#like they were actually making a fucking money from it? money that should be directed towards ME bc those were MY blood sweat and tears

[lotus-pear]

i wish all people who use others' art as a means for financial profit a very fucking kill yourself. i mean it.

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

[clockwayswrites]

Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

---

“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

-

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[donatellawritings]

would rafe ever actually hurt the reader or does he always say empty promises when he’s upset? would you write that? love your work xx

ugh so basically, this is the first and only time that rafe and sweetheart actually break up :(

there was only one instance where rafe had hurt you — and it was one of, if not, the only regret that will continue to haunt him, whenever you shed even a single tear. it was pretty early on in your relationship, he was still struggling to navigate how to handle someone as pure as you, while you were still finding your footing when it came to having such a volatile lover in rafe cameron. you’d been warned by your cousin, kiara — she was firm in maintaining her stance on being against you and rafe being in a relationship … you were her family, you had a heart of genuine gold, while rafe only displayed the facade of being a blood and money hungry man with incessant skeletons in his closet.

“don’t fuckin’ walk away from me, when i’m talkin’ to you,” rafe shouted, hot on your trail as you tearfully made your way into your shared bedroom. mascara-stained tears painted your once blushed cheeks with dark and watery streaks, your lip poked out in a wobbly pout as you turned to face your angered boyfriend, “of course, the baby is fuckin’ crying — i should be the one that’s fuckin’ crying after the way you walked around like a dumb slut,” he scoffed, completely unfazed by your genuine tears of sorrowful frustration. now focusing your gaze at your kitten-heel clad feet, your shoulders slumped as a choked out sob sipped from between your swollen lips.

rafe was completely coked-out, blaming his over-indulgence on the fact that it had been months since he’d been able to enjoy a night out. his usually cold, yet enticing bright blue glaze was taken over by blown pupils and bloodshot eyes that stared at you with nothing, but disdain, “y’fuckin’ look at me when i’m talking to you,” he spoke lowly, a squeaky yelp coming out of you as he gripped your jaw, forcing your head up to make direct eye contact with him. your hand gently held onto his wrist, fat tears cascading down your waterline as rafe painfully pinched your cheeks together, “i want you to get the fuck out of my house — y’wanna fuckin’ talk to other guys while m’making us money? then fucking leave,” he spat through gritted teeth, pushing your face away as you let out a throaty cry.

that was far from the case — rafe had simply caught you making conversation with some random kook who’d failed to take the hint that not only you were uninterested, but you were rafe’s girl. but, rafe was too far gone to see anything aside from what his intoxicated mind wrongfully conjured up.

with a heaving chest, you let out a cry as you reached to grab rafe’s arm, “no, papi, i don’t want to go — please ju-just listen to me,” the second your hand touched rafe’s flexed arm, your head whipped to the side as rafe’s ring-clad hand slapped you right across your pretty face. your cheek pulsed with an aching sting as you blinked, your swollen lips parted in disbelief.

the sharp sound of rafe’s hand connecting with your face instantly caused your boyfriend to sober up, just enough for his eyes to widen in realization as he immediately approached you, “fuck, baby i didn’t mean to fuckin’—” he began, reaching an arm out to pull you into his chest, his heart sinking to his stomach as you backed away from him, bone-chilling cries leaving your mouth as you made a run for the bedroom door. “no-no, mama, please just fuckin’ listen!” he shouted, his arms successfully wrapping around you from behind as he pulled you flush against his tense chest.

“i fucking hate you, let me go!” you screamed, kicking your heeled feet as rafe tightened his hold on you, your eyes burning with reddening tears as you let out a choked sob. your cheek still pulsed as you began to sink to the floor, rafe lowering himself with his arms secured around you as you weakly clawed at his strained forearms, “please, i just want to go home,” you squeaked out, rafe’s eyes glazing over — this was supposed to be your home. you’d given up on kicking at the floor and scratching rafe’s arms, your heaving cries making you a bit sleepy as rafe wordlessly held you against him, waiting until you were calm, before he’d speak again.

tears silently rolled down rafe’s structured face as he hopelessly clung to you. you had every right to hate him and he accepted that, but the possibility of you leaving him for good was really starting to bite at him. with a shaky sigh, rafe leaned his forehead against your shoulder, “baby, pl-please let’s just, let’s just go to sleep,” he whispered, his voice wobbly as he swallowed down a pathetic cry. you remained quiet as you stared at the hardwood floor that had been scuffed by your heels, your doe eyes puffy and red from all of the crying you’d done, your eyelids heavy. “m’so fuckin’ sorry,” rafe cried, feverishly pressing his lips into the back of your shoulder, over and over again, his wet eyelashes now prominent against your exposed skin.

you were completely numb, once rafe slowly rose to his feet, keeping you in his arms as he carefully removed your clothes, replacing them with one of his t-shirts, tears rolling down his face as you remained limp, your eyes blank of any recognizable emotion as you refused to look directly into his eyes. you didn’t even move when rafe softly cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss into your forehead as you simply blinked, your wispy lashes clumped together from your warm tears. carefully leading you to your shared bed, rafe remained fully clothed in his button-up and slacks, silently thankful that you were able to fall asleep with your bruised cheek finding comfort against his cheek. he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep, once he was completely sober and of a sound mind, rafe knew that he’d completely fucked up.

this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with you. he was supposed to be different, he was supposed to be a man of dignity, yet here he was slipping into his old ways.

so, rafe was awake when you finally woke up, his heart beating just a bit quicker as you raised your head from his chest, your cheekbone a light reddish-purple shade. it wasn’t until your exhausted and strained eyes met his, that rafe wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg you for your forgiveness. but, he knew he’d be selfish to expect you to forgive him, only mere hours since he’d put his hands on you. biting back tears, rafe stood from the bed, “i want to take you somewhere, baby — y’don’t have to change your clothes, just come with me to the car, yeah?” rafe held out his hand, a slight warmth fluttering in his chest as you lightly held onto his hand with a small nod.

౨ৎ

rafe was thankful that you’d fallen asleep, about five minutes into the drive. he’d been wracking over his mistake over and over again, to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to turn the car around and drive back home with you. slowly bringing the car to a stop, rafe gently parked the car, running a hand over his shaven face with a low and shaky sigh. his tired eyes looked over your peaceful state, your puffy lips slight parted as you fell into a deep sleep. rafe’s heart ached as he gently laid a hand on your thigh, lightly nudging you out of your sleep, a sad and knowing smile tugging on his lips as you opened your eyes.

“rafe, why are we here?” you asked, your voice raspy and hoarse as your eyes glazed.

rafe had driven you home.

unbuckling his seatbelt, rafe shifted to give you his full attention, his hand bringing yours to his lips as you looked at him with tearful eyes, “i want you to listen to me, a’ight? i need to be a better man for you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before swallowing thickly as you held in a cry, “m’gonna get my shit together, princess—” he continued, watching as you furiously shook your head. you were stubborn, but this was the one time where he needed you to listen to him.

“no, i wanna be with you — i don’t hate you, i—” you panicked, tears streaming down your face as you softly pulled your hand away from rafe’s, using both of your small hands to cover your face.

