#lace wig grip

[comatosebunny09]

backstage performance | sylus q.

— cw: female!reader, dancer!reader, lap dance, pole dancing, thigh riding, pet names, smutty things, pretend the reader’s wearing an expensive-ass lace front wig, shower sex, explicit language, praise kink, voice kink, aftercare, mdni — wc: ~2k — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — tagging: @world-of-hearts because they always entertain my madness. — now playing: don't worry about it - clara la san

One performance ends, freeing you up for another, more important gig. 

A smile rounds your lips as your audience erupts into a series of whoops and whistles. It’s almost deafening, their praise. 

The stage lights overwhelm your vision as people applaud you, some swiping at the stage to touch you. Everyone wants a chance at you—a taste of Lux’s main attraction. It’s flattering, but this isn’t the attention you seek tonight. It’s merely a preemptive strike for the grand finale.  

You duck backstage after wiping your pole clean. Sweep hair from your face, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. A member of the backstage crew appears behind you to drape your shoulders in a fur coat. You wave her off, giving her an omniscient look as you shrug away from it. 

Her smile is cute, bashfulness swelling her cheeks. She knows what’s amiss—or about to be—bringing you a bottle of water instead. You gratefully accept, the crisp liquid a welcomed reprieve, cooling your insides. You thank her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

You dip into one of the club’s many winding hallways, bathed in the red lighting cast from overhead, skin shining with body glitter. Your heels click against the floor, accompanied by the dull throb of music playing throughout Lux’s halls. 

You reach your destination, your heart racing as you push through the swinging door leading to a quiet, tucked-away room.

Despite how long you’ve done this, you always get the pre-dance jitters, specifically when putting on a show for him. So, you tamp down your inhibitions as he comes into sight, a shock of white hair arresting your vision through the crimson hue of the private room. 

He looks up when you near him to get to your new stage, that customary smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sits back in an easy slouch in the leather armchair, watching you with half-slit eyes and a muted smugness that sets your body alight.

You haul yourself onto the raised platform using the pole, an effortless display of your flexibility and strength. If at all possible, his smirk grows tenfold. He shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking when he grips the arms with long, slender fingers. He’s settled in for the long haul; your private shows never disappoint.

Whatever kind of day he’s had, you want to ease the tense set of his shoulders. Erase the lines forming between his brows despite the mask of nonchalance he dons. His negotiations must’ve gone south.

Music spills from the speakers in the form of soft crooning over a chill beat. It assuages your nerves a little, prompting you to begin your show. 

You grow more confident as the seconds pass. Warm up a little, grinding your ass against the pole, thighs spread wide whilst you simulate grinding on him. 

He watches you with quiet reverence, mouth slightly open. His gaze always drifts back to yours as you entice him with the salacious wind of your body. The attention makes your throat grow dry. You’ve danced for him many times before, yet it always feels like the first when he looks at you like that. Like you’re something to be devoured, bones licked clean.

You pull out all the stops once you mount the pole, sprinkling in your favorite tricks, guided by the music and the hungry wash of scarlet watching in your peripheral. You spin here, flourish your fingers there. Smooth your hands over the contours of your body, playing up your allure. 

At some point, you end up on the floor propped on your elbows, the stage glacial beneath your bum. You cross your ankles and flex your feet. Splay your legs wide and jiggle your thighs. Spin each leg in a rehearsed fashion before clapping your heels together, the sound commanding in the stilled space. 

From there, you maneuver yourself into a split, isolating your cheek muscles to twerk your ass. You couple it with a sultry look at the object of your desires, and he lifts a brow, clearly enjoying the show. 

You ease onto your knees, gyrating your hips whilst combing your fingers through your hair. You flatten against the floor onto your palms, crawling toward him with the finesse of a prowling feline. He sits up to meet you halfway, and his eyes track to your lips when you tug at the collar of his shirt, drawing your chests together. 

“How did your meeting go,” you ask in a vain attempt at small talk. His breath is hot, sifting through your lashes as he slowly exhales. It’s dizzying, being so close. Smelling him, feeling the heat radiating off his skin, studying the pucker of his lips.

His lips graze yours with the tease of a kiss. “Flawlessly.” You taste the double entendre.

“That well, huh?” He helps you dismount the stage with wide palms clasped around your waist, drawing you into his lap. The air is pinched from your lungs when you bounce on his thighs from the motion, his need for you hot and weighted against your inner thigh. 

“Sure,” he says, hands making several expeditions over your sides, stomach, and the small of your back. He doesn’t want to talk business when such a delicious spread is laid out before him. You can’t blame him.

You decide not to pursue the conversation, instead raking your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He groans something guttural and appreciative. It’s amusing watching the big, bad Boogeyman fall apart in your hands. Baring a side of himself he reserves only for you.

You try to get up to finish your performance, but he snatches you back onto his lap, a warning brewing in the gleam of his scarlet eyes. 

You chuckle, admiring the scowl-turned-pout that descends on his lips. “Will you ever let me finish a dance?”

“Someday,” he counters, lazily studying your features. Smiles. ��For now, why don’t you take five? Or ten? Or perhaps, twenty…”

You roll your eyes, draping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. It’s a brief, sticky union. Quick pecks evolve into something more heated, more possessive whilst he moors you to his lap, pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

It’s a greedy exchange, his tongue seeking out yours, stealing your breath from your lungs sip by sip. It’s enough to make your head spin, the apex of your thighs throbbing with anticipation against the stitching of his trousers. 

Deft fingers tiptoe up your back, grabbing the zipper of your bodysuit. He pulls back momentarily to watch your expression as he sluggishly draws the zipper down. Quietly gives you an out in case you’re not in the mood for this. Always so considerate, even whilst in the throes of passion.

You say nothing, instead gathering his cheeks in your palms once he’s freed you of the tug of your costume. He bunches your bodysuit around your hips, wrapping virile arms around your middle to keep you fastened to him. He peels back to smooth his palms over the sides of your ribs, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He’s insatiable, like he’ll never see you again, emblazoning the feel of your body into his memories forever.

Reluctantly, he tears away from the hot suction of your mouth to nip at your neck. Your lips part with a sigh-turned-breathy laugh, and you crane your neck back to grant him more access. The worn pads of his thumbs ease over the swell of your tits, find your nipples. He ducks to lick one into his mouth, paying the same homage to the other until they’re ramrod stiff and sensitive.

Unconsciously, you grind against his thigh, the rough material of his slacks bumping against your clit just right, sending delightful shockwaves throughout your body.

“That’s it,” he croons, molding a hand around your ass to encourage you. Sighs hot and open-mouthed against your hinged open mouth. “Ride me. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

The low gravel of his voice spurs you on. You glide your sticky, clothed cunt over his quad, and he squeezes your ass in one hand whilst kneading your breast in the other, drawing your nipple back into his mouth. 

“Fuck me, baby,” he urges on a strained groan. “Take what you want from me. Use me, sweetheart.” 

You do as he pleads, clinging to him whilst you seek your pleasure through the sluggish grind of your hips. You pant in unison, his palms perched on your hips, encouraging you to ride his thigh faster. He sucks on your neck, breathing obscenities and praise against your skin, pushing you further towards that edge of that blissful void.

“Fuck me. Take me. So good. Such a pretty girl. Cum for me. Want you to. So, so badly.”

Your ragged breaths progress into loud, bitten-off moans of his name. Your hips stutter as the world slides into white. Your orgasm spills through you like a warm liquid pooling in the chasm of your belly, your nails scraping over the nape of his neck. He holds you as you shake and whimper. Paints the sweetest words against your slick neck, encouraging you to come down from the clouds.

You curl into him as the last vestiges of your peak ripple through you, willing your breaths to even out. He eases soothing hands over your body, your thighs. Slides gentle fingers under your chin, luring you into a kiss that’s sweet and coaxing.

He’s patient as you finally come down. Chuckles low in his throat, thinking you’re just the sweetest thing. Your cheeks prickle with warmth as realization slams into you. You peer into his eyes when his girth brushes against your swelling sex. His gaze is mirthful, knowing.

Your mouth trembles around words. He didn’t get his. He traps the question in your mouth with another kiss, the loud click of your mouths parting making you heady once more. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of me later,” he rasps. Your belly swoops at the implications. At the tenderness. The fragility in his smile, the affection blooming in his gaze. “In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up.” He is, of course, referencing the sweat and glitter still clinging to your skin from your show before this one.

You nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder when he lifts you into his arms bridal style. Soundless, he walks you out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. You’re bare from the waist up, your nipples puckering beneath the cool rush of air as he maneuvers you through the hall. But you’re not all ashamed, knowing no one frequents this side of the club as much as you do.

He cradles you to him like you’re made of porcelain. Doesn’t set you down even when the elevator pings at the top floor, emptying the pair of you into his penthouse. 

A bout of exhaustion washes over you. Maybe you were more exhausted than you let on. He chuckles something fond, glancing at you as he carries you to his en suite bathroom.

He takes his time divesting you of your costume after he sets you on the brisk countertop. Slides your heels from your feet, holding your gaze with a predatory gleam whilst he kisses the notches of each ankle bone. The mirror is a welcomed, glacial reprieve against your back when you lean against it, watching him rid himself of his suit. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of him, hard and swollen red in the wake of your teasing.

He scoops you back into his arms when he’s done, carrying you beneath the warm spray of his shower. Only then does he reluctantly set you down, turning away to squirt some body wash onto a towel to clean you. He takes his time scrubbing away the sweat and glitter, touching you with such admiration, like you’re a deity worthy of praise.

Once you’re both thoroughly scrubbed, he’s sure to thank you for such a wonderful performance in the shape of his hot mouth and artful fingers moving between your thighs.

[anniebeemine]

barbershop- s.r x fem!reader

@spencerreidsreads and I were cracking up over videos of kids giving themselves haircuts, and thus, this was born

warnings: wife!reader, that's it

Spencer held the scissors, beginning with one angle before drawing back. He switched hands, sighing as he stared at his daughter.

“What did we learn today?” He asked gently, unsure of how he was going to break the news to his wife.

Jenna grinned. “I’m good at haircuts.”

“Uh,” Spencer started, “no, Jen Jen. You left your brother looking like a cantaloupe.”

Jenna pouted, her little hands on her hips, clearly offended by her dad’s assessment. “But Daddy, I cut around his ears just like you told me!” she argued, her voice filled with righteous confidence.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, stifling a chuckle as he glanced over at his son, who was happily playing with his blocks, blissfully unaware of his new, uneven ‘haircut.’ Little tufts stuck out at odd angles, with one side suspiciously shorter than the other—a true masterpiece of sibling creativity. He couldn’t help but smile at the attempt at bangs she’d done on herself, one side far too short for even a baby bang.

“Now, I don’t know what to do about your hair,” he sighed.

Jenna tilted her head, her face scrunched in thought. "Maybe… you can just glue it back on?"

Spencer chuckled, ruffling the remaining uneven strands on her head. “Unfortunately, hair glue isn’t really a thing, sweetheart.” He pondered a children's wig, at least for a few weeks.

She sighed dramatically, folding her arms. “But Daddy, I was just trying to look pretty like Mommy.”

His heart softened. “You’re pretty just like yourself, Jenna. Just like how Tony was pretty before I had to shave his head.”

Jenna's eyes widened. "You’re gonna shave my head?" She gripped the hair she had left. "I don't want to be bald."

Spencer laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, no. Your hair can be saved… mostly.” He picked up a comb and began gently untangling the small knots she’d managed to create in her ambitious attempt at styling. “But next time, let’s leave the scissors to me, okay?”

She nodded solemnly, watching him in the mirror. “Promise.”

As he trimmed away the choppy edges, Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “You know, you and Tony are perfect just as you are. No haircuts needed.”

Jenna grinned at him, gap-toothed and proud. “Maybe I’ll be a hair cutter like you, Daddy.”

Spencer chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let’s aim for FBI agent first, okay?”

Spencer carefully snipped away at Jenna’s uneven locks, doing his best to make the cut look intentional. Each snip was met with Jenna’s wide-eyed curiosity as she sat perfectly still, watching his every move in the mirror. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he noticed just how much shorter one side was—she’d really gone for it.

“There,” he murmured after a few more trims, standing back to admire his work. “Not too bad. You almost look like Mommy with this style.”

Jenna beamed, her little hands patting down the now-even bob. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

Spencer grinned, nodding. He heard the front door slam, making his heart race just like it always did when you came home, but this time it was laced with a tiny bit of dread. “She’ll love it. And when she asks who did it, just say it was a very special, one-of-a-kind stylist.”

