Raquel to return to her corner, but the damage had already been done. Tiffany, having regained her composure after a brief break, slid into the ring, charging at Raquel and delivering a devastating dropkick that sent her flying out of the ring.

With Raquel temporarily taken out of the equation, Tiffany didn’t hesitate. She hopped onto the second rope, then quickly ascended to the top, launching herself into the air and connecting with a picture-perfect moonsault onto Liv, who was still reeling from Rhea’s earlier assault. Tiffany quickly rolled out of the way, landing on her feet as Liv remained sprawled on the mat.

With Liv unable to recover in time, Rhea wasted no time going for the pretzel pin as the referee slid into position, counting—one, two, three.

The bell rang, signaling the win for Rhea and Tiffany as Rhea’s theme roared in the background. As the crowd erupted in cheers, the two women exchanged a long glance, their tension momentarily forgotten as they stood victorious in the ring.

“You actually didn’t get yourself pinned, princess,” Rhea muttered, walking toward Tiffany, who was staring as she stood up holding her stomach. Tiffany took a long look at Liv remembering that she had her briefcase, with Raquel out of the ring, her mind had an impulsive thought. She ignored Rhea’s comment actually leaving the ring making her way to the time keepers area grabbing her briefcase staring at it longingly before looking back up at Rhea who looked completely serious.

“Don’t you even think about it. You cash that in and Liv and Raquel will be the least of your worries, you’ll have me to deal with.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, I can cash this in when I want and wherever I want” she shot back before clutching onto her pink briefcase and starting to walk away from Rhea but still holding eye contact.

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Tiffany had slipped back into her hotel room, her hair styled in an elegant curled bun. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to shake it off, her mind kept drifting back to Rhea and the ominous threat she’d made. Hmph, we’ll see about that. Just then, a loud knock at the door jolted her back to reality, making her jump slightly. With a mix of annoyance and curiosity, she opened the door wide. “Can you knock any harder?”

Rhea stood there with a cunning smile. “I can do a lot of things harder, want an example?”

Tiffany scoffed. “No, what I want is an explanation for why you’re even here. We don’t have anything left to discuss, and we won, so shouldn’t you be happy or celebrating?”

“This is my happy face,” Rhea shot back, her grin fading into a fierce glare. “But I’m here to warn you. We may have been partners tonight, but make no mistake—you’re still my enemy because of that.” She gestured toward the pink briefcase sitting on the hotel desk. “My business with Liv Morgan has turned personal. I'd hate for you to interfere because you’re really beautiful, and if you want to keep your face that way, I suggest you turn your attention to Nia Jax instead.”

“Excuse me? While I appreciate the compliment, you don’t get to tell me what to do. As Ms. Money in the Bank, I do whatever I want and when I want. I don’t need your permission. I made my point with Liv in that tag match, but we both know she isn't finished with either of us. If you can’t take the title from her before I do, that’s just not my problem. Toodles!” Tiffany retorted, attempting to close the door.

Not having any of that, Rhea blocked the door and forcibly stepped inside, slamming it shut and pinning Tiffany against it. “Listen, princess. You can either go back to your Queen looking like the beauty you are, or I can send you back to Smackdown the Rhea Ripley way,” she said, a dangerous but tantalizing smile flashing across her lips.

While the situation had taken a turn for the intense, Tiffany couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and something else entirely. Rhea did look undeniably hot when she was angry. Wait—what am I thinking? This is Rhea Bloody Ripley pinning me against my own hotel room door!

“Attacking me won’t get you anywhere; I’ll still be Ms. Money in the Bank. And if Nia finds out you’re the one behind this, you'll suddenly have four enemies—Liv, Raquel, Nia, and me,” she shot back, a smirk playing on her lips, sensing that she might have turned the tables just a bit.

Rhea’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a fleeting moment, the tension shared between them crackled in the air. “You really think you can intimidate me sweetheart?” she challenged, her voice low and teasing, an insinuation hanging between them as the corners of her lips curled upward into a smile.

Tiffany held Rhea’s gaze, despite her heart pounding. “I’m not trying to intimidate you, I’m just making it clear that I’m not backing down from you…..and I do like a challenge,” she replied, daringly.