“m’gonna come and get you when i get better, okay mama? but right now, you need to go home, a’ight?” he sighed, keeping his eyes focused on the steering wheel. if he even looked at you for a second, he knew that he’d be back on the road, with you in the passenger seat, riding off into the sunset.

sniffling back a sob, you glanced at your boyfriend through cloudy eyes, “you’re breaking my heart, papi,” you cried, your puffy lips now dry as you licked over them. you wanted so bad to crawl into his lap and fall asleep, forget this all happened. unfortunately, rafe had already made up his mind.

“baby, please go home, this isn’t easy for me,” rafe spoke sternly, maintaining his gaze on the steering wheel, tears burning at his waterline as you nodded weakly, before stepping out of the car, gently closing the passenger door as you walked towards your house.

neither you nor rafe had the strength to look at each other as you made your way into your house, leaving rafe a tearful mess as he aimlessly made his way back on the road. every few minutes, he’d glance at the passenger seat, hoping that you’d magically appear next to him and be your usually smiley self, but he knew that couldn’t happen, not for a while.

rafe meant it when he said that he’d come get you, once he got better and he looked to make good on that promise. you were his sweet girl and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, if he managed to lose you for good. he just hoped that you’d still love him, when he returned.

[transformhim]

Pose

“We good here?”

The model’s question caught him off guard as Raul looked up from from his camera, adjusting the frame and focus for his next shot while his assistant, Damien, moved onto the set to adjust the light and prop placements. The deep bass background music played throughout the apartment in the awkward silence.

The fuck does he mean, are we done?? We’ve hardly started! Raul thought with an annoyed scratch at the back of his head. The model had been a terrible subject to begin with, giving poses and taking heavy sighs at each direction Raul tried to give him, and essentially treated the shoot as though it was something he was bored doing. His payment was way more than modest and the shoot wasn’t supposed to take more than an hour, but he looked like he was ready to leave just 20 minutes in.

Raul cleared his throat, “Uhh, actually we still need a couple more shots. The client is looking for a pretty varied spread to choose from. So if we could j—..”

“Come on, man, you’re really gonna make me do this for another 40 minutes? I’m sure what you got is fine.”

Raul breathed in heavily, “Look, it’ll just take a bit more, the contract said that it wouldn’t be—..”

“Well, you can take it up with my agent, man, I got places I gotta be,” the model started stepping off the set, turning his back to Raul to start packing his things.

Raul turned his eyes towards Damien, lifting his palms up in a disbelieving gesture and shaking his head. Damien just rolled his eyes and shrugged with a dejected smirk. They’ve dealt with these kinds of divas numerous times before. Almost too many to count, actually.

But money had been tight at the studio since the pandemic hit, and even all these years later it still hadn’t recovered. they couldn’t afford to keep getting these types of dismissive twats leave shoots before they were supposed to. Clients were always very specific about what they wanted and could cut pay if they weren’t satisfied.

But Raul and Damien had their own means of dealing with these kinds of rude bastards. As they exchanged wordless looks expressing their annoyance and frustration, Damien’s eyes began to slowly drift towards the model off set, gathering his belongings. His dejected look changed to one of curiosity as he bit his lip. He looked towards Raul and narrowed his eyes with a cheeky grin.

‘Should I?’ Damien mouthed silently towards Raul.

A sly grin spread across Raul’s face as he considered Damien’s proposal. He looked back at the model—turned away from them as he texted to his agent or slam piece or gym family or whatever—and back at Damien, biting his lip mischievously and nodding.

Damien smiled wider and stretched. He took off his tank top and tossed it aside, his toned hairy torso now bare. His fingers hooked under his waistband, and his basketball shorts and boxers drop silently to the floor as he kicked them over on top of his tank top. Now naked and hardening quickly, he arched his back in a stretch, rolled his neck, and rubbed his palms together as he stepped towards Raul. He leaned in for a quick kiss with his partner as he took the bottle body oil next to Raul that the model had used and squirted a massive helping into his hand, slathering it over his chest, arms, and face. Quickly, he moved towards the model gathering his things, ducking down lower as he approached.

“When you get to it, make sure my payment goes t—UUUHHHNNGGG!!” The model was interrupted in the middle of his sentence as Damien, in one fluid motion, pulled the model’s speedo down and plunged his face between his globular asscheeks. The model groaning and grunting in mindless pain and confusion, gripping the sides of the table where his things were sitting, as Damien popped his oily face and head into model’s tight hole, sending a loud squelching *SCHLORP* echoing through the apartment.

Damien’s slick body then began to suck up into the model’s hole, his muscular tan form thinning and contorting as he slithered deeper and deeper into the model’s guts, the entire process emitting a familiar meaty, slimy, slurping sound Raul knew and loved so well. Raul licked his lips, pawing his swelling package, as he watched the model’s sculpted ass distend slightly as his tight hole widen more and more as it hungrily slurped Damien inside him, his tattooed, lubricated form and limbs compressing in on themselves as he plunged deeper. Raul couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the model—he knew full well how ecstatic and orgasmic it felt to have Damien slither up inside him… and what came next.

Just as Damien’s ass and throbbing rod sank into the model’s guts, his thighs and legs shot up into the hole at a much faster speed, whipping into the model’s hole noisily. Raul had shoved his hands into his shorts and was stroking eagerly as the Damien's feet slurped inside while the model groaned and contorted, arching his neck and back and standing on the tips of his toes, cringing at the pain and pleasure racking through his body.

Damien was gleefully readjusting his out-of-proportion frame within the squeezing, slimy, meaty confines of the model’s body, feeling different parts of the model’s sides, abs, and back twitch, flex, and contort, as his body tried to adjust to its invader. He could hear the muffled sounds of Raul’s horny, drunken laughter from the outside, thinking he for sure must have been making the model appear to have a substantially pregnant beer gut as Damien’s body centralized in his torso. After using a stretched out hand to brush his lubricated, wet hair out of his face, Damien went to work shoving his limbs into the model’s extremities.

Damien loudly moaned from within the body as he felt his arms and legs come to new life with increased strength and size while his limbs shoved through slick meat like a tight sleeve into the model’s beefy appendages. He smirked, feeling cocky and horny as he felt his arms burst into massive cannons and his heart fluttered as he felt the rest of him come to life. Damien arched in exhilarated bliss as he felt his chest, torso, and back first compress under the weight of the model’s squeezing body and then surge outward in new sensations of power and mass as Damien’s senses merged with the model’s, enticing him to give his big chest a flex to feel it bounce with new weight.

Raul nearly blew his load from an observer’s perspective. The model’s head was lolled backwards and his eyes rolled back while his body underwent what looked to be an instant pump, his muscles standing out more prominently under his skin, bit by bit, as his boyfriend filled him up like a balloon. Raul gasped as he stroked himself, watching Damien fill up the model’s lower half, making his already impressive thighs and glutes swell larger still. The thong he was wearing for the shoot looked somehow more risqué than earlier, hugging the model’s sweaty skin more tightly and accentuating his now-larger parts. The model was no longer the shredded twunk he was when he came into the apartment, but a swaggering thicc muscle stud with his and Damien’s combined mass.

Finally, Raul could see a sizable lump appear from near the model’s collarbone, stretching the model’s gold chain to its limit, as Damien began to shove his own head upwards into the model’s. He began to elicit deeper, gurgling groans as Damien wiggled and stretched his head up into the neck. Raul felt himself nearing completion as the model’s head suddenly jolted upwards with a dull crack, the lump in the model’s throat now gone. It wasn’t until Raul heard Damien utter his first satisfied groan in the model’s low voice that he blew his pent up load all over the floor in front of him.