Jenna giggled, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Daddy.“

“You’re welcome, baby.” He kissed her forehead again, pulling away to dust off the hair from her shoulders. “Now, we just have to wait for mo-“

“Spencer!” You called, drawing out the final letter. “Please tell me this is your hair and not the kids’!”

Spencer froze, glancing at the pile of trimmings around his feet. He quickly exchanged a look with Jenna, who was now stifling her giggles with both hands.

He cleared his throat, forcing a calm smile. “Well, technically... it’s a mix of both,” he admitted, brushing the last few stray hairs off Jenna’s shoulders.

You appeared in the doorway, eyes widening as you took in the sight of Jenna’s new, uneven bob and Tony’s half-shaven head where he sat happily, completely oblivious.

“Oh, Spencer…” you sighed, covering your mouth as you fought a smile.

Spencer gave an apologetic shrug. “In my defense, I was trying to save Tony from looking like a cantaloupe and Jenna from her newfound career as a hairdresser.”

Jenna tugged on your sleeve. “Mommy, I wanted to look pretty like you!” she announced proudly, showing off her new haircut. She twirled, fluffing her locks lightly.

You softened, crouching down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Well, I think you look beautiful, my little stylist.” You glanced up at Spencer with a smirk. “And next time, maybe you and Daddy can open your own salon.”

Spencer laughed, holding up his hands. “I think I’ll stick to profiling.” He looked at Jenna again. “It’s not too bad.”

You patted his chest. “I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.” You plucked Tony from the floor, grinning as he nuzzled into your neck. “And push back family pictures for a few months. Again.”

[ivelle-serenity]

Skateboard 14

Wind breaker

fem bodied reader | smut | action | pwp | jayjo/fml | vinny/fml | wooin/fml | joker/fml | hyuk/fml | owen/fml | enemies to lovers | angsty | the other woman (?) | reverse harem | fluff | SLOW BURN! | all characters featured are 18+

author's note: this part uses third-person POV.

✧˖° — windbreaker men

✧˖° — mdni, smut, description of not safe for work content.

✧˖° — this is a story not one shot.

Wooin's vision darkened as he saw the two bouncers assigned to his condo sprawled on the floor. Joker's eyes widened in shock at the sight, and he rushed inside to check if Demitra was still there. He nearly broke down every door in his frantic search, desperate to see if anything had happened to her. But there was no sign of her anywhere. Wooin clenched his fist, knowing immediately who could be responsible for this.

"What’s going on here?" Hyuk asked, his voice dripping with boredom. He seemed unfazed by the sight of the two large men on the ground. "That looks bad," was all he managed to say, eyeing their battered faces.

"That bastard," Wooin growled, making his way down the stairs to find the man he suspected was behind it all. When he reached the bottom, he spotted Vinny sitting on a counter stool, casually drinking alcohol at this early hour, his gaze fixed on the TV. He was watching the race.

Rage surged through Wooin as he recognized Demitra on the screen. He knew it was her, even with the wig. No one could identify her like he could.

Without a word, Wooin grabbed Vinny by the collar and punched him hard in the face. Vinny didn’t even flinch, as if he had anticipated the blow. Instead, he just grinned. It wasn’t long before Joker and Hyuk appeared behind Wooin.

"You let her escape? Do you really want to die?" Wooin challenged, his voice laced with a threatening edge.

"I didn’t let her escape. I helped her get away," Vinny replied, his tone dismissive.

Joker’s ears perked up at that, and he stepped forward, gripping Vinny’s shirt tightly. "Why did you do that? Why?" he demanded fiercely. Vinny looked back at him with a blank expression.

"The girl wanted to go to the race. Who am I to say no? Besides, you keep telling me she’s a princess. A princess should be obeyed," he retorted arrogantly, tilting his chin defiantly.

"You piece of shit," Wooin spat. "Is this your way of apologizing for messing with her? Let me tell you, you’re a fool for doing that. She’s in danger and shouldn’t be involved in races, you asshole."

Vinny’s expression remained surprisingly neutral, despite the intensity of the situation. "That’s not my problem anymore."

Hyuk shook his head in disbelief, scoffing. "Idiot," he muttered before turning away.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

"I don’t know why I’m so nervous. We can’t possibly be picked, right? With so many crews, it’s practically impossible," Dom tried to reassure himself, laughter escaping his lips. Demitra was focused on the MC at the front, who was mixing the papers in a box. Jay couldn’t help but think she looked like she was performing some sort of ritual to ensure their team wouldn’t be selected.

June, on the other hand, stared intently at the large screen, swallowing hard as he considered whether he could really make it to the finish line. Deep down, he knew he was the most likely to lag behind. Jay glanced at the other crews and spotted the Monster team. Some members grinned smugly, while their leader wore a serious expression. Where was the Sabbath crew? Jay wondered, unease churning in his gut.

"I’m sure the Monster team will go first—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the first team to race is the Hummingbird Crew!"

"Oh, fuck," Dom exclaimed, his shoulders sagging as disappointment washed over him. Demitra sighed, tightening her grip on her face mask. June took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Jay, however, remained focused, his bike ready for action.

Based on what Demitra had watched, Shelly had stretched before her race, so she decided to do the same. She extended her arms while glancing at the large screen, where their team was being featured. She caught Jay looking at her for a moment, but he quickly averted his gaze. This left her confused—should she approach him and pretend to be Shelly?

"Just remember what I told you guys. We're going to win this," she declared, mounting her bike with a serious focus on the road ahead.

"I’m gonna mess this up, I just know it," Dom muttered under his breath.

"Stop saying that, Dom. We can do this," June reprimanded, though the nervousness in his eyes betrayed his words. Dom slapped his mouth, then shouted as if to motivate himself.

Demitra glanced at Jay, who appeared deep in thought. She had noticed his distracted demeanor since they arrived, as if he were lost in another world. She shrugged it off. Maybe he was just missing Shelly. Her gaze fell to the necklace he wore, but as soon as he caught her looking, she quickly averted her eyes.

"WOW! WE'RE TRENDING ON SOCIAL MEDIA! THIS IS SO EXCITING! IT LOOKS LIKE THE HUMMINGBIRD HAS PLENTY OF FANS!" the MC announced to the crowd, laughter evident in his voice.

A man stepped to the center of the stage, holding a small flag, ready to signal the start of the event.

Demitra tightened her grip on the handlebars. As the man in the center signaled the start, Dom took off first, followed closely by Jay, June, and finally her. The road was filled with large trucks, leaving barely enough space for them to race together. Demitra cursed under her breath as she realized the different types of trucks blocking the way. The organizers had clearly invested a lot of time and money into this race.

"And we can see that the Hummingbird team remains calm as Dom kicks off the race! Let’s see how long they can maintain that composure as they reach the most thrilling part of the competition!" the MC shouted, his voice booming over the crowd.

"Oh hell nah," Dom muttered under his breath as he spotted a truck with a trailer and an empty orange platform blocking the road. That was the only route available. He came to a halt, causing Jay to stop beside him.

"Show him first!" Demitra yelled to Jay. He immediately understood her cue and pedaled faster, lifting his bike to reach the truck's platform. There was only one way back to the road, and that was to ride up to the edge and drop down onto the ground below.

Now Demitra understood why Dom had hesitated. The drop from the platform was dangerously high.

"WOOAHH! THE SUPER ROOKIE DOES IT AGAIN! HE'S FLYING!" the crowd erupted with excitement. From a distance, Demitra saw Jay actually make it to the edge and drop his bike onto the ground. He stayed airborne for a moment, which only fueled the crowd’s cheers.

Demitra quickly glanced to the side of the truck, hoping for a way out for Dom and June. She knew they wouldn’t be able to handle such a high drop. A grin spread across her face when she noticed the truck's door was slightly open, offering a narrow escape route for them, even if it was a tight squeeze.

"Fuck it."

A gasp echoed through the crowd as Demitra stood up on her bike, determination etched on her face. With swift precision, she lifted one foot from the pedal, shifting her weight to the left side. In one fluid motion, she swung her left foot toward the truck's door, kicking it with all her might. The sound of splintering metal filled the air as the door broke free and swung wide open.

She quickly lifted her bike to avoid any damage, her eyes darting back to Dom, who was still trailing behind. With a fierce look of encouragement, she signaled him to move forward.

“What just happened? Did she really break that door so easily?” Mia exclaimed, disbelief flooding her voice as she watched the unfolding drama on the screen.

Minu’s face lit up with amusement. “She saw that the door was old and weak. She took the opportunity to break it, creating a path for Dom and June.”

“How did she even think of that?” Aria asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“Because she’s a princess,” Minu replied nonchalantly, causing his girlfriend to furrow her brow. He glanced at her, a silent understanding passing between them, but then looked away. Mia sensed there was something deeper between them that she couldn’t quite grasp, and she was eager to uncover it.

Meanwhile, in the office, Nick sat with Mr. Nam, watching the spectacle unfold on the TV. “She hasn’t changed at all,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"One minute and thirty seconds left!" the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, and the tension surged.

Chaos rippled among the crowd. The spectators, engrossed in the race, didn't know where to look—at the ticking timer displayed on the screen or the Hummingbird crew racing against time. Teams who had already been disqualified from League of Street watched intently, their attention riveted on the extreme round, where Hummingbird was the first to take the plunge.

Then, the atmosphere shifted as Wooin arrived at the event. Eyes shifted toward him, murmurs spreading through the crowd.

"They're late. Good thing their team wasn't drawn from the box, or they'd be disqualified," some whispered.

But Wooin ignored them, his gaze locked on the screen where the camera focused on Jay Jo. His fist clenched at the sight. He knew this man was the reason his plans for Demitra had crumbled.

Joker appeared at his side. "We can't risk her being in trouble. We can't talk to her now," he reminded Wooin in a hushed tone.

Wooin smirked darkly. "Who said I'd talk to her?" he replied, his voice ominous as he glanced at Joker. "Soon, she'll realize we were right. She'll come crawling back, crying for us. I'll make sure of it." A sinister laugh escaped his lips.

"She will," Hyuk agreed, nodding beside him.

Meanwhile, on the track, Demitra licked her lips behind her facemask, eyes sharp with focus. "Dom, go!" she called out. Dom’s eyes blazed with determination as he accelerated toward the bowl area, June close behind him, and Demitra bringing up the rear. Jay was already near the finish line.

"We're right behind you, Dom!" June's voice broke the tension, steadying Dom's nerves as he began to falter, his pace slowing. The fear of not making it out of the bowl gripped him. But June’s encouragement gave him the strength to push through, despite the burning in his legs.

Finally, Dom burst out of the bowl, followed closely by June and then Demitra.

"Thirty seconds!" the announcer shouted.

Dom gritted his teeth. "Here we go, fuckers," he muttered, picking up speed, his bike roaring as he pushed forward. They were closing in on Jay now, the finish line coming into view.

"You can do it..." Mia whispered to herself, glued to the screen.

"They’re not gonna make it," Aria muttered nervously, her hands gripping the phone tightly.

Just as Dom and June neared the finish line, a loud horn blared, echoing through the track. Dom's eyes widened in horror as a massive truck sped toward them from the left side, aiming straight for Jay and Demitra.

"Watch out!" Dom screamed.

The truck was enormous, barreling down with terrifying speed. Demitra's heart raced, adrenaline flooding her veins as the looming vehicle threatened not just their bikes but their lives. Jay reacted first, jerking his handlebars to the side, riding up the wall to narrowly escape.

Demitra followed suit, leaning hard into a curve as her bike slipped just beneath the truck. She felt the sting as her elbow grazed the ground, the bike so low that it scraped the asphalt. She cursed under her breath, pain shooting through her arm.

"With 10 seconds to spare, Hummingbird crossed the finish line!"

[mynameismisty]

MINE|JOHNNY CAGEX FEM!READER

☆SUMMARY: Johnny wasn't a jealous man, but you with his co-star seemed a bit too over the line.

☆ORIGIN: I don't really have a song for this LMAO btw this came from a request, thanks anon! The request is rlly long soo💀

☆WARNINGS: NSFW, obvious p in v, jealous sex, creampie, praise

MINORS DNI

You knew Daniel. He was one of Johnny's co-stars, and a friend of yours. You had come to know it after he flirts with you multiple times, knowing you were with Johnny. But Johnny didn't seem to mind at all, you knew he wasn't jealous, he was just a bit protective. He knew when it went too far.

On a day where you got to the set first before Johnny, Daniel was on the set filming a scene and apparently, the girl he was supposed to make-out with... wasn't there! And who was?

You.