“Good,” Rhea said, leaning in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “Because I’d hate to see such beauty go to waste.”

The air was thick with unspoken words and shared defiance. Each heartbeat felt amplified, sending an electric thrill through Tiffany.

She could hardly believe the intensity swirling between them as she was pressed against the door, Rhea’s body looming close, the heat radiating off her skin igniting a series of butterflies in her stomach. The atmosphere was charged, electric, and every breath she took felt heavy with possibility.

“What are you doing?” She managed to breathe out not even knowing why she even asked such a question when there was a very obvious answer.

“If you don’t like it, stop me.” she said, her voice thick with anticipation. There was a challenging glint in her eyes, one that dared Tiffany to back down. But she didn’t. And with that, Rhea reached forward, her hand finding the back of Tiffany’s neck, pulling her in closer as their lips crashed together. The kiss was fierce and unyielding, a mix of passion and urgency that told both women they had been waiting for this moment—fighting against it only to find it irresistible when finally faced with their desires.

The warmth of Rhea's body enveloped her, heightening Tiffany's awareness. Rhea’s lips moved skillfully against hers, igniting a fire deep within as she deepened the kiss, the pressure of their bodies against the door drawing a soft moan from Tiffany’s throat. Rhea’s grip tightened, fingers weaving into Tiffany’s hair, pulling her even closer.

Tiffany responded in kind, her hands dancing across Rhea’s broad shoulders, tasting the intoxicating mix of adrenaline and desire. Rhea felt the same way the blonde did, the taste of bubblegum on her drove Rhea near the point of insanity. She pushed forward, her body craving more, and pressed Rhea back until the other woman stumbled slightly, only for a moment, before righting herself, the playful challenge still gleaming in her eyes.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” Rhea teased, her voice low and sultry as she captured Tiffany’s gaze.

“Only for the right person,” came Tiffany’s breathless reply, feeling emboldened as she slid her hand down Rhea’s arm, feeling the muscle and strength there, before resting her palm on Rhea’s chest.

Rhea's expression shifted, desire etched across her features as she leaned in again, their lips colliding hotly. Tiffany's heart raced as she felt Rhea's hands sweep around her waist, pulling her against the other woman. There was something intoxicating about the danger of their situation, the exhilarating rush of feeling every inch of Rhea’s body pressed against her own.

As their tongues danced, Rhea began to take charge, guiding Tiffany backward until her back hit the edge of the bed. Tiffany gasped but didn’t resist as Rhea pushed her down onto the soft surface, their chemistry crackling with every shared breath.

“Still want to keep going princess?” Rhea asked, her voice a whisper, just above the seductive tension in the air.

“Have I asked you to stop once?” Tiffany replied, her breath quickening with anticipation. Her daring challenge seemed to ignite something primal in Rhea, her expression darkening with desire.

With a swift movement, Rhea hovered over Tiffany, her hands trailing down Tiffany’s sides, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. “You have no idea what you’re in for” Rhea murmured, before crashing their lips together again, her body pressing further against Tiffany, settling between her thighs.

The electric sensation drove Tiffany wild as Rhea’s kisses journeyed down her neck, trailing towards her collarbone. Tiffany arched her back, her body responding eagerly to Rhea’s every touch as she felt Rhea’s skilled hands explore her curves, tugging at the hem of her top.

“Do you want me to take this off?” Rhea asked, gaze flickering up to meet Tiffany’s, seeking permission mixed with playful mischief.

“Only if you promise to show me everything that comes next,” Tiffany pleaded, her heart hammering in her chest.

The intoxicating blend of dominance and submission flowed between them, feeding the fire that burned bright in the chamber. The lines of wrestling both seemingly erased, they were just two women driven by desire, wanting nothing more than to unleash the passion they’d kept hidden until now.

With a wicked grin, Rhea complied, lifting Tiffany's top over her head and tossing it aside, leaving Tiffany feeling exposed yet deliciously free. Rhea took a moment to appreciate the view, her eyes roaming over Tiffany’s body as if committing every detail to memory.

It was a wild, electrifying dance—one that neither was willing to stop as they pushed deeper into the game, teasing and taunting each other in the elaborate choreography of desire. As Rhea continued to explore and possess, Tiffany surrendered completely, ready to embrace every moment.