Damien rolled his head around in his new body, stretched his shoulders and panted a few more breaths. He touched the foreign curves and angles in his face for a moment, turned on by his own handsome, sharp, smooth face. He felt sweat dripping off him from his exertion and huffed a big whiff of the new musk he emitted. Not bad!

“Alright!” He rubbed his hands off his face and down his pillowy chest.

“Let’s take some pictures.”

Damien turned to see that Raul had blown a sizable load all over the floor, some even on the set, and giggled as Raul chuckled, panting, coaxing the last of his load out of his shaft, letting it dribble down his fingers and onto the puddle below.

“Already?! Come on, man,” Damien chastised playfully.

“Sorry, babe, I just love the way you filled him out, dude. Fuck!”

“Oh? Y’like?” Damien teased walking towards him, saucily lolling his tongue out while he flexing his arms hard and tensing his pec muscles several times. He was being corny like always, but Raul was kicked into 5th gear again, instantly ready to blow another load.

“Yeah, dude, I fuckin’ do,” Raul took the liberty of feeling up Damien’s slick muscle gut, running his hands over his protruding abs. Damien could see how into this his boyfriend was and decided to move things forward a bit.

He grabbed Raul’s hand and shoved it into his thong, feeling his new hardening 7 incher steel against his boyfriend’s palm. He humped and gyrated his mammoth cock against Raul’s hand and asked, “What about the shoot?”

“Shoot can wait,” Raul moaned as he gripped onto Damien’s slick dick and stroked, lifting up Damien’s huge arm with his other hand and burying his face into Damien’s sweaty pits, licking and lapping at the moist surface while inhaling deeply.

Damien lifted up his other arm for Raul to let his boyfriend worship his other pit, bouncing his pecs a bit as Raul slathered his greedy face across his sweaty jugs on his way to the next pit. Damien grinned as he felt Raul continue to lovingly work his shaft. He was looking forward to a hedonistic, indulgent weekend with his boyfriend—he just hoped they eventually remember to finish the shoot.

[jjkarmy091]

Second Best- Jungkook (part 6)

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Jungkook woke up around 9:30 am. The first thing he did was check his phone in case he had any notifications from Y/n, but had none. He was seriously getting worried about this lack of response. Had something happened with the person Y/n left with? If that was the case he would never be able to forgive himself. He knew he should have gone after her, he's so stupid. 

He got up, took a quick shower, got dressed, grabbed his keys and left, he couldn’t keep up with this uneasy feeling. Putting his helmet on, he drove to the coffee shop Y/n worked. He knew her shifts very well, and that was the only place he could find her. When he got there, he parked his bike, took a deep breath and got in looking everywhere for her but still no Y/n in sight. 

“Hey there moto boy. What can I get you?” Sana asked. Jungkook looked kinda confused. “I was actually looking for Y/n. Is she on her break?” Sana frowned and looked at him suspiciously. 

“You’re kidding right?” Sana exclamed. “You are always together and talk to each otherall the time when you aren’t. You can’t tell me you didn’t know she took some days off” 

The world fell at Jungkook's feet upon hearing that. Y/n took a few days off and didn't even answered to his texts or deign to call? what the fuck was going on. Jungkook nodded his head, said thank you and left, picking his phone up instantly to call Y/n. “The person you called is not available. Please try again later” 

Fuck. Me

------------ 

Y/n fell in love with that place as soon as she saw it. Everywhere she looked she she felt immense peace and everything seemed so quiet and cozy, everything to make the weight on her shoulders disappear. Upon entering the chalet, they were immediately greeted by a gentleman at the entrance who directed them to the reception.

After checking in and receive the keys, they picked up their luggage and followed the gentlemanto the elevator, who was showing them the way to their "apartment”. Y/n couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. Walking in, she’s faced with a very nice living room, with wooden walls and gray furniture. It had shelves with books, among other really cute stuff decorating the place. All very neutral and very light, exactly what she needed. On the coffee table was champagne and a plate with strawberries and chocolate with a small note saying "we hope you enjoy your stay as much as we enjoy your presence. Thanks for choosing us. Have fun" 

From the living room they went to the bedroom to organize their things. When they walked in Y/n was even more astonished. From their bed they had a view of the outside. She always loved snow and being there was filling her heart with so much happiness she wished she could live there forever.

“Where did you find this place and how can you afford it for both of us?!” Y/n exclaimed. Lisa looked at her with a funny look “My dad owns it. A benefit of traveling so much and not seeing his family for so long, not everything can be bad. I used to come here for Christmast and New year. It's crazy during those days and you know me, I love crazy and those were my favourite moments here”

Y/n laughed. Only Lisa could say something like that. 

“So… You know how to ski right?” Lisa asked out of nowhere. “Oh hell no Lisa, no way, not right now, we just got here we should—” Y/n argued back but was soon interrupted by Lisa 

“There's a snow suit in the closet on the right. We have a lot to discover we won't wait until tomorrow. You rest during the night. Come on princess, time is money” Y/n huffed while getting her suit to start putting it on.  How could Lisa have so much energy was something she couldn't understand.

They both got dressed and head out of the chalet. Y/n was amazed by the view, everything was perfect. But it’s not an adventure if something doesn't go right for Y/n. Out of nowhere she lost sight of Lisa, making her panick. She had no idea where she was.

Y/n looked around trying to see her friend but couldn’t identify anyone who would look like her. She started walking around worried about straying too far from where Lisa last saw her. Y/n was so distracted that she didn't even notice anyone coming close to her, ending up colliding with that person, causing her to lose balance and fall. The other person quickly knelt down, stretching out his hand to help her until she heard “Y/n?” 

She looked up, took the stranger's hand and straightened her hair a little, trying to understand where she recognized that voice from, until the stranger took the protective mask off his eyes and saw him.

“Taehyung?”  

Tags: @esposadomd @joonlover1207 @eegyo @furrywonderlandwolf @minghaosimp @differentrunawayperson @nikkinikj @jksusawife @11thenightwemet11 @jk97bam @11thenightwemet11 @cryingoverpixelsetc @bhonbhon @lostinneocity @almostpurplelady @meowforluv

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK men react to different insecurities part 3

Pairings: Nanami x overweight fem! reader (requested by @deegausserr) Choso x fem!reader with big breasts (requested by anon)

Yuji/Todo x tall/curvy fem!reader (requested by @sitarawrites, @hitori979, @sophyr05 and anon, I see y'all my tall queens)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: not 100% proofread, as usual don't read if you feel triggered by those topics, listen I literally have no boobs so I'm beyond sorry if Choso's part is shit, overweight and big breast parts contain insults (please note that this is definetely not the way I feel about it!) but also so much comfort from your favorite characters, you are beautiful just the way you are 🤍

Part 1: Nanami x reader with facial scars; Megumi x reader with small breasts; Sukuna x reader with acne (click here to read)

Part 2: Nanami x reader who doesn't want kids; Gojo x reader who gained weight; Megumi x reader with hooked nose (click here to read)

Nanami with an overweight reader

(Imaging him grabbing those ass bully girls like this okay)

You cover yourself up the minute he enters the room. He, the man who caught your eye since the beginning. He, who looks so effortlessly good in that suit. He, a well-trained man with a body like the statues in ancient Greek.