"It'll just be a small little session, darling." Daniel purrs, holding you by the shoulder after convincing the director to just put a wig on you. "C'mon, aren't we friends?"

"I don't wouldn't want to-"

"But we won't kiss anyway! Just some good ol' hollywood fake-a-roo."

Still, it weirded you out that he'd be presumably slobbering over your cheek in attempts to make the scene look real. You hoped no one would tell Johnny.

So they filmed the scene, and just like you thought, you had Daniel making out with your cheek and the Camera behind him where they could only see your hair and kissing noises.

After, it was like nothing happened. You went back to Johnny's trailer to just hang around until he came. Going over to the sink, you washed your face thoroughly, turning off the faucet and getting a scare.

"Johnny, baby!" You let out a yelp, holding onto your chest.

He stood, just beside the locked door of the trailer. You must've not heard him due to the water running.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" He said, it was obvious venom laced around his words.

"Huh? Enjoyed what?"

"That little make-out session you and Daniel had."

"Johnny-"

"Oh, but you enjoyed that, didn't you? Liked him kissing all over you?"

"No! We just filmed a scene since the other girl was gone!"

"Still," He walked over to you, managing to pin you on the small counter in the trailer, you leaning back in fear that he might bite. "Does it give you any permission not to talk about it to me first?"

"But, baby! It all happened so quick- I-"

"I- I- I-," Johnny imitated in a mocking fashion. "Answer me, does it give you any permission not to talk to me about it first?"

"N...No.."

"You know I'm not a jealous man, right, sweetheart?" You nod weakly. "But that just crossed the line."

You knew you were definitely in for a wild ride.

“Oh fuck, Johnny, I can't!" You moaned into the pillow, gripping the sheets tightly.

"You like that?" He pants, holding you by the hips with a death grip as if you were going to run away any minute. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Ah! Yes, Johnny, yes!" You felt a hand smack over your ass as he pushed his dick undeniably deeper into you. You felt Johnny slap it again and again, watching it jiggle, loving the sight of you squirming and moaning uncontrollably.

"You like that, huh? You like making me show my limits?" And you could only moan in response.

Johnny's pace slowed down as you whined. "Come on, baby, if you wanna cum, work for it."

"Johnny!"

"No buts, c'mom pretty girl. But you tell me who's the only person to make you feel like this and I'll help you out."

You moan, pushing your pussy back to him. "You do— ahh— please—!"

"Good girl," He cooed, this time lightly pulling you by the hair (but still having his other hand on your waist) gently and increased his pace. "Go on."

"Y-You! Only you can make me f-feel like this!" You stuttered over your own words, writhing and moaning uncontrollably.

"Mhm."

"Ahh! Please, make me cum!" You felt the familiar knot in your stomach tightening, about to rip into two pieces as you try to hold onto the damn bed.

"Yeah, baby, just— fuck— keep talking."

"Only you, J-Johnny! I love you, n-not anyone else!"

Your ass, moans and arched back were just too much for him, burying himself into you as you felt that knot snap in two "Ahh- fuck, Johnny!"

Your orgasm washed over you, thighs trembling, threatening to give out on you, your pussy clenching around him and your juices dripping down the sides.

He wasn't done though.

"Such a good girl for me." He pounded into you, over and over again until small tears started to flow from your eyes. "Yeah, I know baby, you're sensitive?"

You nod, too tired to have anything else come out your voice rather than moans.

"Come on, make those sounds for me, pretty girl, don't hide 'em."

That made you moan even louder as he pushed into you back and forth, leaning over you so his mouth was just next to your ear. "You like that, baby?"

You felt your second orgasm approach, clenching your pussy around him and tensing up a bit.

"My girl gonna cum on my cock again?" You could feel his smug grin pressed into the back of your neck. "Fuck, yeah, hold on." He still pounded into you but you felt him reach out for something and opening it, rubbing over your back.

Then you realize. He's writing his signature on your back. In Sharpie.

"You look good like this, babygirl— shit!"

He felt you cum again, juices slipping iut faster this time and he couldn't hold back.

"Ahh, fuck, shit, baby!" He pushed your head into the pillow as he came inside you, shoving all of his seed into your stomach that it made you feel full.

"J-Johnny..."

"I know, baby, I know.." He kissed you on the forehead. "You're sorry, right?"

You give another weak nod.

"Mhm, don't worry, baby, just don't let it happen again, yeah?"

You give a sigh and fall asleep, body plumping to the side as you hear Johnny get up to go grab a towel.

"Think I'll need a talk with Daniel."

💚

[sadhours]

Hii!!! Can i uhh be really weird and request a joe/baron smut of getting freaky with him while he is dressed in drag? Im salivating after seeing him in drag, my brain malfunctioned 🫠

absolutely… I’ve been having thoughts too

baron x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, marmalade spoilers, smut, cross dressing, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

he’s still the pink babydoll dress when he walks through the door, hot pink balaclava in his fingers. wig still on and you gaze up at him from the floor, where you were waiting very impatiently. flicking through magazine after magazine as a distraction, mind worried and racing. panicked that this time would be the one where baron gets caught. but there he is, fishnets and boots on. he drops the balaclava and unzips the duffel bag, dumping out the stacks and stacks of cash on the floor.

“baby!” you squeal, the crisp bills completely camouflaging the area rug you’d been lounged on.

baron smiles, all innocent but you know better, before he dives down into the money. back flat on the floor, waving his arms and legs in the loot. scoops some of it up with his hands and tosses it up, making it rain down on the pair of ya.

it’s strange, the way he looks when he’s dressed as her. the way it makes you feel. how pretty he looks. heavy makeup clouding his sharp and wide features. you crawl over and hook a leg over his waist, grinning down at him as you straddle his hips. baron giggles, all sweet and full of adrenaline. still has the rush. you smooth your hands up his chest, over the bra under the dress and mesh long sleeve. you lean down and smush your lips against his, spreading and sharing lipstick. getting it all over with the feverish way you make out with your boyfriend.

you don’t ask him how much is here, it’s not your concern really. not your money, could be shared but you’re too scared to join him and really, you think baron doesn’t want you to. he’s protecting you this way. and maybe you don’t share the loot but baron takes care of you, keeps you comfortable and fed. and honestly, you don’t care about the money. just as long as you get to have him.

pulling back from the kiss and peering down at a dreamy baron in drag is the best sight in the world. he’s a boyishly handsome man but with the make up and hair, he makes the prettiest woman you ever seen.

there’s not much to say, baron’s usually riled up after a job and you get just as excited seeing him in the get up. you kiss him some more, tasting his waxy lipstick as you knit your hands into the fried, pink ends of his wig. you grind down against him, feeling his cock hardening in the fishnets which the thought of seeing has your head spinning. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly, spewing whiny little moans into your mouth as your kiss gets sloppier. hard to keep everything contained when he looks like this, you act a little feral. rubbing your aching core down on his barely constrained erection. you break the kiss, giggling excitedly as he blinks up at you, red smeared all over his chin and nose from the kiss. he looks perfect, moves his hand up and pulls the wig from his head, tossing it aside and runs his fingers through his shoulder length brown locks, same color as his eyes. looks even prettier.

you inch down his body, pushing the ruffles of his dress up just enough to hook your fingers in his fishnets and tug them down his thighs. his cocks strained behind a pair of your panties, lacy pink ones and your breath catches in your throat. never used to how aroused it makes you. the fact that he wears your underwear when he’s fucking robbing banks. leaning down, you mouth at his shaft, wetting the lace. a moan heaves from your chest as his length twitches beneath the fabric and the hem of his dress falls over your head. baron makes a frustrated sound, hands grabbing the pink ruffles and pulling the dress up above his hips. he props himself up on his elbows so he can watch you, hands holding the dress up.

dragging your tongue up the curve of his cock under the panties, you hold your eyes on his. baron’s eyebrows furrow, teeth digging into his red stained lips as he watches you. god, he’s so pretty. you can’t help yourself as you tell him so, babbling out your thoughts as they come to you.

“god, baron, look so pretty right now,” you scratch at his thighs watching the way his eyes roll back.

“you look pretty, doll,” he mumbles out in return, voice already wrecked and you haven’t even done anything, not really.

you pull off the lace panties he stole from you, his cock springing free and bouncing before you wrap your fingers around the base of him. the tip is just as pink as the rest of his clothes, leaking steadily and making the flushed skin shiny. you lick up the side of his shaft, following the pulsing vein and he moans out pathetically. he’s always pretty vocal but his voice is higher when he’s wearing this, like he’s still in character or something. you and baron haven’t ever talked about why he cross dresses to rob banks. or why he even does it really, you know he supplies an old folks home with pills but you didn’t go into the details ever. you think baron likes it better that you don’t ask questions. likes that you blindly follow him, helping in the small ways you can.

swallowing his tip, you can’t help but hum around him. hot and heavy on your tongue and his face gets contorted all pretty, but you take your time with him. because baron’s gorgeous with his makeup but he’s even prettier when it gets ruined and smeared all over his face. so you tease, suckle on his tip and squeeze the base and drag your tongue against the shaft. do it like until tears make his mascara run and he begs for more.

“p-please, doll—“ he gasps, “can’t take it no more…”

“had enough?” you pout, lips pressed to his swollen head as you slowly stroke his length.

“need more— needa cum,” he pleads, looking so desperate and sweet.

“you want my pussy, baby?”

baron’s pupils widen, nodding at you enthusiastically with his gorgeous puppy dog eyes. you can’t deny him. so you get your underwear down your legs and hold your skirt up as you hover over his thighs. inching closer, line his eager cock with your drenched hole and sink down in one quick motion. the pair of you gasp in unison, eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the stretch. it’s a beautiful stretch but it always takes a second to adjust. then, as your eyes open, your arousal takes over. bouncing on him like a mad woman, hands grabbing his face as you connect your lips in yet another messy, heated kiss. all tongue and teeth, animalistic to match the way you ride him. baron’s hands find your asscheeks, squeezing and kneading as he aides in your thrusts. his hips jerking up to meet yours. the room stinks, like sex and money, a heady scent that fills your senses.

baron’s moans get louder, his body tensing all over, his tell. he’s close, so you egg him on, mumbling encouragements into his mouth, “cum for me, baby, wan’ you to fill me up.”

he whimpers, grips your hips and holds them still as he thrusts up into you roughly. it’s sudden and overwhelming but it makes you cum, hard. shocked, you wail, eyes clenching shut as you grab into his hair and pull, writhing against him.

“uh-uh-uh, fuckfuckfuck— I..” Baron babbles out, then his hips still and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him as he empties inside you, coating your walls. you hum happily, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. give him a second to come down before kissing him softly.

“love ya,” you whisper, feeling as baron squeezes you tighter.

“love ya more,” he whispers back, smiling softly as he gazes up at you.

[cemeteryspider]

Oh No!

Warnings: Heavy Sibling x Sibling implications. HL is gross and has an odd obsession with himself which will be a part of the story a little bit going forward. There will be nothing explicit but for reference Reader-Insert is of age and I'm thinking mid-twenties and Homelander is a little bit older since I'm pretty sure his age is never stated in the show. If you are looking for a Homelander x Reader THIS IS NOT IT!!!

Summary: You attend and event and try your best to sabotage yourself, Homelander, and Vought in the process.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Mental Health Issues, Controlling Relationships, Gross Sibling Relationship

Word Count: 785

Weeks passed and slowly you started recognizing yourself in the mirror again. You started with the small things at first like the old lipstick you pushed to the back of your cosmetics drawer because John said it made you look like a cheap hooker. Or the perfume he said invaded his nostrils and made him want to laser his own brain.

Still it wasn't enough to satisfy your insatiable need to piss off your brother and Vought International. So, you went all out. 

For the premiere of some stupid movie or other you wore a sheer dress with black lace swirls that left little to the imagination. Tall golden heels and had your makeup done by someone who did professional pornstars makeup. It made your back straighten and a real smile across your face for what felt like the first time in an eternity. You felt nothing like yourself, but at the same time you looked nothing like the mannequin Vought often used you as.

You loved it and hated it at the sametime. Nothing was going to get in the way of your night of crossing the line out from under Homelander and Vought’s shadow. Vought would later call this "little stunt", "unbecoming of America's number 2 supe", but you didn't care anymore. So you kept going above and beyond the outfit and makeup, you played the part of a ditzy beautiful drunk. 

More importantly you were showing the world you weren't John's little toy to play with nor were Vought's puppet they could make dance. You were someone with thoughts and feelings, and you were going to make sure the world did not forget this.