“Beautiful,” Rhea murmured before dragging her tongue slowly over one of Tiffany’s breasts before letting her tongue ring glide over one of her nipples being sure to take her time relishing in the soft gasps the blonde made. Tiffany slowly spread her legs slightly before gently reaching up and taking a handful of Rhea’s jet black hair into her hands.

The Aussie took that as a hefty invitation before licking over the girls bud once more before fully taking it into her mouth. The only thing that was on Tiffany by this point was her pink thongs that was covering the one thing that would expose her completely. The blonde squirmed in anticipation slightly before Rhea looked up at her smirking seeing how needy she was.

“Someone’s impatient” she said before kissing a path down Tiffany’s torso, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Tiffany, each touch igniting a heat that had been buried under layers of rivalry for far too long. She took the strings of the blonde’s thongs into her teeth before dragging them down to Tiffany’s ankles before sliding them off with ease fully leaving her exposed.

“What’s your safe word princess?” Rhea asked having the most devious smirk in the world on her face. Tiffany glanced down at Rhea’s septum piercing before speaking again. “Uh…Metal?” Rhea could only let out a dark chuckle before raising up the blonde’s legs hoisting them over her shoulders before dragging her tongue slowly through the girls folds causing a soft gasp to erupt from her lips.

Tiffany was tough for sure despite all of that makeup and how obsessed she was with the color pink. But right now, she was currently obsessed with Rhea Ripley who was between her legs. The moans that filled the room was something that Rhea could get use to all day, her voice might’ve been annoying but those moans were everything but that.

“Mmm! S-Shit!” The blonde cried out as she dug her nails deeper into Rhea’s scalp, her legs beginning tremble around the Aussie. She bucked her hips but Rhea’s gaze turned cold as she placed her hand on her lower stomach not only pushing her hips down but making the knot that would slowly come together feel more intense.

Rhea began to twist her tongue in ways Tiffany wasn’t prepared for at all because the moment her tongue ring rolled over the blonde’s clit, that drove her crazy. Sure, Tiffany looked good when she hit Liv with the prettiest moonsault ever in the ring, but she looked fucking perfect being at Rhea’s mercy and squirming around knowing she could go nowhere. The Aussie plunged her tongue deeper as Tiffany began to damn near scream.

Damn. It made sense why Rhea kept sticking her tongue out like that during her entrances or even after giving someone the beating of their life. She sure as hell knew how to use it. Tiffany could forget about the fact that she may freeze up when Rhea comes around after this, later on. Right now she was too busy having the eradicator’s face in between her legs. “R-Right there! Right there! I-I’m gonna c-cum, don’t stop!” She begged doing her best to try and buck her hips but Rhea still wasn’t having any of it. With another slow drag of Rhea’s tongue over her clit, Tiffany threw her head back in between the pillows before letting her toes curl completely as her orgasm hit her like a truck. Her body jolted violently as she gasps for air and rode out her high while her hand was still entangled in Rhea’s hair.

Rhea rolled her tongue over the girl’s clit a few more times loving the jolt of the blondes body before slowly pulling away and crawling back up towards Tiffany before cupping her cheek and engaging in a passionate make out session letting the blonde taste herself in the process. She tasted similar to peaches which was extremely addicting and Rhea couldn’t get enough of it. “You taste just as good as you look” she muttered as she pulled away. Just as she finished though she was caught off guard as Tiffany flipped them both over where she was on top much to Rhea’s surprise.

“You didn’t think you were just gonna make me scream like that and I not at least get a little pay back? You can’t just get away with that” she complained before beginning to remove Rhea’s shirt and matching pajama pants revealing the fact that she had nothing underneath. “You came over here with intentions didn’t you?”

Rhea only offered a devious smirk before speaking. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tiffany huffed in response before taking in the image of Rhea’s tattoos everywhere. As much as she argued with Rhea, she couldn’t deny that this woman was a piece of fucking artwork. Her skin was so soft and Tiffany couldn’t keep her lips off it. The blonde wasted no time planting kisses on Rhea’s inner thighs before licking over Rhea’s clit agonizingly slow keeping eye contact with the Aussie the entire time.