“Hey, the same as usual?”

“Thank you, (y/n).”

Just him, Kento Nanami. And you? Well, you have nothing in common with all those things. To be exact, you aren’t even sure if he ever noticed you. Why would he? You are nothing but a worker in a coffee shop, average-looking and…

You swallow. You are overweight. Not that it would bother you this much. After all, you work hard for your money each and every day, you do your best to keep your head above the water. You never really felt the urge to lose weight until reality, or rather other people, hit you.

“Oh, look who’s working again!”

“Did you already eat all those muffins? How is it possible that when you’re working, all the food is gone around this time?”

There they are again. Breathe in, breathe out. Everything is alright. Just suffering a few minutes, just letting their words hit you a little longer and they’ll be gone again. You just have to get through this. It’s not like you haven’t heard those group of actual grown-ups say those nasty things to you over a hundred times already.

But no. Today, it isn’t that easy. Because on the table in front of you sits none other than Kento Nanami who reads his paper and sips on his cup of coffee like he always does. Why do you suddenly feel the urge to defend yourself, to make them stop talking to you like that?

“Can you guys just leave me alone? I’m doing my job here, okay? Would you like to drink or eat something-“

“Fat pig”, one of the blonde girls suddenly spits at you.

This is nothing new. You should be used to it by know, all the countless insults especially that group of four girls always spits at you are too much to even count. Then why…Why do your eyes roam to his perfectly trimmed blonde undercut, why do you ball your fist in an instant?

What a dumb mistake. One of the girls follows the direction of your sight, breaking out in hysterical laughing when realizing that you were looking at Kento Nanami. No, please don’t make a stupid comment, please just grab a coffee and leave this place. Even though it hurts to get reminded of the stinging fact that you are overweight almost every single day, what hurts even most is…

“I can’t believe you! Why would a fatass like you even look in his direction? Can’t you see that he’s out of your league? God, you are so pathetic it makes my wanna cry. I mean, don’t you have a mirror at home, can’t you see that you are nothing but a fat fuck? Nobody will ever want you, (y/n). Especially not a handsome man like him.”

It’s hard for Nanami to contain his temper, hand already trembling threatful. Who do these girls think they are to talk to you in such a nasty way? You are breathtakingly stunning with eyes that radiate nothing but kindness, you work so hard each and every day. You…

You don’t deserve this.

“Leave me alone”, you mumble again.

And for the first time in forever, your throat starts to burn as well as your eyes. At this point you were so used to getting picked on that you didn’t even cry about it anymore after some time. But this…this isn’t about your weight anymore. This hits you right where it hurts.

Kento Nanami.

You don’t even dare to look his direction, eyes pierced to the ground while their venomous laughs fill the room with hatred. The urge to just get out of here, to leave this place and never return becomes almost unbearable. Maybe…maybe you should really lose some weight. Your eyes dart towards the counter in whose glass your figure is reflected.

You feel absolutely horrible and disgusting. A silent sob escapes your lips. Yes, why would someone like Kento Nanami ever want someone like you?

“Awww look at her, now she’s crying!”

You can’t take the shame anymore. Without thinking twice, you storm out of the coffee shop, ignoring your co-worker calling out your name behind. It began to rain in waterfalls, your tears now mixing with the drops from above.

There was probably never a moment in your life where you hated yourself as much as now. What where you even thinking, getting all excited every morning because of that force of a man? Were you really too dumb to realize that Kento Nanami would never fall for a girl like you?

A fat pig, a person so undisciplined that it shows, a girl that could never wear his t-shirts as a dress. You are a nobody, an ugly figure in a world full of skinny models-

“(y/n)!”

That voice makes your guts turn in an instinct, heart pounding against your chest. You pick up your pace immediately, almost running down the rainy streets of Tokyo into an alley. Of course, he followed you. After all, Kento Nanami is a gentleman out of romance books, the perfect man. But you’d rather die that let him comfort you. No, you don’t want to hear that he’s sorry about their cruel words, you don’t want him to look down at you with his pity-filled eyes.

You simply can’t take it.

“Hey, (y/n). Please look at me.”

With a swift motion, he grabs your wrist and turns you around. You feel like dying right here and now, his chocolate brown eyes seem to pierce right through your soul.

But then…

He pushes you against the wall and just kisses you. His lips collapse onto yours with so much passion that it simply takes your breath away, his eyes roaming around your body hungrily. You stare at him in sheer disbelief. Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? Countless lonely night, you imagined what it would feel like to have him this close, to feel his body against yours. And now…And now that gorgeous man pinned you against a wall.

“Don’t you dare to believe a single word they said. I promise you that they’ll never speak to you like this again. I made sure of that.”

It feels so surreal, almost too good to be true. Is he only doing this out of pity, because he doesn’t want you to feel bad? Your heart sinks painfully. Is that what this is about?

“You don’t have to do that so I’m feeling better”, you mumble against his lips.

Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest, hiding you like you always do around him.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel better”, he replies in an instant, hands gently untucking your arms to place his own around your waist.

“I’m saying this because I can’t take my eyes off you since I saw you the first time I stepped into this café. You have to be the most beautiful person I have ever seen, (y/n). I adore your delicate curves, your inviting smile, your unshakable character. I love the way your hair falls and how you prepare my coffee. I adore you just the way you are. Did you really think I’m there because of the coffee? It’s not that good if you’re asking me.”

His comment makes you giggle your tears away and shaking your head at the same time.

“Yeah, the coffee isn’t that great to be honest”, you comment.

“But you are.”

He looks down at you all serious again, his intense gaze making your knees go weak in an instant.

“And I want nothing more than to take you out to a nice restaurant.”

Choso with a reader who has big breasts

You were never keen to meet new people, especially men. Not because you aren’t talkative or enjoy others company. No, it’s because you never know how they’ll react when seeing you for the first time.

Even though especially other women are jealous of you because of how big your breasts are, you truly hate them. It seems like the second you meet someone, all they have eyes for is your cleavage. No matter if you wear a baggy shirt, your uniform or one of the dresses you normally adore so much, your boobs come first. And you fucking hate it.

“Hey, why are you so nervous, (y/n)? I’m sure you and Choso will get along just fine!”, Yuji tries to cheer you up with a kind smile.

“And probably your-“

“Shut up right now, moron”, Megumi mumbles instinctively.

You sign to yourself. It’s clear that he’s just trying to be nice and funny, but to be honest you want to cry. Since puberty hit you, no one ever saw you like an individual anymore. No, you are either sexualized or body-shamed.

“Would you crush me with your melons for some money? C’mon (y/n).”

“There she is again. Look at her tits!”

“She’s just showing off. What a slut.”

“I bet those would be a good ass pillow.”

You are so damn tired of it. Tired of all the people talking about you behind your back, tired of being nothing but a sex object, tired of having no character. Even though here at Jujutsu High, people seem to finally get that you are indeed a human being all by yourself and would never talk badly about you, you can feel their looks.

“Oh, there he is! Come on, (y/n)!”

No, no, no. Is it too late to just turn around and leave this place? Maybe Maki is still free, you should go and grab a drink with her. Or even better, barricade yourself into your dorm and return when this man is gone.

“You must be (y/n). My little brother told me a lot about you”, a dark voice introduces itself.