That night you were all over the big wigs in Hollywood, constantly drinking different drinks from dirty martinis to fruity pink cocktails to Miller Lite to get a buzz that your powers constantly wanted to stamp out. Walking around the party wondering who you would walk up to next, the man in the burgundy suit or the woman with diamond studded earrings. You felt intrigued by these regular people only here because of their lined pockets, and wanted to be able to know them and what their normal lives were like.

Still you went on, laughing too loudly at jokes made by people who didn't like you because they didn't know you. Drinking anything offered by anyone with a tray and casually avoiding your brother who seemed to be tailing you waiting for the right time to stop you from ruining the empire he and Vought had delicately built.

"You know," You slurred to an attractive woman on the red carpet, "We could make out higher than Vought Tower after this. You'd just need to hold on tight."

Her face flushed and you giggled at her sweet tomato red face. Then you felt a rough hand grip your upper arm tightly, "I think it's time to go."

You tried to wrench your arm out of his grip but nothing was working. Short of an all out fight you were not going to be able to free yourself, so you let him drag you out, grabbing a delicate glass of champagne on the way out the back, and waving to the pretty girl you had been flirting with for the past few minutes. 

"What the fuck do you think your doing. You're slobbering over our stockholders," He whisper-shouted at you once he dragged you out outside of the event by the dumpsters, but you just let a grin split your face in two.

"This is me John! You're just upset because I know exactly what I want and exactly who I want to be and you're not a part of either of those things. How does that feel, John? Not even your own genetic equal wants anything to do with you!" You full on shouted at him. Part of you hoped that a journalist was on the other side of the door recording the whole thing but you couldn't hear a heartbeat.

"You're drunk, Y/n. I'm not having this conversation with you. You're never going to get anything better than this," He scoffed and gestured to himself and the door. At this point the strong drinks were wearing off and leaving your system to deal with reality as it was and the puny flute of champagne was not cutting it anymore.

"No, John, I'm not. I'm done with this and I'm not going to be Vought's machine pumping out propaganda and fake saves anymore," He laughed in your face.

"Good luck with that. You're nothing without me." He took the door back to the event and you started to walk away.

"Yeah I guess we'll see about that."

[pretty-batty]

Loosen Up

Eddie x Original Female Character Pt 3 of Eldath's Priestess 3966 words

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Mental Illness. Judy jokes about quitting the game early, if you know what I mean. Tags: First Kiss, Fluff, Stress, guitar struggles, little bit of exposition dump by Steve Harrington. Now on ao3

Summary: Judy reminisces on her and Eddie's first kiss. She encounters the Upside-Down crew and learns a terrible truth.

Notes: I think you're gonna like this one.

Judy’s fingertips sweat against the neck of her electric guitar, vice grip on her pick. Only open strings, the fingerings would come later. Over and over. But never in time, after each round of the same phrase she got more and more frustrated.

Her pick got stuck, one fumble and she is off beat.

“FUCK!” she shouted, tearing off her electric guitar and setting it on her bed as aggressively as she could without damaging the instrument. Her best friend, shirtless, acoustic resting in his lap as he flawlessly finished the phrase, looked up. His sweet gaze landed on her as she sat down on her rug, knees to her chest, face buried in her limbs. “I wanna kill myself.”

“Nooo…” Eddie immediately answered, sighing, “you’re just stressed.” He shifted the instruments around so he could free himself from her bed, resting beside her. His naked shoulder bumping into hers. “Hey…”

She looked up, a soft “hm?” coming from her throat.

“You know what you gotta do?” He smiled, twisting himself to meet her hidden gaze. Shooting to his feet, he stood before her, hands reached out. “We gotta loosen up.”

Judy sighed, fighting back a smile. Her hands grasping his as he helped her to her feet.

Face to face, a foot apart, Eddie pulled her arms back and forth. Left and right, in a sort of simple dance. “Loo-sen up. Loo-sen up. When you’re wigged out you gotta loo-sen up.” He chanted, dipping down slightly to meet Judy’s cool eyes as she forced herself to look at the carpet.

She knew that if she looked up at him, the battle against her own lips would be lost, and she would break out in a smile. It just took one-

A flash of brown, deep and warm.

There it goes.

She locked onto his gaze, lifting her head up to look at him. Her lips pulled up into a soft smile.

He grinned back, teeth sparkling in the dim lamplight. “There she is. My beautiful girl.”

“You can’t” She looked away for a second, shaking her head as her smile widened, “you can’t keep saying stuff like that.”

“Why not? I am beholden to beauty and truth.” He repositioned their hands, fingers lacing together, clutching them to his chest.

“Yeah, a true bohemian. And what do artistes do when they have a friend of the opposite sex?” She smirked, “Flirt mercilessly?”

“If they are beautiful, then we say so. If they are ugly, then we say so.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, fixated on her face as he said, “and if we believe they are the most precious creature, majestic being, divine and golden, we say so.”

A kiss from his plush mouth warmed her knuckles.

Judy’s eyes widened, his breath against her skin sparking heat in the pit of her stomach, spreading to every inch of her body. “Eddie…what?”

“Pbbbbt.” His lips buzzed against her skin, a raspberry covering her fingers in spit.

“EW EDDIE!”

He let her go as she threw herself back, rubbing her hands on her sweatpants as she leaned against her desk. His laugh erupted from his lips, closing the distance between them again. Wrapping his arms around her, trapping her against his chest, loose enough to give her room to toss and writhe.

“Eww, no! You’re gross.” She laughed, squealing and wiggling her hands from their place at her sides, pressing them against his bare chest. Has he always been this warm? She asked herself.

“I’m serious though.” He said, rocking side to side with her. “This is borderline romantic.”

“This?” Judy pressed further, “friends? Friends since childhood? Seen each other naked more times than we should? Popping each other’s back zits? Holding each other’s hair back during a bender?” She shrugged, scoffing, “that’s romance right there.”

Eddie’s smile slightly faded, still fixed on Judy, letting her leave his arms, dropping them to his sides. It was like her words had smacked the joy right out of him. He shuffled back, leaving Judy cold. He blinked once or twice, before returning to the same smile he always had. “Yeah…weird.” He blew it off. “How about that riff, huh? Ready to try again?”

She followed, taking her guitar as he offered it to her. He repositioned himself on her bed, back against the headboard, guitar in his hands, like a shield in front of his aching chest. Judy nervously set her guitar on its stand, crawling into bed and taking her place beside him.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” she said, listening to him gently pluck away. “I don’t think what we are should stop us from…being smitten…with each other.” Stream of consciousness was easier said than done. Usually, she would have prepared a speech. In fact, she had. She had prepared her profession of love for Eddie hundreds of times before. None of them had him half naked in her bed, playing her guitar, after being seemingly jilted by her.

Eddie’s finger slid up the fret, gliding up as if to form a question. His eyes tilted to her, a twinkle of hope.

Judy picked at her fingers, “God…you make me feel…so tingly and warm. And I want to touch you all over.” She refused to look at him, worried she would make a move that would scare him off. “So, when I hold your hair back when you vom, and treat the monster pimples that grow on your shoulders, I’m more than happy because I just get to touch you.” She was met with silence, muttering to herself, “God that sounds weird.”

The whole time, so engrossed in her nails and swirling thoughts, Judy did not notice the acoustic guitar placed at their feet and the pick being set on the nightstand. Eddie’s hands and arms were free. He sat, legs folded under each other, elbows to knees, propping his head up as he continued to gaze at Judy, waiting for her to notice.

“Just…I wanna touch you so bad right now.” She sighed, finally turning to face him, dark eyes shining up at her, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Then do it. Touch me, buttercup.” He said plainly. Judy froze, chest rising and falling as Eddie reached for her hand again, taking it. Slowly, he brought her index finger to the pulse point in his neck. His blood pumped away hard and fast. “Feel that?”

She swallowed audibly, “Mhm.” He further guided her fingers, her fingertips guiding up his stubble and into his hair. Her palm caressing his jaw, he could simply turn his face and press a kiss against the base of her thumb. But he simply paused, waiting for her to make the next move.

Her tongue passed over her bottom lip, gently sucking it between her teeth for a moment, scraping it across before releasing it. A nervous habit. She knew it was gross, even giving her a fat lip a few times during really stressful situations. Her eyes were trained on his lips.  His breath was sweet and a bit spicy, cinnamon chewing gum, no lingering nicotine. He hadn’t smoked nor eaten, his teeth were nearly perfect. “Wait…did you brush your teeth before you came here?”

“Yes, I did, in fact, brush my teeth. I do that regularly.”

“No…before you came here, like in the middle of the day? And you didn’t smoke. And you didn’t get a pop or snack.” Her lips parted in a silent gasp, lips curling into a smile. “You’re chewing gum.”

Eddie grinned before licking the gum from his cheek, reaching down to her bedside trashcan, and tilting it, spitting the pink wad into the trash. He turned back to her, “that better?”

In that instant, her lips gently pressed against his, just a gentle sweep and caress before letting go. Her whole body buzzed as she waited for him to respond. And to her relief it took no time at all. His face instantly mashing into hers with the patience of an exited puppy.

Judy landed back on her pillows. Her smile breaking their kiss. Eddie found himself on his side, lips mashed against her cheek. She turned her head, eager to feel his kiss again.

=

Cold, nothing there, Judy turned to be met with air. She sighed, whispering to herself, “I gotta stop doing that. It only makes me feel worse.” She sat up once again, feet finally on the rug beneath her. “Fuck I gotta take my meds.”

Wayne was at work. Margie was out with her co-workers in a desperate attempt to drink away the pain of losing their students. All that was left was Judy, alone, in her old house. Dressed in her dead brother Joey's clothes for comfort’s sake, she meandered through the hall, turned down the stairs, creeping to the main floor. A buzzing following her to the kitchen. Each light she switched on took 30 seconds to gain its full glow, flickering with all its might. The whole situation filled her with unease.

Her feet slapped across the linoleum as she made her way to the counter. Since her hospital stay at the age of 10, she always had a feeling something was wrong. Not all the time, but enough for it to be a problem. She would get creeped out at random times. Her skin would bristle when she was alone, always on edge, finally breaking into full blown panic attacks in her near teens.

She started on Zoloft after that. And it worked, for a time.

Then kids started going missing. Then she saw her brother die in a dream, only to find his dead body an hour later. While Pittsburgh gave her some relief, her mother’s grief overtook any peace she could have had. Then hell opened up in Hawkins and swallowed her boyfriend whole. Her mental health was never good, manageable, but never optimal.

But this anxiety, this was something else entirely. There was something pressing through the ether. So, she talked to herself, just in case there was someone else with her. Setting a glass on the counter, she opened the fridge and reached for the cold water before pausing.

“Water…oooorrr,” she muttered, opening the freezer to snatch a bottle of vodka, “potato juice wiiiith,” she retrieved a can from the fridge, “sprite?” She set all of the options on the counter, glancing over her shoulder as if to scratch a paranoid itch. Nothing.

The lights flickered again, sending a cascade of chills up her spine.

She drew in a deep breath. While a vodka-sprite would put her to sleep faster, water would allow her to take her antidepressant. “Or I could drink a vodka-sprite and take my antidepressant, have a fucking wild time.”

A slight puff of air knocked a strand of hair over her shoulder. She twisted around on instinct, a short cry leaving her lungs. She was hit with a smell. Marlboro Reds. It sent a pain straight through her temples, causing an ache. Then cinnamon Dentyne.

Eddie.

Bam bam bam.

Three knocks in quick succession jolted her back into reality. She walked briskly to the door, peering over the window to see a helmet of perfectly coiffed hair. Unlocking the door, she opened it to reveal, “Steve Harrington. How can I help you?”

“Would you like to…” he glanced over Judy’s shoulder to the kitchen window, “go find frogs with me?” His cadence was stunted slightly, as if reading from another's lips.

Judy blinked, poking her head out to see only his car parked in her driveway. “Frogs…?” She asked.

“Uh yeah…there are some uh, super cool frogs out tonight. Since it rained and stuff.” Steve continued, “they are attracted to the moisture in the air.”

She felt a creeping up her back again, the buzzing continuing before overpowering the porchlight with a pop, leaving them in darkness. “Yeah, lemme put on a bra.”

Within less than three minutes, Judy had her bag in hand, breasts contained behind fabric and underwire, flip flops smacking across the sidewalk. Her bedroom light flickering in a discernable pattern as Steve pulled out of her driveway.

Lover’s lake was gone, and in her opinion that would have been in poor taste anyway. Steve, instead, took her to the stream to the west of town, which fed into Loch Nora. Parking his BMW on the bank of the small body of water.