Rhea’s breath hitched as she stared at Tiffany before letting out a soft gasp the moment Tiffany took her pierced nipples in between her fingers. Rhea raised her legs slightly giving Tiffany more room before she took one of her hands and layered it on top of Tiffany’s forcing it away from her left nipple. Her black nails combined with Tiffany’s rose colored ones as they intertwined together connecting in this intense moment even further.

Tiffany licked over Rhea’s clit once more before suddenly attaching her mouth to it like it was a moth drawn to a flame. The blonde didn’t let up letting her tongue swirl and curl every way it could against her clit and her folds shocking Rhea and sending her head back just momentarily.

The soft moans Rhea once had began to turn into cries as she wrapped her other hand around Tiffany’s blonde hair not caring that she was currently making the bun even messier than it already was. Tiffany could scold her for it later, right now she needed the tightness welling up in her stomach to be released. The Aussie bucked her hips against the blondes face and it seemed that Tiffany didn’t mind at all because she was completely glued between Rhea’s legs to the point where she could stay there for as long as she wanted. “F-Fuck! H-Hnngh!” She let out a slew of curses as she felt her orgasm building. “D-Don’t stop princess” she said gripping onto the girl’s bun roughly by this point due to feeling herself getting close and closer to the edge of coming undone.

The low hum Tiffany let out due to the slight bit of sweetness Rhea had to her was enough to cause her to test the waters and plunge her tongue deeper into the woman before her.

SNAP. The knot inside of Rhea became undone immediately as her moans became delayed. Her body jolted with pleasure as her legs trembled before she let out a long exasperated moan and started rolling her hips to drag out her high.

Tiffany crawled back on top of Rhea before they got into another heated tongue battle, returning the same favor earlier letting Rhea taste herself in the process. As she slowly pulled away, Tiffany felt Rhea tug on some of her locks which made the corners of her lips turn upward.

“So Rhea, still think my voice is annoying?”

Rhea rolled her eyes a bit. “If you keep using it to do more of that and less talking, I might consider taking it back.” She said before getting up and heading to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The blonde followed close behind figuring that it would be better if they showered together anyway considering the events that just took place. 😏

After the intensity of the night and a nice warm shower to accompany it, the two of them found themselves lying side by side in Tiffany’s hotel bed, the soft hum of the city outside and the TV inside barely audible. Rhea stretched out beside Tiffany, her body still warm from the closeness, and pulled the blanket over them both.

Tiffany shifted closer, resting her head on Rhea’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest. Rhea wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as Tiffany nestled against her side. The silence between them was peaceful and comfortable.

“You’re not…so bad” Tiffany whispered, her voice soft, teasing just a little.

Rhea chuckled, her fingers gently brushing through Tiffany’s hair. “I could say the same about you beautiful” she replied, her voice low and full of affection.

Tiffany let out a content sigh, her hand resting over Rhea’s, their fingers intertwining naturally. “You’re actually staying?” she murmured.

Rhea smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Tiffany’s forehead before letting her gaze meet the blonde’s. “After what happened tonight, why wouldn’t I?”

Tiffany’s lips curled into a soft smile as she gazed up at Rhea, her chest still rising and falling in the comfort of the moment. “You seem like the type to leave afterwards.” She shrugged.

Rhea’s smile deepened, her fingers gently tracing the back of Tiffany’s hand. “When something feels this good, you don’t walk away.” she said, her tone steady and reassuring before leaning down and pressing another soft kiss to Tiffany’s forehead before resting her head beside hers.

And with that, the two of them drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other’s warmth, the outside world fading away as they shared a quiet, perfect moment 🖤

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Note: Hi! I hope y’all enjoyed this and I’m sorry if the smut wasn’t that good! I was getting super flustered while writing it 😅😀

Another Note: Also I didn’t proofread this fully so I’m sorry if there’s any errors 😭

[red1ight]

best of wickie roy season 3

[imtrashraccoon]

I want to post more headcanons and just stuff in general, so here are my headcanons for Dream and Nightmare as well as their backstory for The Nightmare of Apathy.

Dreamtale belongs to jokublog. I just really like these characters and wanted to do something unique for them.