Your eyes dart up in panic. Oh, you just know how this goes. First of all, he’ll look down at your breasts. If he’s having at least a spark of decency, his eyes will dart back to your face and roam around when he thinks you’re not paying any attention. And maybe, just maybe, he won’t mention your cleavage for quite some time.

“Nice to meet you”, you mumble annoyed already.

Huh, his eyes rest right on your face, a small smile forming itself on his lips. You tilt your head to the side, squint your eyes in confusion. Well, this is definitely new. He didn’t even look at them, not a single glimpse onto your body.

“Is it true that you have a thing for blood manipulation? Yuji told me you are interested in learning more about that technique.”

“Well, yeah…”

You have to blink a few times. He is so…different from everyone else. Not even Megumi resisted the urge to look down at you, you even heard him talking about it with Yuji someday. But this man…what was his name again? Choso? He seems to be curious about…

You. Nothing but you.

“I am quite skilled when it comes to blood manipulation. If you want, I will gladly show you a few things.”

“Y-yeah…I mean…That would be nice. Like, today?”, you stutter awkwardly, completely caught off guard by this unexpected change of scenery.

“If you have time, of course.”

“Okay, then…I’ll change now.”

“I’ll meet you at the training field.”

“Yeah…”, you mutter.

As soon as you leave the room, Yuji seems to finally regain your voice.

“And? What do you think about her?”

“I think she seems quite nice for a human being.”

“And what else?”

A big pause that makes your heart shatter for a brief moment. Maybe he isn’t as different as you thought. Maybe he’s just thinking about your cleavage like everybody else does, maybe-

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Haven’t you seen her,…y’know…Megumi?”

“He means her breasts”, Megumi clarifies.

“Why would I look at her breasts when she seems to have an interesting character?”

Your heart almost beats out of your chest, ears literally unable to comprehend what you’ve just heard. It really shouldn’t touch you like that. But oh, the second you begin to realize what that stranger just said your eyes get glossy. It might only be a little statement for him, but it surely means the world to you.

In a world that shames on you for something you can’t change, in a world in which men only took you on dates or talked to you because of your breasts and not because of your personality.

Choso seems to be the first person who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck about the way you look. And oh does it feel nice.

“Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought”, you mumble to yourself.

Yuji and Todo with a cury/tall girl

Just one look at him seems to sweep you off your feet. The way he walks, the way he talks, simply the way he carries himself. It wasn’t hard to fall for Yuji, but it was definitely rough to find out he isn’t interested in you.

“What kind of woman is Yuji actually into?”

Nobara looked at you up and down, visibly bamboozled about what you’ve just asked. There aren’t many things she doesn’t think about, but Yuji Itadori’s type is definitely one of them.

“I don’t know girl…But I guess he’s the type for rather short girls, don’t ya think?”

You hated the way your heart instantly began to ache in your ribcage. Of course he does. Aren’t all boys nowadays into petite girls with a bubbly personality? And to be honest, you are none of that.

Taller than all the other girls and even some boys around Jujutsu High, curvier than anyone else, probably uglier than the rest. You never put much thought into all of these things, but right. Why would Yuji be any different from all the guys you’ve met before?

“Who the hell is this woman, Itadori?”

Todo can’t help but shamelessly stare at you. This is too good to be true, a sight straight out of his dreams. You…You are even better than Takada-chan.

“Huh? Oh, that’s (y/n)”, he replies with a small grin, just one look at you making his heart stumble all over again.

He hasn’t seen you in quite some time now that he thinks of it.

“What kind of woman is your type, Itadori Yuji?”

The pink-haired boy has to blink a few times, eyes still set on your delicious curves and gorgeous long legs.

“I like tall woman with a big ass.”

“Is that your final answer?”, he huge boy next to him urges, grabbing him by his uniform so roughly that his eyes yank away from you.

“Yes!”, he replies immediately.

“Then get going, we need to talk to this beauty over there”, he announces, dragging Yuji behind him before he is even able to reply.

You tilt your head to the side. What the hell is going on over there? Who is that shirtless guy and…is that Yuji he drags behind him as if he’s taking out trash?

“You!”, he shouts into your direction, eyes seem to pierce right through your soul.

What the hell is this about? Should you run away, cry for help? He definitely looks pretty dangerous to you with the way his muscles seem to grow with every step he takes towards you.

“Hey, let me go! I can walk by myself!”, Yuji protests.

“Now talk to her”, Todo hisses, almost pushing him into you.

“Oh, hi (y/n)!”

“Well, hi Yuji…”, you answer rather confused.

You look even better from over here, your body lingering over his own by a few centimetres. Yes, you have to be the biggest woman Yuji has ever seen with a character so badass that no one can hold a candle to you. And those curves, those oh so delicious curves…

“Tell her what kind of woman is your type”, the guy next to him demands harshly.

“Stop being so damn loud, she hears you!”

“Oh, I definitely do. What is all of this bullshit about and what kind of freak are you exactly?”

“Itadori loves tall woman with a big ass.”

Well, that’s rather unexpected. Yuji turns as red as a tomato, not daring to shoot a single glimpse your way. But Nobara said that he likes petite girls and somehow, this always made sense to you. Still, his body doesn’t lie. And the fact that he doesn’t say anything against it tells you…

“You like tall woman with a big ass”, you repeat.

“Well, to be honest, I just like you, (y/n)”, he mutters along with scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“I like you too. You have to be the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. Let me cherish you for the rest of our lives”, the guy named Todo purrs.

“Hey, I thought you were my wingman and now you’re trying to steal my girl away from me!”, Yuji protests.

“When did I ever say that, moron? We might be brothers, but this right here is my girl-“

“WE ARE NOT BROTHERS AND (Y/N) IS NOT YOUR GIRL!”

“I’ve been crazy about you for so long. I can’t believe you actually find me attractive, Yuji”, you interrupt their little chitchat.

Your heart feels light as a feather, so good that you are almost think about giggling out in sheer joy.

“Are you kidding? You are what dreams are made of, (y/n)! I was just too shy to admit…”

“I’d never be too shy to show my love. Pick me, (y/n)!”

“GET AWAY FROM HERE!”

“I’M NOT LEAVING MY GIRL BEHIND!”

"That's enough, I'm leaving. See you around guys", you announce with a sly grin.

"OUCH, DID YOU JUST SLAP ME TODO!?"

"JUST THE WAY YOU DESERVE IT, ITADORI!"

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Through the Fire

Jason Todd x batmom!reader

Jason’s death broke you almost beyond repair, sending you into a dark pit that you struggled to claw yourself from. But what about your baby boy? What about what happened to him? And could you ever save him like you should have done years ago?

Warnings: ANGST, lots about Jason’s death, kidnapping, Jason needs a hug, references to Damian’s conception, I repeat shit tons of angst, reader wants to die for a while, swearing, descriptions of scars, insults thrown at reader, references to murder

WC: 1.7k

A/N: I realise I took this in a different direction than what the request actually was but I hope you still like it!

Minors DNI

You didn’t think being a mother was ever in your life plan, it wasn’t like you didn’t want children, you just never expected it to happen. Then, a little bird named Dick trotted into your life, bringing along with him a man who you knew was your soulmate. And a few years later, things got even better.