“You really keeping with that whole, frog spotting thing, huh?” Judy asked, exiting the car as Steve did.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that was the idea.” He said, still keeping a causal demeanor.

“Honestly, I’m glad you did.” She said, taking off her flip-flops before crawling up the hood of his car, sitting on the roof. She heard him cringe slightly, considering getting down before Steve did the same, kicking off his sneakers and joining her. The car creaked slightly under their joined weight. She pulled out a pack of chewing gum, offering him a piece, “the house was starting to wig me out a bit.”

Steve accepted the offering, unwrapping and popping the stick into his mouth. Judy did the same with hers, stowing away her stash. She chewed and thought.

“When my brother died, I had dreams about him. He would be alive, and I would shake him, like ‘holy shit I thought you were dead’.  And he wouldn’t answer that, just changing the subject, go take me to have dinner or something.” She paused, “but that would be it, I’d wake up and he’d be dead. No lingering traces of him in impossible places, no hearing him snort through his deviated septum.”

Steve stayed silent, letting Judy continue to muse and chew. He was a better listener than she had expected.

“So, I thought when Eddie was showing up in my dreams, it was the same thing. We’d cuddle and kiss… But then the dreams started to bleed into reality.” Judy said, folding her arms over her knees, forming a cushion for her face as she hid behind them. “I don’t even have to go to sleep anymore. I can feel him in my room when I walk in, like he’s been waiting for me. I can smell him. I smelled him right before you knocked on my door, Marlboro reds and cinnamon Dentyne gum. I felt his breath past my ear.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, processing her own statement as if she had heard it for the first time. “I know I sound insane. Like certifiable, admit her to a hospital, levels of insane. I know grief does things to you but…this is”

“different?” Steve interjected, “yeah…” He looked to her, hesitating for a moment before deciding that this was the correct choice. “This town is…weird. If I told you what was wrong with it, you’d rethink who the crazy one is.”

“Does this have anything to do with me pulling you, Nancy, Robin, and Dustin from a giant crack in front my boyfriend’s trailer?” She asked. “There must have been a reason, looking like a larping troupe and all.”

He didn’t laugh. His gaze extended past her eyes, empty. She knew that stare too well. Something happened, and she struck a nerve. She quickly attempted to cover her tracks, reaching for his wrist, and holding it, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“What happened, Steve?”

He let out a weary sigh, “I’m not good at this. Henderson is better. But I can give you the rundown. Basically, there was this lab doing crazy experiments, like MK-Ultra experiments, on kids. And this one girl, El or uh Jane, was so powerful she blew a hole through to another dimension, sending this one dude into it and he couldn’t escape. So, he became this all-powerful psychic demon dude, wrinkly, red…really gross.” He raised his hands and arms, slightly waving them, “has these tentacles it’s so weird.”

“Like an octopus?”

“More like fleshy vines. Anyway, in eighty-three, Will Byers goes missing. Turns out, he’s been kidnapped or something. And Barb”

“Holland, yeah Barb Holland. She was one of the kids in the ward with me in seventy-six. Did this guy take them?”

“Pretty much. The kids call it the mindflayer, this hivemind thing. Anyway, the whole time El has escaped…”

Steve continued his narrative. From year to year, Judy was able to align the various Hawkins disasters with the borderline biblical plague shit that came from his mouth. She realized her problems, especially Joey’s death, were miniscule compared to the events that took place right under her feet.

When silence rested between them, Judy finally spoke, posing a question she had never considered before, “did you get sick, when the flu swept Hawkins? You would have been nine.”

“No.”

“Because, that same lab you were talking about, with the kids and the MK-Ultra, made a drug, it was a treatment. Gave it to all the really sick kids. Do you think they did something to it?” She looked at Steve, who sat in thought, brows furrowed. She wasn’t sure if he was actually pondering or if he was humoring her. “I need to know who else. If I could just talk to someone else who got the vaccine…”

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed, getting down off the hood of the car. Judy followed. “I don’t know. But we do have people who can help.”

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

“You were in my house?” Judy was more shocked than insulted. Her aunt sat beside the group of teens, looking almost as guilty as they did. “And you let them stay?”

“Judy, sweetie, if you knew what was going on, you would have too.” Margie’s voice was insistent, but still low and calm. “And I asked Wayne to get some snacks.”

“Sn-snacks?” The young woman continued to pace, the appliances fried beyond repair. “Snacks? The-the fridge is busted, Marge.”

“We have a cooler.” She corrected, “and he’s getting ice too.”

The group of teens remained silent, the single flashlight that remained working flickered.

“What does it want? The flashli- What?” Judy, words stunted and frantic, started to yell at the appliance, “what do you want? I don’t know the boop-boop thing, the-the morse code.”

“He wants you to go to the bedroom,” Lucas said, finally pipping up from the dejected silence the trespassers were in.

“Where the girl, El…in my bedroom. They want me to go in the bedroom with the psychic teen- okay.” She sighed, another graceful whisp of cinnamon gum passing by her nose. Lucas handed her the flashlight. She slowly made her way up the carpeted stairs, turning immediately into her bedroom. Mike Wheeler sat cross-legged across from a young girl with a brown, bobbed haircut. Her nostrils red with dried blood, irritated from constantly wiping it away on her drenched sleeve. She wore Judy’s silk sleep mask over her eyes.

Judy broke the silence, “hope that’s as comfy for you as it is for me.”

“Hm?” El raised it over one eye peeking at her, “yeah it’s really nice.”

“So, you’re talking to…my dead boyfriend?”

“Not dead, he’s just stuck. He made his nest here.”

“In the…Veil of Shadows, the echo of the material plane.” Judy clarified, attempting to prove that she was up to speed, when she was, in fact, way out of her depth.

Dustin looked at her from his position in her desk chair, speaking sympathetically, bordering on condescending, “we just call it the upside-down.”

“Okay, sure, and if, big if, this exists, and you’re talking to something…how do you know it’s Eddie? Not a mimic or some other thing?” She jiggled her leg, “prove it. Make him prove to me it’s him.”

The girl slipped the cover back over her eyes. Mike turned the small radio back on, turning it to an inactive channel. The room filled with audible snow.

Judy’s foot continued to jiggle, only causing her anxiety to worsen. This was impossible. Kids in her house, either complete strangers or mutual acquaintances, all of the things she’d have to replace, the things she had to fix. She was lucky Wayne was here. For all the “Butch Power” her aunt preached, Margie was inept at basic home repair. Now Judy had backup, but the whole situation was yet another headache.

And this thing, if it was Eddie, how does he get back? How did he possibly survive? There was no way in hell he could, and so that led her to this. He was dead, and some weird psychic demon thing was tricking her, tricking everyone, and it would soon ask for the impossible.

It wasn’t him. Just a shadow, a mimic, a cosmic prank. She found herself muttering, “this is bullshit.”

“Yellow flowers…”

Judy stilled.

El repeated, “yellow flowers…small…buttercups.”

Her eyes got hot, a chill running up her spine.

“Buttercup?” El asked.

Judy clenched her jaw to keep herself from a deep, heavy sob, only managing a strangled whimper.

“He needs to hear you, Judy.” Dustin urged.

“Mhm…” She managed. A deep breath, letting out a trembling, “Ed-Eddie.” All the air was sucked out of her, forcing her to gasp and collapse on to the edge of her bed. “Oh God, Eddie…” Her face sank into her palms, sliding beneath her glasses. She removed them, setting them on the bed beside her. Then she melted into her hands. The lights flickered twice, one-two, one-two, one-two. The strange pattern and buzzing caused her frightened whimpers to erupt into full-blown, earth-shattering sobs.

“No, he’s saying ‘no’.” Mike stated, as if trying to calm Judy down.

“Please, Judy, stop crying. It’s upsetting him.” Dustin insisted.

“I’m-!” she ran her face across her hands and fingers, trying to contain herself, rubbing over and over again. Finally, she managed to speak through a tight throat, “I’m upsetting him, for fucksake. With the fucking lightshows and breaking all my electronics.”

The smell of cigarettes and Dentyne hovered right before her, as if squatting down to meet her gaze.

“He’s there, Judy.” El said, pointing at the spot between Judy and herself. Right where the scent resided. “He can hear everything. He wants you to stop crying.”

Judy cupped her hand over her mouth, wiping away any further sorrow, “sorry.” She clenched her eyes closed, forcing the remnants of the tears out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry you guys, I lost it for a second there.” She sniffed, putting her glasses back on. Their attention was drawn downstairs, hearing the front door open. “Wayne’s back, go ahead down. El, you can use the bathroom to clean yourself up, if you’d like.”

“We’re not done. He still wants to talk to you.” The girl insisted.

“And I’d like to do it alone, please.” Judy reached for the flashlight behind her, wiggling it, “we can do yes or no questions.”

With that, and a few more words of thanks, they were out of her room.

Judy returned to her bed, sitting in the center of the mattress, “Okay, one for yes, two for no. That’s what they were doing before, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is it still Eddie?”

“Yes.”

She smiled for a moment, the smell continuing to follow her. But she needed to check, just in case.

“Okay, if you are Eddie, my Eddie, yes or no game. The first time we were intimate, we were both naked.”

“No.”

“Yes or no, the book that brought us together was The Last Unicorn.”

“No.”

“Last one, my vibrator is pink, yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Judy’s smile widened, letting out a laugh, tears leaking from her eyes again.

“No. No. No.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” She wiped them away with the heel of her palm. “I miss you. This is all insane but at the same time, I’m not insane. Because there are several people who talk to you, see you. God…it’s really you. Oh Eddie, my Eddie.”

WE DID IT MY FRIENDS! EDDIE LIVES!

Thank you for reading! It's time for things to get a-movin'! Tag List: @loserboysandlithium

[cannibalcoyote]

Matt Smith: Two Face

Imagine filming a fairly violent scene with Matt Smith for House of the Dragon, what happens when you have trouble distinguishing kind-hearted Matt from cruel Daemon:

The scene wasn't supposed to be taking this long, it was meant to be quick, but the director has us repeating it a multitude of times. Something about it not being as good as it could be. I, honestly, couldn't care less how good it was as long as it was over.

My character, though not the most important, plays a role in how Daemon manages to steal the dragon egg and escape to Dragonstone. I was cast as Rhaenyra's younger sister, Seraena, who had quite the different relationship with her uncle. Where Rhaenyra saw freedom and future my character saw terror.

Daemon systematically terrorized Seraena as he viewed her to be unworthy of the Targaryen legacy, unworthy to be the rider of the vicious Cannibal.

Daemon would inflict pain upon her when the option was available, mentally terrorizing her even more-so. These abusive interactions were kept a secret from the rest of the family though, as she was not in the favor of her father or sister; she was alone.

I've been an actress for many years, and oftentimes get stuck in the mindset of my characters, but nothing as severe as with Seraena. I would only notice minor changes, usually just in my vocabulary and way of speaking, but I've become so engrained in this character that it's becoming harder for me to distinguish other actors from their characters. 

The effects are minimal with most others, but with Matt... His character is so cruel and violent that I just can't help it. If Matt raises his hand or makes any quick movements, I can't stop myself from flinching away, and I know he's noticed it as well. The concerned looks, the way his eyes linger when I step away from him, how I suddenly have nothing to say when he joins my conversation.

I try to work through this, write about it, acknowledge how what I'm doing isn't healthy, that I know Matt is a really sweet person in reality; but whenever I see him, I can't help this urge of wanting to turn and run away. How could he have such a sweet expression on his face one second, and then an empty glare the next?

_______

Fingers roughly grasp the wig upon my head, I can tell he's trying to be gentle, but he still has to make the interaction seem realistic.

He had asked me beforehand if I was alright with the physical contact the scene required, I had nodded a 'yes' even though the nausea reminded me constantly how I had wanted to say no.

The scene we were filming has Daemon battering me as a way to gain information pertaining to the dragon egg for Viserys' unborn child. It wasn't the most violent scene to have occurred between our characters, but I would say it was the most emotionally charged. 

Threats of violence slithering from Matt's lips far too smoothly for my mind to distinguish. His hand gripping my neck as his fingers laced through my hair and pulled my head back. He was right behind me, body scarily close as I was sandwiched between him the the stone wall of the castle. I can't remember what I was doing, body running on autopilot; I spoke, but I can't remember if they were my lines or not.

There was a tremor spiraling through my body, settling in my hands as they shakily grasped the hand that strangled my neck. Was I supposed to do that? Would they make me reshoot this scene? 

"Cut!" That resounding word echoes through my mind, lights being turned back on to illuminate the area. The many faces of the other cast members as well as the film crew entered my vision. It was a scene, it was a scene. 