The Guardian of Feelings

Once there was a goddess of all the feelings in existence. She was called Nim and her role was to safe guard the emotions of mortals. Despite being a vital player in the multiverse, very few mortals knew or even cared about her existence. She was desperately lonely and longed for the company of someone who could understand her ways as a god.

This led her to create two new guardians, which she named Dream and Nightmare. Unfortunately, the process of creating and finding appropriately shaped vessels to contain their magic took a lot of Nim's own energy. So, as her last act as The Guardian of Feelings, she created a special tree and entered into it to rest. This tree became the Tree of Feelings and the twins home for the next few years.

The Tree of Feelings

With the last of Nim's energy, the tree began to bear fruit in the form of magical apples. These apples represented both positive and negative emotions, meaning for the first time, emotions were divided into two types.

The golden yellow apples represented positivity and Dream was tasked with keeping them. They had the capacity to rapidly heal injuries at the risk of side effects later on and provided instant relief for any overwhelming negative emotions. Eating even one bite would flood the consumer's mind and soul with positive emotions, however if too much is eaten at once, it can become dangerous.

The black iridescent apples represented negativity and Nightmare was tasked with keeping them. They had the capacity to heal injuries at a slower but more effective rate and provided instant relief for any overwhelming positive emotions. Eating even one bite would flood the consumer's mind and soul with negative emotions, eating too much at once is also dangerous.

Still, the key was balance and the twin guardians were tasked to distribute the apples among anyone in need as they saw fit. For the first few years, this was no issue as not many mortals knew about the Tree of Feelings, but eventually a village was established nearby.

The Twins

While the twins were sort of like blank slates at first, the more they interacted with mortals, the more they began to develop into their own individuals.

Dream became bubbly and enthusiastic over the smallest things. He dressed in bright colours and did his best to endear himself to the villagers. He easily made friends and quickly became the favourite guardian, especially because the golden apples were more pleasant to consume.

Nightmare became more reserved and almost shy around large crowds of people. He dressed in more muted colours and while he tried to make friends with the villagers, they hated him and the black apples because of how awful they felt when eating them.

The End

As the years passed, discontentment began to take root in many of the villager's souls. They began to believe that only positive emotions should exist since what use did negativity have? The twin guardians were pretty much inseparable from each other and took their duties to guard the tree seriously.

However, one day, Dream was lured away and tricked to eat a golden apple. The resulting surge of positive emotions and power was thrilling for the young guardian. Some of the villagers began encouraging him to consume more of them since it seemed to benefit him and they secretly wanted him to become more powerful than his brother.

At first, Dream resisted and didn't eat any more apples, since he knew they were dangerous to consume in large amounts. Besides, Nim would've wanted them to be given to those who needed it, not kept to himself.

Eventually, he began to eat more since the extra power felt good and his body began to change with each apple he ate. (He was probably pressured into it by the villagers as well.) His pale eyelights turned bright yellow and his bones began to almost glow gold. He even started to get gold markings along his ribs and limbs.

Nightmare knew something was wrong when Dream began acting more distant and spending a lot more time with the villagers. He also grew concerned when the golden apples began to grow more numerous compared to the black ones and that his brother's appearance had changed.

He confronted his brother but Dream had become drunk on power and brushed him off. With Dream distracted, some of the villagers attacked Nightmare and nearly killed him. In desperation, Nightmare ate some of the black apples and gained enough power to defend himself from them.

The negative emotions from the black apples quickly overwhelmed him and he began to eat more, spiralling further. Every negative emotion he'd been holding in from his interactions with the villagers spilled out and he turned his attention to the village itself.

Dream was horrified when his brother began attacking and killing people with little regard. He tried to get him to stop but soon had to step in physically. The twins fought but it quickly became apparent that Nightmare had the upper hand.

Before Nightmare could kill his own brother, Nim managed to freeze the skeleton in stone to protect him. Nightmare continued his rampage until the Tree of Feelings was felled by a villager who had hoped it would bring the violence to an end.

When Nightmare came to his senses, he realized that everyone was dead. His brother was frozen in stone, possibly dead, and his mother the tree was dead too. He didn't know what to do and he stayed in the area for a while to grieve. He eventually left and began to travel the multiverse. He was barely twelve at the time.

Eternal Darkness: Minor Spoilers for TNA!