A boy, barely 11 years-old, tried to steal the tires off of the bat-mobile. And less than 24 hours later, he became a Wayne. Life was good, for a while. You did your best to provide your boys with as normal a life as possible given the circumstances and they seemed to flourish. That is until Jason was a month shy of his 14th birthday.

You remember that night in vivid detail like a horrible nightmare you couldn’t escape. Bruce had been silent on the coms after the explosion making a deep sense of unease settle in your gut. You remember little Jason’s bright yellow cape saturated with red, the fabric wrapped tightly around your son’s body, shielding you from the horror.

Bruce made eye-contact with you and you knew, you knew your little jay-bird had been ripped from you before his life could even really begin. The scream that echoed through the cave as you fell to your knees still haunts Alfred and Bruce to this day. The utter despair and rage of a mother who lost their baby rattling their bones.

For a long time, you blamed Bruce. Once Jason had been buried beneath his favourite tree on the grounds, you stopped speaking to your husband. You moved to the other side of the manor, refusing to eat or even sleep. You wanted so badly to be with your boy again and you wished every day that you had been the one who died, not him.

The appearance of Tim saved you. That smart little boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer wormed his way into your heart. He helped gather the pieces of your heart and stick them back together, even if there were a few shards that lay with your Jason.

Bruce welcomed you home with open arms and you both were finally able to grieve together. You became a united front once more, able to face any situation with the knowledge that you weren’t alone.

But nothing could have prepared you for this.

With a pained groan, your mind emerged from the darkness of unconsciousness. Your eyelids felt heavier than normal as you struggled to open them but eventually, you were successful. As far as you could tell from the dim light streaming through the windows, you were in an abandoned apartment. It stank of stale urine and cigarettes.

You huffed and glanced down to find that you had been tied to an old dining chair. Your gaze lifted to the door which was only a few feet in front of you. If you could bounce on the seat with enough force, you might be able to shatter the old wood and make a run for it.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” The deep voice that spoke from the darkness further into the apartment startled you but you regained your composure quickly, after all this wasn’t your first rodeo.

“What do you want? Money? Leverage?” The man chuckled and you saw the shadow of his figure move. From what you could tell, he was huge.

“No, we just need to have a little conversation without Mr Wayne meddling.” Your stomach dropped. Who the fuck was this guy? But before you could retort, he stepped from the shadows.

The red of his helmet was what struck you first. The metal was smooth save for the white slits for his eyes, even to you who had faced the Joker head on, it was incredibly intimidating. Then emerged the maroon bat on his chest so like the symbol your husband sported. Then the two guns strapped to his thighs.

Anger rushed through your veins before you could stop it. “Red Hood.” You spat. 

“Very good!” He replied sarcastically. “I’m glad I made an impression.” He walked casually over to you, his goliath body towering over you. The old floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved with the grace of a man who had spent his whole life being a soldier.

Your face remained stern as he approached, not showing even a lick of emotion. Your husband’s words echoed through your mind. “Do not show your fear, give them nothing.”

“You’ve already killed more than 20 people in Gotham, I don’t think that’s a great impression to give.” 

“20 people that you know of.” He snarked, a thick Gothomite accent slipping through his carefully crafted facade. “It isn’t like your beloved husband is doing much to clean up the streets.”

He walked casually behind where you were bound and tugged on your restraints. You flinched as the rope dug into your plush stomach. “I mean he couldn’t even kill the son of a bitch that murdered your precious ‘baby bird’.” He hissed, voice full of raw hatred.

Ice ran through your veins. You couldn’t answer him, too shocked that he knew of Bruce’s double life. “I mean what kind of a man replaces his son less than a year after he was beaten to death with a crowbar! And you know what makes it even worse?” His face was now right beside yours, his mask pressed against your ear as he whispered his next words. “You let him.”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about!” You crumbled, you couldn’t help it. The pain of Jason’s death was all-too-present in your lives. “I died the same day he did.” 

“And yet you’re still breathing.” He moved away, turning his back to you. “And I know why, it’s because you weren’t really his mother. You just took him in as a little pet project because you were a bored housewife with no one to nag since your Brucie was out fucking other women. If you were really my mother, you would have killed yourself a long time ago.”

A gloved hand reached up and undid the hidden clasp in his helmet. The metal fell away easily, revealing a mop of pitch black hair that covered the back of his pale neck. “Poor Mrs Wayne, stuck in that big house all alone with so much love to give but no one to give it to. Jesus Christ, no wonder Dick left, you are so stifling.”

He huffed through his nose as if this whole thing was one big cosmic joke before Red Hood finally turned to face you once more. “Well mommy, how does it feel to know that your jay-bird is a murderer?” 

“Oh god.” You whimpered as you took him in. Jason’s face was covered with the silvery lines of old scars, including a large one that curled up from the corner of his lip all the way up his cheek, giving him a snarled smile. His eyes were no longer the soft hazel that they once were but now an almost supernatural green. A slash of white cut through his dark hair.

He was so different but he was still Jason. “My baby.” Tears quickly rolled down your full cheeks. “You’re alive.” You didn’t fight against your bonds anymore, you couldn’t. It felt like your body was shutting down as shock set it. 

Jason scoffed at your tears. “Oh so now you wanna start crying? Fucking pathetic.” He rolled his eyes.

“My boy, my boy.” You cried. He was alive, all this time he was alive and you hadn’t found him. Guilt settled heavily in your gut and suddenly it was like it was 5 years ago. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re just sorry that now you have to face the consequences of your actions.” You shook your head. “Or are you sorry that you weren’t a better mommy?” He asked mockingly. 

“I’m so sorry Jason. I’m sorry. I love you so much.” You were in near hysterics now. “I love you.”

But evidently, that was the wrong thing to say because with an explosive amount of power, Jason threw his helmet at the far wall. The metal dented upon impact, shattering the cheap drywall. “No you don’t! You never did!” He blazed with an anger you had never seen before.

“I do. You were the best thing to happen to me Jason. You’re my baby. I’ll love you forever.” And for a split second, you saw the rage melt away and what was left was that scared little kid who just needed a guiding hand.

“Fuck you! You’re just a fucking trophy wife who can’t even keep her husband in her own bed!” He screamed into your face but you did not flinch.

“I love you.” You repeated, your tone unwavering.

“You aren’t even my real mother!” His face was red with emotion, just the same way it used to when he was upset or frustrated.

“I love you.”

“I don’t love you!” He shouted back but his eyes could no longer meet yours and his hands were shaking.

“I love you.” Your voice was soft now, just barely a whisper but you knew he heard you. He shot forward, slipping a knife from some hidden pocket into his palm. The ropes that held you fell away just as he collapsed into your arms.

You did not hesitate, you wrapped him up as tightly as you could, Jason’s head falling to the crook of your neck as your fingers tangled in his hair. “I love you my Jason.” Tears soaked through your shirt as he sobbed, his huge chest heaving with his pain.

“I was so scared. I just wanted you and you weren’t there. There was so much fire and blood.” Thick arms wound around your waist, squeezing you harshly. “I wanted my mommy.”

“I’m here now. I’m never letting you go again, never.”

He nuzzled further into you and you almost didn’t catch his quiet “I love you momma.” 

“I love you more.”

And that’s where Dick found you hours later, kneeling on the dirty floor of a condemned building, Red Hood asleep in your arms as you sang him a lullaby.