The hands were removed as I turned to look at Matt, that cruel emptiness was gone, replaced by his calm face, eyes looking at me with worry.

"Hey, are you alright?" I couldn't respond, as I had already turned away and began to walk hurriedly towards the bathrooms. My heart felt uneasy, as though the blood being pumped wasn't enough, I felt like I was dying.

I slammed the door shut, leaning forward against the sink as I glared into the mirror.

'You're not her, you're not Seraena, you're Y/N L/N. He's not Daemon, he's Matt! He has never hurt you, this is all for a show.' 

I raise my hand up, touching my neck gently, as though the skin would tear at the slightest contact. The shaking of my hand bringing up an anger I was unsure how to handle. I couldn't contain it, my hands curling around my neck as I glare at my reflection.

My fingers dig into my skin as I drag them down, relishing in the discomfort I experience, but my hands still shake. I hit my wrists against the sink, ignoring the shooting pain as they still shake. Resorting to biting my hand, not letting go until I taste blood.

When I release, I let out an angered yell as the shaking continues. I place one hand against the sink and hit it repeatedly with the other, eliciting a crushing sensation. 

I had no intentions of stopping, but soon realize that my actions are being hindered. Two hands holding my own with a firm grip, halting their violent actions. I look in the mirror and see none other than Matt stood behind me, concern emanating heavily from him. He is speaking to me, I know this because his lips are moving, but what is he saying? What words does he think will help me?

I can't help the torture I'm experiencing, the tears building within my eyes as the feeling in my legs disappears; I would've collapsed had Matt not been there. My sobs were awful, the pain and confusion filling my mind as I was being held and comforted by a man that I could not distinguish.

His arms were strong as they wrapped around my torso, though they were soft, steady. He had lowered us down to the ground gently, cradling me to his chest as we sat on the bathroom floor. His whispers were calming, though I could not tell what was said. 

Was this man the devil? Was he who I feared yet longed for, the man that could free me from deception? Or am I all that I should fear? Do I make my prison with the words I learn, she who lives within porcelain walls that sees enemies in her own reflection?

[nelladivinita]

Dom Erik headcanons! NSFW.

Gender Neutral.

TW: slight humiliation, mention of noncon, light sadism

Enjoy! 💞

🥀 Erik LOVES it when you beg. It sets him on fire to see you, so beautiful and perfect in his eyes, so desperate for him. Usually he can only feel comfortable with you begging when he’s in his mask and wig. He’ll sit on his big fancy chair with his cock out and pulsing and smirk as you nuzzle into his thigh and cry for him. Still he is in disbelief, so underneath he feels more embarrassed and blushed than he’d care to admit.

🥀 Cockwarming!! He loves you facing him in his lap with his cock hilted inside of you while he composes music or pens his letters. He will move every once in a while to illicit a reaction from you, and will grip your chin and burn you with his gaze if you make him “lose his focus” or move more than he requests you do. He won’t give in until he’s finished with his work, though if you make a good show of it, he will have some mercy on you if you beg.

🥀 He loves near misses, fucking you in the rafters of the opera house and watching shadows of stagehands as they pass by. ESPECIALLY DURING SHOWS. So much of his life has been here in the darkness, so to take you here is thrilling for him, like a transmutation of the pain of hiding for so long. If you are bashful it makes it even better for him, because he LOVES to corrupt you. He will chuckle in your ear if you let a moan slip past your lips and someone turns to look to the direction it came from. At times he will even throw his voice, beckoning people closer. However, the Phantom knows the ins and outs of his opera house so well, that if anyone actually approaches, there’s always a secret door waiting to slip into with you. He will finish with you there, of course.

🥀 Because Erik loves control, he loves to choose what you wear when you come to see him. He loves lace and when you wear white, as your purity is addictive to him. Sometimes he will write you a letter telling you to take the long walk to his lair nude. He will watch you navigate his halls, reveling at the extent of your devotion to him (and the way the cold touches your skin). However you won’t travel alone long, he doesn’t want you getting sick!

[xamaxenta]

genderfuck sabo ..... o lord help me.

sabo who switches his entire identity for whatever the mission needs to the point he isnt even entirely sure what to call himself anymore but he knows he looks good in red lipstick and a tight blue dress as much as he does in a trenchcoat and a suit jacket

sabo on an infiltration mission for the revolutionary army with a long blonde wig and a dress slit all the way up the thigh, hes getting intel from men whose hands linger on his hips and waists and hes getting keycards from their pockets and hes drugging his dates champagne so when they stumble up to the hotel room sabo can drop his unconscious ass in the bed and get to the good stuff. he changes into a waittresses outfit and walks right into the staff only areas with a confident smile and no hesitation, he brings a plate of room service up to his targets room and the guards let him in without a second thought; hes delicate, coy, his bangs and some clever makeup hide the scar on his face so hes just a beautiful blue eyed waif of a woman with the perfect pink lips that the guards exchange a look and say Why Dont You Come Inside And Stay With Us And The Boss For A Little While, because sabo already knew what they liked from the premission briefing so of COURSE he put a little gloss on his mouth. the boss likes them dressed up so when the guards bully him out of his clothes (or so they think, but what they dont know is that theres a tracker and a denden radio in the uniform sabo leaves on the floor) theyre distracted by the long lines of his legs, wrapped in nylon leggings, a garter skirt holding them up on his little pale waist, and a silky baby blue bra on, they dont even notice the cups are padded because sabo looks so fucking good, shyly and nervously stepping out of his clothes like a naiive virgin and asking the boss to p-please be gentle... 🥺 its ok if its just you mr boss sir... right...

he KNOWS the guards are going to grab him because the dossier already told him the old man just likes to watch, and he lets them, twists and squirms and pretends until theyre both close enough--

and then he smashes their heads together, one in each palm, with so much force they both crack and dont get up, blood splatters his bra and his cheeks and the boss yells, but he cant even get the sound out before sabos sat in his lap, one finger cutely laid over the bosses lips and his other hand gripping the guys windpipe in a dragon claw so tight he cant scream if he tried. he leaves him dead in the chair and swings his heels by the straps on his finger while he searches the room for the papers he needs

he washes off the lipstick and pulls off the wig in the mirror, wipes the blood off his face and dresses like a simple maintenence man, zips his bloody sweaty body, still wrapped in silk and lace, into a baggy denim workmans suit and strolls back down the hall with a toolbox full of classified documents and no one bats an eye as he passes, none the wiser

i am just here insanely horny lol

Thank you…. Itadakimasu delicious seriously i loved all the clothing changes

Sublime…

[johannestevans]

Rescue Dogs: Chapter Fifteen

Cecil Hobbes finally gets Valorous King to try a new adventure: therapy. Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker. A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

“You okay?” Cecil asked as they stepped out from the cinema building into the street, leaning toward Valorous and speaking in an undertone, directly into Valorous’ good ear.

“Four people in that room recognised me,” he said. He had his sleeves pulled down over his hands, and he was rubbing the fabric of each of his sleeves between his thumbs and forefingers, and his hood was pulled up. It was one of Cecil’s hoodies, one of his older ones – it wasn’t as if it was all that big on him, but it smelt of Cecil, and it was worn and soft and comfortable, a steel grey that had faded a bit with so many washes. He was wearing it over a light blue blouse, a laced one, and his trousers were dark green and made of a fae plant weave, his dark blue leather boots.

“How many recognised me?” Cecil asked in an even voice, not sounding too stressed about it. Valorous didn’t know if he was hiding the stress, or if it was really something that didn’t matter to him.

“One or two, maybe,” Valorous said. “None of them focused on you after the initial glance and intensified gaze, so they probably recognised you as an old teacher, not necessarily as a nonce. And none of them seemed to recognise us both together.”

They kept walking, and Valorous focused on Cecil’s worn-out trainers – he’d come to the Majoks’ office directly from the gym, and he’d showered and changed, but was basically dressed for work still, in a hoodie, trackies, a vest.

“That was a magical cinema,” Cecil said quietly. “How many people in that theatre? A hundred and fifty seats, let’s say, it was maybe seventy percent full?”

“About a hundred and twenty,” said Valorous. “Give or take.”

“How many active magic users?”

“Thirty or forty.”

“How many blonds?”

“Fifty or sixty.”

“All natural?”

“Four with obviously dyed hair. One with a wig.”

“Any ex-soldiers?”

“Six.”

“How many members of the Lashton Big Five?”

“Three Renns, Two Sorrels, no Laithes, no Kings but me. The usher was a Pike.”

“How—”

Valorous gripped hold of Cecil’s wrist, silently begging the old man to shut the fuck up, and when Cecil turned to meet his gaze Valorous saw the complete comprehension in his face, the knowledge of exactly what he was fucking doing as he asked.

“That why you don’t like cinemas?” he asked softly, raising his eyebrows and looking at Valorous, and Valorous somehow couldn’t handle it, the weight of Cecil’s eyes looking at him like that, looking right at him, inside him, through him. Cecil’s eyes were blue, but they weren’t blue like Valorous’ were.

Valorous’ eyes had always been a paler colour, kind of shiny even before the magic had liquefied the colour and burned out the texture in them – it still felt weird when he looked at photos of himself as a young kid, pictures of him close up, when he could see the flecks and furrows and crypts, all the patterning in his irises. You couldn’t see it anymore – it was still there, you just, you couldn’t see it. There was too much molten magic in them, made his eyes look liquid instead of like human eyes, how they were supposed to look.

Cecil’s eyes were a nice blue, dark, and Valorous liked the patterning in his irises, the layered blues.

“Lad,” rumbled Cecil, and Valorous realised the two of them were standing still in the middle of the street and Cecil’s hands were on him, his palms coming to cup Valorous’ forearms, palms resting over his elbows and keeping him framed in. He’d turned their bodies away from the main street, so that they weren’t as obvious to passers-by, Valorous supposed. “Did he do that with you? Make you go in cinemas for that?”

Read on Ao3 / / Read on Medium / / Read on WorldAnvil

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Ocean View

Fandom: Superfam, Batfam, DC Comics

Summary: A pair of shoes, a fragmented memory, and a collection of newspaper clippings.

An empty box of cigarettes, a second phone, and a beach house with locked rooms.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Laney Kent, Jason Todd, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Chris Kent, Tim Drake

Relationship(s): JayLaney, Clois

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Secret Identity, Social Media, Romance, Angst

Chapter Three: Beached

It rained that morning. I drove out to the beach house in swim trunks and rainboots. It was beautiful. I got out of the car and knocked on the door. "Hold on, I'll be right there," Jason panted through the intercom. I waited a little while longer, and he pulled the door open so fast that I let out a noise. "Sorry, I was getting the—. You look cute," he smiled.

I followed him into the house and took off my boots, and he offered me a pair of slippers to walk around in on the tile. I shuffled around in them as he led me to the kitchen. Jason made breakfast. I smiled at him, and we made our plates. "Did you get any sleep?" I asked. Jason shook his head gently. I noticed a piece of yarn hanging out of his pocket, and I pulled at it. "What's this?"

"Oh, I'm crocheting," Jason explained. I liked looking at him. The longer I looked at him, the prettier he looked to me. I caught a glimpse of light brown freckles just underneath his eyes. He chuckled nervously, and I looked back down at my plate. "What were you staring at?"

"You're good-looking," I whispered. Jason frowned and looked past me. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I—. No, you didn't say anything wrong. I just—. Can I show you something?" Jason asked. I finished my plate and washed my dish. He playfully nudged me out of his way and washed the dishes. "You gonna let me show you something?" His voice was soft and sweet, and I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to breathe. I nodded. I wished he would look at me.

After he dried his hands, he took me upstairs and showed me the bedroom. "This is your room if you want to stay the night," Jason whispered. I blinked at him. "This doesn't have to be weird. I know it's still in the city, but—."

"I can stay... Jason, how many rooms does this place have?" I asked.

Jason counted on his fingers. "The attic, the basement, four bedrooms, the downstairs office... Seven technically," Jason answered. Once the sun came out and the rain let up, we went on a walk on the beach. He wore a wig and a hat out. He laced his fingers with mine, and I looked up into the sky. "Do you get to come down to the beach a lot?"

"Mostly for work stuff, but no. Even if I did, I don't think it'd ever get old," I whispered. I loved the gentle mist of the ocean blowing in the wind. I liked the chill. I loved feeling like I was steps away from being swallowed up by the ocean and spit up into the sky. "Can we go swimming?"