At some point, years later, Nightmare discovered a particular universe. The people were simple and they seemed to think that he was a god. Nightmare decided to have a new start. If people saw him as a deity, who was he to disappoint them? He couldn't be a benevolent ruler, even if he had wanted to.

Nightmare laid waste to the world. He destroyed villages, infrastructure, and livelihoods. He killed close to half the population and by the time he was done, the world was steeped in negativity.

His overwhelming negative aura had an effect on the environment and Nightmare purposely extinguished the sun. The moon and stars became the only light for the remaining denizens. The flora and fauna adapted and changed to suit the new darkness.

Nightmare went out of his way to destroy anything that referenced the sun and set himself up as reigning Lord over everyone. He had a castle constructed and demanded taxes from the remaining population. He ruled through fear for the next five hundred or so years, until Dream broke out of the stone.

Dream looked for his brother but couldn't find him in the remnants of their old world, so he turned his attention to the multiverse. For a little while, the former guardians were able to coexist without running into the other. Dream grew up quickly due to the golden apples' lingering power but his mental and emotional state was still stunted.

Dream began to help people and made several friends like Blue and Ink. This helped him mature some but Nightmare still had much more world experience over him.

Eventually, they met each other and while both were shocked to see the other alive, they weren't happy to see the other either. Nightmare was hit with a wave of emotions he had long since buried and was hesitant to fight. Although, the memories were still fresh in Dream's mind, he immediately tried to attack Nightmare, forcing him to defend himself.

The brothers had several more conflicts for the next couple of years. They never did sit down and try to properly discuss things, as both were too angry and proud. Until, Dream finally got fed up and recruited some friends to attempt to finish Nightmare once and for all. In doing so, both brothers were seriously wounded but managed to survive. Nightmare retreated back to his world to recover and a month later, met Aylin for the first time.

[marchsage]

aftermath

[pigeonxp]

i cant believe there are people who watch 911 who dont think that eddie is gay/is going to come out inevitably.

[kingdomoftyto]

October this year has felt kind of vague and adrift for me, no real festive spirit to speak of--or at least nowhere near how last year felt, when it was Year of the Vampire and all.

BUT I am remedying that now with a combined pincer attack of 1) relistening to Night Vale from the beginning on my commute to work and 2) rereading Warm Bodies on my breaks/in my spare time. Things are getting increasingly spooky up in here

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[kamitv]

Higuruma’s the kinda guy that has no idea how the hell he pulled you so every time your eyes linger on him a little bit too long, he gets nervous as fuck. Sweat will trickle down the back of his neck and he gulps loudly enough for you to hear it, to which you start smiling at him.

Those wide-set eyes of his carefully drag back over to you and he notices the way you’re staring at his nose. You always gush about how much you love that part of his face and ever since then he can’t control the twitch beneath his slacks as he replays exactly why you love his nose so much in his head.

And hey, it’s no help that you’re sitting right on top of him right now. Your manicured nails that he paid for grazing all over his skin, touching his neck, his jawline, and soon his face too. Then you lean in and kiss the bridge of his nose so softly that it makes him grunt.

“You’re so perfect Hiromi,” You’d hush out to him in that tone you know drives him craze.

Higuruma is left slouching further back into the couch and spreading his legs further apart with a not-so-subtle roll of his hips upwards against you. “Please. That’s all you, sweetheart.” He tries to play it off as if he’s not complete putty in your hands but lord knows when you start trailing your touch down his breath his hitching in his throat.

You smile—a sight he can never get enough of, truly. “Take the compliment, Hiro. I’m bein’ serious…” Your fingers are wrapping around his tie now and his eyelids are all low on you.

Still trying to play it off, this time with a chuckle, he hums. “…Thank you, love.” He’s such a gentleman too, all easygoing and relaxed for you.

Which says a lot considering the kind of man he becomes while he’s fucking you.

Higuruma isn’t exactly mean, nor is he much of a talker during sex but… His cock damn sure says a lot as he later fucks up into you just to hear those sweet praises you give him.

You just love complimenting your man and he loves being complimented—honestly the perfect match for each other.