Anon request: 3.The boys did something wrong and she punish them by (whatever you want to do) and one of the replies, “you’re not My Mom!”

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Sal Deluca Meta

Okie dokie here we go. Just remember y'all asked for this.

Here are some repeated talking points I’ve seen about Sal and why I think most of them are ignoring certain contexts or misattributing things to Sal that were said/done by somebody else. Also just general thoughts about our little mook.

Hen Begins

That Sal was a raging racist/sexist/homophobic. 

Let’s deal with the first one first. Is he a member of the white boys club? Absolutely. He makes no effort to include Hen and doesn’t really acknowledge her at all until he’s complimenting her for her skills at the end of the episode. This is OBVIOUSLY not good. He should’ve been kinder and more welcoming to her. But the only one who specifically makes negative/mean comments about Hen is Gerrard and Tommy. Literally the only thing you could even interpret that way is him saying “for real?” to Gerrard’s diversity hire comment and the fact that he drops the pick axe or whatever the hell that metal thing was on the floor along with everybody else besides Chim. Not great, but also with what we know about how other rookies are treated even by Hen herself, I don’t think any of this behavior falls into “irredeemable racist monster” Buck chased Ravi with a chainsaw for christ sake. 

Ok now the sexism. He actually stares daggers at Gerrard for the entirety of his stupid “waste of taxpayer money/women won’t be able to rescue my guys” spiel. Like the camera specifically focuses on Sal looking pissed as hell. Another thing I’ve heard falsely said is that after Gerrard storms off, Sal/Tommy follow him. That’s not true. They do get up and leave but they actually leave in the ass opposite direction. Sal’s face when he signals to Tommy to get up reads to me as “let’s get the hell away from the fallout of that grossness.” not “I agree with what that dinosaur just said.” But I also realize people can interpret that moment differently. 

I think the sexist reading largely comes from the Kristen Stewart conversation. And come on, This is the lesbian website, if we start dinging people for finding Kristen Stewart attractive, we’re all going down. Plus again, Buck was STEALING EMERGENCY EQUIPMENT TO GO GET LAID AND HE’S EVERYBODY’S FAV SO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT. We see Sal kind of ignore Hen but also agree with her at the same time during this exchange. Again a case of Sal not really acknowledging Hen but not attacking her either. Go and look at his face when Tommy says that NY bitchiness comment. Sal does not look at all happy with him. Most of the time when anyone is being actively mean Sal looks pissed off, not approving.

Ok now the homophobia thing. And it's at this point I’m going to bring up the idea that some characters seem bad/good not based on their actions but on whose perspective we’re viewing those actions from. I see this being a problem with several characters. Most notably Taylor Kelly. But that's a whole other post. 

Sal’s team Jacob comment is homophobic and gross but it's also 1) 2009 and 2) directed at someone who he clearly knows incredibly well and who we KNOW gives as good as he gets. I easily could’ve seen this interaction reversed with Tommy saying that to Sal because that's who they are and how their friendship works. But because we’re seeing this from Hen’s perspective it's another thing that makes her feel isolated and othered. And again THAT IS NOT GOOD SAL SHOULD NOT BE DOING THAT. But I don’t think Sal at all said that with the intention of putting Hen down, it very clearly reads to me as Sal teasing/riling Tommy up as they always have. Now obviously the harm still hits even if the intent wasn’t present. But I think if we can forgive Tommy for comments that were MEANT to be mean, then we can forgive Sal for comments that were just him fucking around with his best friend of several years. 

That Sal was the ringleader or Gerrard’s right hand man

Does Sal have a sort of in charge vibe? Yeah absolutely. But very notably the only thing he actually initiates is the olive branch. It’s him that offers a hand to Hen and says nice job and you’re good at what you do. I also will die on the hill that the hemorrhoid complaint was his. Chim would definitely say that but not in an official report, Tommy would definitely bad mouth Gerrard, but not like that. Now who is known for kind of cruder language and a short fuse and absolutely would put that down in an official report? Sal motherfucking Deluca that’s who. 

One notable thing that I find interesting is that Hen herself distinguishes Gerrard’s behavior from the rest of the team's. She definitely gives them hell during her big speech but when Chim does dishes with her she specifically says men like him not men like them. Just something I realized on my most recent rewatch. 

To summarize, the only real thing Sal did that was unique to him (because they all failed to stick up for Hen, yes even Chim. Chim was nice to her but he never actually stood up for her to Gerrard’s face. He tried to redirect the conversation a couple times but that was it.) was the Kristen stewart comments and the Team Jacob comment. I would argue Tommy’s comments in Chimney begins and his NY bitchiness comment in Hen Begins are way more targeted, hateful, and fucking rude. (said with all love because we know Tommy had a bunch of growth and change and became the man we all know and adore.) IMO nothing in Hen begins that Sal says/does is as bad as what Tommy did/said.

Bobby Begins Again

Ok another reason why I don’t think Sal is this irredeemable sexist/racist/homophobic pig is WHY ON EARTH WOULD HEN STAND UP FOR HIM IF HE WAS???!?!?!? Hen is THE FIRST PERSON TO CALL OUT THAT CRAP even from the first episode she says something like “why is that always the first instinct with you whiteboy macho types?” So why why why why would she stand up for Sal if he hadn’t shown any improvement in that area in the now 7 years minimum that she’s worked with him. Answer: she fucking wouldn’t. Ok moving on.

The Bobby stuff

So remember how I said perspective changes everything? This is the major reason why. We as the audience love Bobby and know intimately the struggles he’s faced, so we’re naturally going to be angered by anyone who is antagonistic towards him. The thing is Sal doesn’t know ANY of that. This is what Sal knows about Bobby.

He’s from somewhere in middle America and has never worked in a MAJOR American city like LA/NYC. That’s it. He COMPLETELY ACCURATELY I MIGHT ADD predicts that anybody with that background will struggle to adapt to the specifics of LA. It’s Sal that has to pick up Bobby’s slack as he adjusts, calling out the shots at the tree trimmer call, taking the initiative with Maurice even though Bobby does ultimately do the saving. (Which Sal actually seems impressed by btw.) Bobby still can’t even read the city map when they pull up to the restaurant fire call. 

Now imagine you’re Sal. First you had Gerrard as captain, who (I think it's fair to say) you DID NOT LIKE. One of the things he did was put down firefighters who disobeyed orders by rescuing people. We saw this with the “fetching a tide” call and with saving the boy in the submerged car. Hen disobeyed orders but showed real skill as a firefighter. And all she got for her troubles was being berated by her Captain. 

Ok then after Gerrard you have an interim captain that seems like a decent dude, but he leaves and for a while you have a revolving door of retiring brass that are checked out, behind the times, or just generally disengaged. You become used to filling in as captain and get actually pretty damn good at managing the team. (I say this because Sal leads the team several times in BBA and nobody looks at all like this is a new development) Then they finally pick a nobody who has never worked in a proper city before and to you he’s just the newest asshole that will probably screw up and get someone killed. Sal has no idea about the challenges or traumas Bobby has had to face, just like we have no idea what might have happened in the 5+ years between HB and BBA. Sal has probably MANY REASONS not to trust Bobby that we don’t know about. 