Jason nodded, and I took him to the ocean. The waves nipped at our ankles, and I stopped. He gave my hand a little squeeze. "Second thoughts? Too cold?" Jason asked. I took him the rest of the way into the water, and the moment I felt the cold saltwater in my hair, I turned to look at him. He squeezed my hand so tight I thought he'd cut off my circulation.

"You okay?" I whispered. I stopped floating on my back so that I could look at him. "You can swim, right?"

He nodded. "I don't think I've ever been in the ocean before. It's a little offputting," Jason confessed. I noticed that his wig stayed in place, and I laughed. "What?"

"Your W-I-G stayed on," I chuckled. He laughed with me, and his nose wrinkled up and his eyes shut. A small wave hit us, and then there was silence. Jason let go of my hand and floated on his back before grabbing my arm. I relaxed again, and I turned to him. "I've got you, you know?"

Jason loosened his grip, and we floated in the water until it was too cold to keep swimming. We bought two towels and laid them in the sand. I lay on my side, staring at him as I propped myself up with one elbow. He sat with his legs flat and his hands planted behind him. "My mom would've liked this city," Jason mumbled. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach when he said that. I didn't know what I would do without my mom. "You know, I met my birth mom a few years ago... She um... She outed me to a magazine for money. I was only fifteen."

"I remember that... I'm sorry," I whispered. He shrugged. "No, I mean it. I am sorry."

"I shouldn't have brought it up. I kind of feel stupid now for killing such a good—."

"I've never been on a real date before," I confessed. After I said it, I looked straight ahead, so I couldn't see Jason looking at me. "So, I don't mind if you talk about your moms... I just want you to know I'm having a good time with you."

"You have no idea how much that means to me," Jason whispered. I reached over and touched pinkies with him. "Do you think I'm weird?"

I laughed. "Kinda yeah, but I like weird on you... And thanks for taking me to the beach. I haven't felt this good in a long time," I whispered. I meant it. Jason closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he lay back. I got up and moved my towel closer to his, and I lay my head on his chest. He didn't flinch. Jason just laid still. I could hear his heart beating in his chest, and he draped his arm over me. The gentle rise and fall of his chest felt like waves.

I must've fallen asleep because I woke up on his couch, wrapped in a blanket while a movie played on a low volume in front of me. I sat up and looked around, and he was nowhere in sight, but I could hear ticking and buzzing coming from one of the rooms. I got up and wandered around the first floor until I found the source of the noise, and I knocked. "Jason?" I asked. The buzzing and ticking slowed to a stop, and I could hear him cursing. "You okay?"

"Yeah, hold on. Sorry," Jason apologized. After a few moments of listening to him shuffle around, I started to worry, but he answered the door. "I—. You were asleep."

"Whatever you're doing is none of my business. Unless it's illegal, then, in that case, I'd like you to tell me to leave," I whispered. Jason chewed his lip and turned away so I couldn't see him laugh at me.

"It's not illegal. It's just a secret... Which makes it seem illegal, but I promise it's not," Jason reassured me. "I think sometimes my dad thinks I'm doing something illegal here. He can think it if he wants to. I do a lot of crafting, but if I showed you what I was working on, you'd know why it was a secret."

I nodded, and he locked the door on his way out. "You carried me in?" I questioned. Jason nodded as he led me back to the kitchen. He made me a sandwich and looked over at me.

"Tell me about yourself," Jason whispered.

"Lane's my middle name... I'm a Pisces—."

"Oh, he's a Pisces," Jason teased. I chuckled. "Sorry, I'm just messing with you. I'm listening."

"I'm a risk-taker... Which also means I've been in the hospital a lot. I have three tattoos that my parents don't know about, I can only cook three things, and I've dreamt about you a lot—."

"You dream about me?" Jason interrupted. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't seem freaked out either. "You don't have to elaborate if you don't want to."

I didn't know what to say, so I changed the subject. "Do you wanna see my tattoos?" I asked. He nodded. I stood up and pulled my trunks down to my hip bone to reveal two fish circling a fire. It was a small tattoo, but I liked that one best. I knew he wasn't really thinking because he ran his fingers over it. He stopped himself once he realized what he'd done. I chewed my lip. Then I rolled up the leg of my shorts to show him a fern leaf tattoo. Finally, I moved my hair and showed him the little phoenix on the back of my neck.

"Why the phoenix?" Jason asked.

"My brother drew it. It's Chris's," I answered.

[spider-bren]

The Feminization of Clement Mansell Part 2 | Clement Mansell x OC Male

Inspired by this twitter post

Read: The Feminization of Clement Mansell Part 1:

Pairing: Clement Mansell x Male OC (Ryan) Tags: Clement Mansell is his own warning, Clement in lace underwear, Clement in a costume, Eddie Munson cosplay, reference to Stranger Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Clem gets called 'babygirl' Summary: Clement has lace underwear on underneath the cheerleading costume he wore to a Halloween party. His boyfriend, Ryan, goes insane...

"You got underwear on under this," Ryan ran his hands down Clement's body breathlessly. "How come I didn't see it?"

"Because I just pushed it to the side while I fucked you."

Ryan furrowed his brows as he ran his hands over Clement's long, long legs. "I didn't even notice it as I was touching your tits."

"You were overwhelmed by me," he laughed. "It's okay baby. You can take your time now and look at me."

The underwear was in a pastel blue colour. Lace. Trimmed. Cut just perfectly. He wasn't sure how Clement fit all that into the little underwear he was wearing. He was big, bulging, leaking onto the the thin fabric. Ryan's mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Clement in his mouth. Wanted to feel his cock over the material. Wanted to feel his cum run down his throat. He could still feel the cum that dripped out of him from when they fucked earlier. Ryan couldn't help himself from reaching for his boyfriend again and yanking off the croptop. He stripped Clement out of the cheerleader outfit so he was just in the underwear. God, he looked so pretty. Men shouldnt look as pretty as him. Ryan felt his cock twitch again with renewed interest. His wig was fucking messed up. Tendrils tangled in every which way. Clement nearly yanked if off his head. He supposed that would hurt since it was glued onto his scalp. He was still naked and he looked to where his costume got discarded. He stared at the denim cut off jacket for too long, thinking.

"Wear my jacket?" he asked, slightly nervous. He had seen Steve Harrington wear it in the show and people shipped Eddie and Steve. It was kinda hot if he got to see Clement wearing something of his. Feeling like Clement belonged to him.

"Your jacket?" Clement searched around for it. "This?" He picked up the leather one.

"No, no. The denim. The cut off. I wanna see you in it with the underwear."

Clement reached over and slipped it on. Ryan stared at how it was small on his large frame. The ends of it coming to his mid-section. Ryan was smaller and shorter than Clement. He loved seeing Clement squeeze into his clothes sometimes. He'd find Clement in his hoodies or a pair of his shorts around the house. It suited him. The demin somehow matching the lace cut of the bra he was wearing. Ryan surged upwards and pulled Clement by his neck into a kiss.

"Fuck, you got me so hard, Clem," he moaned into his mouth.

"You like me like this, pretty boy?"

"You're the pretty one," he laughed and ran his hands over his toned chest.

He nipped at Clement's ear and kissed down his neck. Making sure to mark him with love bites and teeth marks. Clement moaned as he licked into that spot at the bottom of his neck that was sensitive. Ryan's hands gripped onto Clement's hips and set Clement into the smaller boy's lap. His long legs wrapped around him. Clement rocked into his lap, cocks meeting together making them both sigh and moan. He played with Clement's hair in the way that he liked and the older man shuddered as Ryan bit his lip.

"Wanna fuck me again?" Clement drawled, sucking on his lips.

Ryan was already moving his hand down to draw the underwear aside so that he could finger Clement's already used hole. He loved the first press inside, how warm it was. How Clement welcomed him into his body. He was everything he could have imagined for himself. Clement was perfect. His perfect little boy. He sure was no one got to see him this way. No one ever would. It was reserved for Ryan's eyes only. For Ryan's hands and lips and body to feast on.

"Can I call you babygirl?" Ryan flushed as Clement forced himself down on Ryan's fingers.

"Baygirl?" Clement bit his lip. His eyes rolled back in his head. Ryan massaged his prostate and then eased off so Clement could answer. "You really takin' this role play far, huh? But okay. Whatever makes my boy happy."

"Really?" Ryan's eyes lit up. "Because I'm gonna fuck you so hard right now." He gripped his cock and entered Clement with a groan, insides clenching around him, the slip of him warm and intoxcating.

This hardly ever happened. When Clement allowed him into his body. And Ryan was grateful for it.

"Let's see how hard I can make you cum," said Ryan into Clement's sweaty neck. "Fuck yourself on my cock, babygirl. That's it. Good girl."

Clement moaned, his back arching, his hips working faster. "Careful, don't push it."

But he could see the way Clement's neck flushed, the tips of his ears tinting red and the way his breath came out faster.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Ryan kissed his neck sweetly.

[myaimiztrue]

horrible tmbg yaoi

guys please i don't wanna post this on ao3....also this was just for funsies i dont actually ship the johns

"i look like an absolute whore, john." linnell mumbled. he DID look like a whore. his skimpy red dress that had lace trim made his chest, arms and legs highly exposed. his nails and toenails were both painted a crimson color. a curly blonde wig was on his head, strands of his natural hair peeking out. he wore red heels, which he struggled to walk around in. his face was made up, his eyelids had a light blue eyeshadow on them, his cheeks were covered in a light pink blush, his eyelashes were coated in mascara and his lips were covered in red lipstick. his hands were on his hips and he looked highly agitated.

flans sat on the couch, dressed like a lumberjack. he wore a black beanie, black jeans, his usual sneakers and a red and black plaid shirt. "well, i think you look great, babe." flans smiled.

"we're in our 30s, we can't be doing shit like this anymore." linnell mumbled as he grabbed a sad-looking cigarette from the ashtray on the coffee table. he lit it, sat down with flans, and took a drag. flans wrapped an arm around linnell and gave him a kiss on the cheek. linnell inched away from flans. "what's wrong?" flans asked. linnell ignored him. 

*spongebob narrator voice* 10 minutes later......

linnell was still wearing his wig and makeup and was on top of flans. they were both in their underwear (flans insisted on linnell wearing women's panties) and they were making out like slobbery dogs. flans gripped onto linnell for balance as linnell grinded on his erection, panting. linnell pulled away. "you're so good at this shit~" flans said in a breathy voice. linnell rubbed his eyes and mumbled to himself. flans wrapped his arms around linnell and smirked as linnell collapsed onto his chest, falling asleep.

[red-riding-wood]

Verum Vindictae - II

Chpt. I, Masterlist, Chpt. III

Pairing: Marcus x OC (Josephine "Jo" Carlisle)

Fandom: John Wick (2014)

Summary: Bound by a blood oath she made fourteen years ago, Jo is desperately trying to escape a world she used to dream of when she is tasked with killing the infamous "Baba Yaga" and must face the truth of her past as everything she has ever known unravels around her.

WARNINGS: violence, language, eventual explicit sexual content

This story is part of my Willem Dafoe Challenge.

Taglist: @glitter-and-gasoline, @giona45-5, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @emilynightshade89, @wretched-mischief

13:28, October 19th

I’d been getting sloppier, careless.

I wanted out. It was all I’d wanted for the past fourteen years.

I was doing another man’s work, and I wasn’t even the one to claim the reward – not the money, not the fame. I didn’t get so much as a dime or a mention while my blood stained that marker that sealed my fate.

My finger tensed over the trigger of my Glock, the black barrel staring down the man who was blubbering like a child on the floor of the manor. He looked so pathetic, tears streaming down his wrinkled face and his wig set ajar, revealing a sheen of sweat across a bald scalp. In this moment, he didn’t look like a crime boss, didn’t look like the target I’d been sent to kill. In this moment, he was just a man – a man who was about to die by my bound hand.

I readied myself for the twist of my stomach when I pulled the trigger, by the nagging at the back of my conscience as I watched his blood stain the expensive floorboards.

“Please,” he begged me, spittle landing across his jaw. “Please, I’ll do anything. Pay you anything. What are they paying you?”

My lip twitched over my teeth, and I scowled. “Not a damn thing,” I said.

Confusion danced across his shiny, bright irises, and he nearly stilled for a moment.

I snorted, and the puff of air blew a dusky lock from my eyes. I was a fucking joke. A tool, a puppet. I delivered souls to the gates of the underworld and I was the one who had to pay the ferryman.

“Then… why?” the man sputtered in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

Fear was still laced so venomously into his teary gaze, and it softened my grip on the trigger.

I swallowed, and fitted the Glock back into my holster.

“Run,” I told him.