Every moan of his name that leaves your lips only drive him deeper and deeper inside you. He’s so stupidly in love with you and most times it shows through sex instead of words. Despite how he’ll have you bouncing up and down on his left curved cock for hours, this is the most passion you’ll get from the overworked man.

And when he does open his mouth to speak, your cunt is fluttering around his thick head. Whispering a crisply husk utterance of, “Fuck. Ride me, love. Ride me juuus’ like that. Y-Yeahhh. Shit. Love these fuckin’ hips, don’t stop movin’ ‘em.”

Your moaning grows louder by the second and he’s guiding you up and down his dick, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every perfect slam of your ass down onto him. His groans are so deep that they practically bounce off of the walls of your living room, leading you to clamp around him tighter than before.

Higuruma especially loves your nails for some reason. He can’t get enough of how they feel ghosting his skin every time you move your arms or whenever you move to grab ahold of his face and lean down to kiss him. That’s why he’s always paying for them (even though he secretly loves spoiling you too).

Then, when you get a bit more confident and slip your hands down to hold onto his arms, he groans again. His grip on your hips would tighten and there’s just one wet plop after another while you ride him in earnest.

Which is what prompts filthy words to pour out of his mouth like, “Uhuh, fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl. C’mon, you can do it. Make yourself feel good. Use me baby, use me.”

Again, he’s not much of a talker but sometimes you cause the words to just spill from his lips. While he’s spewing filth out to you, you’re getting closer and closer to a messy release. It’s right as you’re about to cum that he demands you look him in the eyes (no matter the position) so that he can watch them gloss over as you cum all around his girthy cock.

You look so fucking gorgeous when you come undone too—it’s a sight Higuruma simply can’t get enough of. Half the time, he ends up fucking his cum up into you just because of that look alone. You wouldn’t even be able to move or run from his deep thrusts, feeling every inch of his carry against your walls until his cum is fucked all the way in to the point that it’s dribbling out of you.

It’s messy but, he loves it. He loves you. And even after sex, he still doesn’t understand how the hell he’s managed to bag a beautiful woman such as yourself…

[stringsbasement]

ngl i 100% thought peri would be an antagonist

he's the first fairy in thousands of years, born directly under the lineage of what has to be the most powerful fairy family line in current existence

(cosmo is a von strangle, and also the very reason fairies stopped having babies in the first place. he's incredibly powerful and nobody talks about it for some reason. it's clear peri inherited that destructive potential)

the second he was born, entire fairy species (including his own kin) were out to get him to use his volatile magic for their own selfish goals. he's nearly kidnapped thrice, and almost ends the universe on the same day

the threats keep coming, and he's being dragged to countless adventures that put him at risk. he literally ceases to exist more than once

anyway, i wouldn't be surprised if some form of expectations were placed upon him growing up. maybe not by his family, but he's famous (a teacher described him as such once); in fairy world, he's automatically adored and celebrated by adults and peers alike, which foop antagonizes (and tries to kill) him for

cosmo and wanda would, realistically, of course try to shield him from all this, but no matter what they do, he's inevitably isolated

people either want to use him, put him on a pedestal, or is a universally infamous human godchild who will forget all about him in a matter of years

(cosmo and wanda becoming godparents and learning (choosing) to eventually let go of their kids is one thing, but it can be assumed poof was still a young, underdeveloped child by the time timmy (+chloe, for what it's worth) got his memories wiped

and he sees that timmy's able to live his own happy life without him in it. he lost his brother just like that, and there's nothing he can do despite all his godly powers)

there's so, so many ways he could've gone wrong

thus, my initial thought was that peri was going to be a somewhat petty, "spoiled brat," and him becoming a godparent would be the result of spite or rebellion, which cosmo and wanda would feel entirely responsible for. I HATE MY PARENTS!! yada yada yada

it was a pleasant surprise to see all those clips of them loving each other. and it's not even because i doubted for a second that cosmo and wanda are bad parents, it's just what you usually expect when seeing shows from the 2000s, even if it doesn't make sense

all things considered, i'm very glad they went for the lighthearted silly family trope. not every show needs such conflicts, and showing healthy dynamics are better for kids overall

still, i find it interesting to think about if they'd gone down another route instead. i love me a pathetic cringy villain who tries (fails) to hate the people they love the most

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)