He was frozen for only a moment, and then he was scrambling up from the floor, shoes screeching against the floorboards for purchase. I watched as he fled, practically tripped over the bodies that lay haphazard against the spiral staircase, and I wondered if I’d made an awful mistake.

“There is no place in this business for mercy,” Cain had once told me.

Fuck Cain, I thought.

---

17:32, October 21st

The entire room shuddered as the door slammed shut behind him, and I swung my head to catch the fiery streak of his amber eye as he stalked towards me. I had my feet up on the ottoman, a book in my hands that I slowly slid a bookmark through.

Cain stood before me, eye darting to my dirtied boots, and I could tell he was seething, his shoulders hunched forward and his nose twitching with fury. His eye met mine, and he growled,

“You didn’t fulfill the contract.”

I turned my gaze to the wall, my lip curling. “Figures,” I muttered to myself. “Should’ve known the old codger couldn’t’ve run far.”

But a part of me was relieved. I hadn’t let the old man go entirely out of mercy. A part of me had wanted my boss to find out, had wanted him notice that I was no longer doing as clean-cut a job as I used to. He hadn’t noticed the past five or six contracts that I’d half-assed. At least, finally, this had gotten his attention. At least, finally, he would listen to me.

I shut my book and tossed it aside on the couch, my boots landing with two thuds against the floor as I stood to meet his gaze. Even with his shoulders slightly hunched, he towered over me, and I nearly quailed under the raging fire of the sole lamplight that stared back at me.

“It’s been fourteen years, Cain,” I said, struggling to keep my tone even. “I’m thirty-two, and I’m still doing your dirty work. When will you fulfill my marker? When will I be free?” I was failing; my tone was shaking and its volume was beginning to spiral out of control.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he exploded; his eye flashed in a streak of brilliant flame, and his breath raked across my cheeks. “Do you have any idea what this has done to my reputation?”

“Your reputation?” I scoffed. “You would be nothing without me, Cain. Which is why you need to listen to me!”

“You’re just as irresponsible as you were fourteen years ago! Grow up. You have a job to do – one that you signed on for, with your own blood, and you’re throwing it in my face.”

“I didn’t know I’d signed over my life!” I exclaimed, fury twisting its way malignantly into my gut. “When, Cain, when will I finally to get to live my life?”

John had managed to leave this life behind, had been happy, with a sweet wife and a house out of town, with an SUV and a lawn kept freshly mowed by a jolly gardener. For five years. Five whole years, before I attended her funeral; the poor woman had been claimed by cancer, not by a bullet or a stab wound or a bashed-in skull.

I wanted what he had. I’d always wanted what he had; when I was younger, and he was in the business, I’d wanted in. And now, now I knew why he always tried to keep me out of it, because now I was trapped, and he was out, and I craved that domestic life that he had found.

Cain shook his head, the masked half of his face turning to me, and he began muttering to himself, “Ungrateful, entitled.” The words only scored deeper into my gut, weaving bitter tendrils of wrath.

But before I could say anything, he whirled on me, and blazing amber threatened to combust. “Are you forgetting that you begged me for this life?” he snapped. “Are you forgetting who made you what you are? Without me, you would be nothing!”

From the billowing pockets of his coat, he pulled a carefully-engraved disc of silver; to anyone else, it may have appeared to be a large, unusual coin, or perhaps even a pocket-watch; but to anyone in this business, we knew it to be a sentence.

“I’ll help you,” the man said decidedly, and reached a hand into the pocket of his coat. I stiffened; I knew little of these people, knew little of how they operated. For all I knew, he was about to pull a gun on me.

Silver glinted in the gentle light of the chandelier, and I flinched, imagining it to be a blade. But with a clink, he set it down. A rounded piece of metal, the image of a skull etched into the center of a labyrinth of vines, an array of stars, and three words that appeared to be some sort of Latin.

His finger pressed a button on the side, popping open the center piece that was framed by the lettering and stars, and from its crest a tiny, sharp blade emerged. My heart seized.

But all he did was push it across the table to me, slowly, gently, and an amber optic swept up to meet mine.

“In this world, we operate on blood oaths. I do you a favour, you do me a favour, and your marker is complete,” he explained, thumb idly tracing the edges of the tiny blade that protruded from the silver object. “Just prick your finger here, and press the print here…” he demonstrated by placing his thumb on one side of the line that split the parchment. “And I will change your life forever.”

At his words, my heart leapt with excitement. To be an assassin, to be revered like John, to kill the person who had stolen my life… it was like a dream come true. But I hesitated, as I reached my hand across the table, and asked, “What sort of favour?”

He smiled. “One never knows when they will find themselves in need. I cannot predict the future, dear.”

My hand retracted warily, and I bit the edge of my lip. What was I getting myself into?

“I don’t know…” I said, and stood from my chair. “Thank you, sir, but I think I’m in over my head here…”

“Where are you going?” he asked as I began to take my leave, and my heart fluttered in my chest. I stilled, fingers still resting over the back of the dining chair.

“Are you going back to John?” he urged, when silence hung thick in the air. “Are you really going to spend the rest of your life in his shadow? Are you going to get him to do your work for you?”

I swallowed. He was right. If I went back to John, he wouldn’t let me near my target. They’d be dead before the clock struck midnight. And I may never find a deal like this again, the chance to become something more, something deadly. To become one of the weapons that had fought so vicious yet free back in the Ruska Room.

And what was it, really? Some of my blood on a silver coin?

I turned back around, and took my seat.  

The rings of my bloody thumbprint now stared up at me, and I cursed myself for not walking out that day, for being such a foolish girl.

Cain’s fingers trembled around the marker, and he snapped it shut, a grated cough springing from his lungs. It emerged whenever the weather was cold, or he strained his voice. It made him almost human.

He raised a hand to his mouth, and his fingers still trembled, as they brushed the leather of his mask, tracing the indents of the decorative cogs, as if remembering it were there. That mask… I had never seen what was beneath it. He’d never let me, didn’t trust me enough to. He preached about being the only one there for me, yet he kept secrets from me. For fourteen years.

And then that amber orb flashed, and caught my gaze as he snarled hoarsely, “And this is how you repay me. By fucking me over. By fucking the both of us over.”

The knot of wrath fastened in my gut, and I shot back with a vitriolic tinge to my tone, “I’ve long fulfilled that marker, and you know it. I’ve served you long enough, now let me go.”

Cain’s hand slowly fell from the edge of his mask, and something about him weakened; his countenance softened around sharp features, and an eye once alight with the flame of ire now became almost somber, the hue more akin to a dying leaf in Autumn.

“Served?” he breathed, his voice a ghost of what it had been moments prior.

“You think I stay for the tea parties?” I hissed, taken-aback. Why was he so hurt, so shocked by this? “I’m a prisoner here, always have been.”

“So that’s all I am,” he coughed, his chest wracking weakly. “Your jailer.” His lip curled, nose twitched, and he scoffed. “Fine. You want out that bad, Jo? I’ll set you free. I’ll complete the marker. If you do one thing for me.”

Past the rage brewing in my chest sprung a semblance of hope, and I was sure that my own expression softened. I stepped forward.

“What do you need?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation from my tone.

His countenance hardened once more, and we stood in silence for what must have been an eternity.

“I need you to kill John Wick.”

The room depressurized. My hope plummeted deep into my gut, tangling in the threads of bitter rage and making me sick. Betrayal, that was what I was feeling. Betrayal so intense that my head felt almost light and I could almost feel the fight leave me, feel myself wanting to sink back into the leather of that couch.

“This is some sick joke,” I breathed.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he snapped.

I took a step back. “Why?” My own voice was coming quieter now, weaker. It was breaking. I was breaking.

“You know I tangle with all sorts of folk, Jo,” he said, a sigh escaping his chest with the last of a feeble cough. “Hell, you’ve met half of them. They’re not saints, no more than you and me are. One of my friends broke into John’s house the other day. Killed his dog. Stole his car. Idiot didn’t realize what he’d gotten himself into.”

So this is why he was asking me to kill the man who’d been there for me in my darkest moments, who’d practically raised me until I was eighteen, who’d begged me to come with him when he left this life.

“I’m not killing John because your friend is a nutcase,” I told him, that virulence emerging in my tone again. “It’s not my problem, and it shouldn’t be yours, either.”

“You’re not the only one with a debt to pay, Josephine. This friend, he has my marker. We’re all pawns in this game. You’re only just realizing that?”

“You’re asking me to kill my brother.”

“I’m asking you to kill a cold-blooded killer, same as you, same as every goddamn one of us. You can’t grant mercy to that scheming Rhittler who had more blood on his hands than a butcher and tell me you won’t kill John Wick.”

“He’s my brother!” I screeched, the knot in my gut pulling taut.

“And you’re the only one who might be able to get close enough to kill him. Anyone else I send after him, they’re doomed to Hell. But you, you can catch him off-guard.” Another sigh, and he stepped forward, his hand reaching for my arm. I jutted it back, shrinking from his touch.

“Jo…” he said, his hand falling dejectedly at his side. “I’m sorry to be asking this of you – genuinely – but I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t imperative.”

I glared at him from a stony gaze.

“We both know what happens when you refuse a marker,” he said, tone growing grave. “If John Wick lives, I die.”

A breath hissed from flared nostrils, and though a piece of my heart, for some unexplainable reason, fractured, I grabbed my coat from the arm of the couch and fitted it furiously around my shoulders.

“Then die,” I growled, tugging at the lapels. “And before you do it, repent, repent for all that you’ve done, so I don’t have to see you on the other side.”

That amber gaze trailed me as I left, and though he was wordless, his silence followed me out that door more vexingly than anything he could’ve said.

The cold buffeted me as I stepped onto the pavement, and as the door slammed shut behind me, I realized, that after all this time, when I’d finally claimed my freedom,

I was as good as dead.

[pumpumdemsugah]

AG is a high quality Canadian shampoo brand my stylist recommended because other brands aren’t always affordable here! And you didn’t mention it but protective styles also aren’t for everyone. I know they have a grip on black women, including myself at times but that doesn’t mean that keeping one style in for months is helpful. Going months without washing is a huge reason why so many black woman have issues with their hair because a dirty scalp is the root of a majority of problems for any race and simply washing will give you so much relief. Whenever I see those TikTok’s where women brag about not washing for 3, 5 or 6 months all I think is damn y’all STANK. I recently saw one where the girls lap was covered on debris and she wasn’t ashamed. Idgaf what anyone says, there’s nothing protective about dirt. It’s dirt styling—same with keeping wigs on for months like I know their scalps are on fire and the glue is now a second skin. Just nasty. I still get braids but for 3 weeks max and I wash weekly. But it’s rare these days because I actually enjoy my hair lol. That’s something I feel like a lot of BW don’t wanna admit, all the style puddings and growth oils and 10 hour methods are sometimes just ways to avoid the reality of our hair and what it can do 🤷🏾‍♀️

Ahhh thanks . Lmaoo you're funny.

Back in my forum days, protective styles never meant don't wash your hair and keep your scalp clean. Even when women were wearing braids for long they would dilute shampoos, put it in an applicator bottle and gently apply it to their scalps to clean it and wash their braids in a way that kept it neatish. Even with women on forums that used half wigs and lace fronts as a protective style, they would deep condition weekly or bi monthly and properly moisturise their hair if they knew it wouldn't be possible to get to their actual hair.

Also you might be fine with having 10 inches of hair as long is not for you. The one time my hair was 24 inches everything took so long lol but I kind of want it that long again lol

There is nothing wrong with turning up to the office in 10 large twists in a bun and a hairband if you want to feel fancy. That's what I do and some Black women I've seen around work.

I saw a comment under this stylist doing a 6 month weave for hair growth and this Black woman said, I don't care if your hair is healthy, Black women have got to stop doing everything to avoid touching our own hair. Your hair isn't going to get any easier avoiding it. Sometimes you just have to shave your head if you're that over your hair. My older sister hates doing her hair so she keeps it short

Get acquainted and let things go badly and when it goes badly, it's fine. Actually learn to manage your hair in a way that doesn't make you feel like you're losing your mind but to get there takes trial and error.

My protective style is a messy bun. My ends don't need to be hidden because my hair isn't that fragile, she just hates being combed. On forums some women would only have a protective style and actively try to grow their hair during winter and autumn and have fun in summer and spring when the weather is kinder. Or have one week on and off or wear their hair the same way everyday but they aren't fussed about styling ( like me lol ).

I can get going an extra week if you're busy but if it's months and months and there isn't a mental health issue, you're scared of your hair or have lots of negative experiences.