So how would you feel after you’ve successfully rescued a teenage boy’s life, if your new captain who you’ve known for like a day and still doesn’t even know how to get the engine to calls on time, calls YOU stupid for SUCCESSFULLY SAVING A CHILD’S LIFE. I think you’d be likely to blow up a little too. 

Was Sal a hothead? Absolutely. Was he being smart by mouthing off to Bobby? Absolutely not. But I think his lines to Bobby during that scene are so telling. “You’re just the latest jag off in a long line of jag offs to come to this house and think you know how to run it.” In other words, he’s not really seeing Bobby during this exchange (he couldn’t possibly, Bobby is still being very closed off and won’t tell anyone what his story is for years) he’s seeing the long line of assholes that started with Gerrard that Bobby is unknowingly falling into the pattern of. Just like how Bobby didn’t really see Sal and one relatively tiny restaurant, he saw his wife and family and a massive apartment building with no way out. That to me is the tragedy of Bobby and Sal. I genuinely think they could’ve learned a lot from each other if they had left their baggage at the door. 

In other words, would we judge Sal if he had gone after Gerrard in the way he went after Bobby? I doubt it. And that to me is what Sal is actually doing, going after Gerrard and all the other nameless asshole captains he’s been dealing with for YEARS. Sal was hotheaded and impulsive, but at the end of the day I think he was just dealing with misplaced anger that he put on Bobby, something both Buck and Eddie have done at some point or another even when they DID have all the information. If you can forgive the lawsuit arc, and Eddie’s comments in season 5 about Bobby’s kill count than dear god I think Sal has more than earned a pass. 

Overarching things I find interesting about Sal that I don’t see anyone talking about 

He cares a lot about the people they save on rescues, he’s the one on the majority of calls saying some variant of “its gonna be ok/we’re gonna get you out/don’t worry. Whatever the firefighter equivalent of bedside manner is, this guy has it. 

His personal code of who he gives a shit about seems to boil down entirely to who has skills/is talented and who isn’t. The minute Hen shows real promise by saving that little boy, he is down there hand shaking and complimenting her. Ditto Freddie Costas. “Smart kid, probably saved his own life with that move.” You see this in his conversation with Bobby too “that wasn’t luck man that was skill.” You have to earn Sal’s respect and the way you do is by demonstrating competence. Sal genuinely does look impressed with Bobby for apprehending Maurice and showing ingenuity, the problem is it's immediately undercut when Bobby belittles him for saving the kid. 

Anywho, that’s my Sal defense thesis. There’s probably other stuff I forgot but that's the bulk of it. I reserve the right to randomly reblog this with any other shit that comes to mind. Also as a disclaimer I still LOVE reading toxic Sal or asshole Sal content, absolutely eat it up with a spoon gimme gimme gimme. But I think it would be unfair to say that’s the ONLY read of him. He clearly does give a shit and is capable of growth and change, he just also happens to have a short fuse and very little willingness to go about things in a tactful way. 

TLDR: free my man, he did do some of that shit but so did your blorbos, it's just your blorbos had the narrative on their side when they did it.

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 1 (MBJ x Black OC)

A/N: this started off as 3k andddddd it tripled before my eyes lol (sorry!) Enjoy!

Series Warnings: NSFW, Smut with a plot, Heavy BDSM, Dom/Sub storyline

Raven checked herself in the mirror outside Helen’s office. She knew Helen hated when they did not look presentable and perfect, even when they were just meeting with her. She prayed Helen would actually have a client for her tonight. After her abysmal first date, she needed an opportunity to redeem herself quickly. However, as she approached her office door to knock, her movements halted as raised voices filled her ears.

“This is unacceptable, Tash!” 

Raven cringed, Helen was terrifying on her good days but when she was mad, whew… she was a tornado and anyone unlucky enough to be in her path was screwed. And if she was angry at her best girl, Raven could not help but shake in her heels at what Helen would have in store for her.

“I can’t control a sick kid!” Raven heard Tasha respond, her exasperation clear in her voice. “My ex can’t take him. I don’t have much of a choice.” 

“Hold on. Come in, Raven. Stop gawking outside the damn door.” 

Raven glanced up in the corner at the camera that Helen positioned in the hallway and sighed. She should have known. She squared her shoulders and pushed in. 

“Hi, I just came to-“ 

“I know why you came,” the older woman waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t have a client for you tonight.” 

Raven’s whole body deflated with disappointment and stress. Another night and no dates. Her mind immediately went to her dwindling bank account. She could not survive many more weeks like this. She needed clients, steady ones, and fast. 

“Really? Nothing?” 

“Sorry.” Raven could tell Helen was not sorry and did not care one bit. The long timers like Tasha made her more than enough money that she did not truly need to concern herself with newbies that would likely crash and burn. And Raven knew they all expected her to do just that. But she needed to succeed, she did not have much of a choice. “It’ll pick up soon.” 

“Ok, t-thank you.” Defeated and frustrated, Raven simply turned to leave, resigned to spending the evening in her apartment when a hand grabbed her arm to stop her. 

“Wait! She can go in my place.” 

Helen’s laugh was visceral, signaling the absurdity of Tasha’s statement. “No. Absolutely not. He is one of your best customers therefore one of my best customers. I’m not a fucking idiot. Can’t send a girl who's never turned a trick before and has only been on one date to him.” 

Tasha shook her head. “Nahhh, she’s perfect. She’s his type, wide hips, a fat ass, small waist, pretty dark skin, and she has a naiveté, innocent factor he’ll eat up.” 

Raven merely stood there, getting whiplash from the onset of both compliments and insults being thrown at her as if she was not standing in the room. However, she knew she could not contribute to the conversation or lobby in either direction because she had no idea what either of them were talking about.

“Look, she’s green as fuck but he ain’t gonna want one of these snow bunnies or redbones you got runnin’ round. Look, the real is it’s her and you still make money tonight or you gotta cancel and you don’t make anything.” 

Though Raven did not know who they were talking about, she did know one thing. If he was on Tasha’s client list, he was one of the biggest fish Helen had reeled in. One night with him would not solve all her problems but it would lessen her stress. 

“I’ll do it!” She piped up immediately, her voice assured and confident as if she knew exactly what they were talking about. “I can do it. I need the money.” 

“Fine.” 

Internally, Raven could not help but cheer though she kept her excitement subdued. She knew this was not a credit to her or because Helen actually thought she would do a good job. The reality was, all she cared about was money so sending Raven would, at least, ensure the night was not a total waste. 

“But look here, you fuck this up, you’ll never get another client in this town again. Understand?” 

Raven nodded, “I won’t. I promise.” 

“Tasha, find her an outfit in the closet… something expensive so he knows she’s not a girl I pulled off the damn street. Maybe after tonight, you can afford a designer outfit or two.” 

Raven glanced down at her black body con dress. It wasn’t much, even she could admit that, nor was it new or designer like the other girls wore. But it showed off the right assets and looked good on her so she felt like that was enough.

“Thank you! You won’t regret it, seriously.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Helen muttered as Tasha dragged Raven out of the room. 

Raven could not wipe the giant grin off her face as Tasha led her to the closet where the girls could borrow clothes for dates. Her body practically bounced after Tasha’s as they walked. 

“Thank you so much. I owe you big time.”

Tasha waved her hand as she started rifling through the options. “Don’t mention it. Just give me 10% of what you make tonight and we’ll call it even.” 

“Deal.” Raven answered immediately, she had no idea how much she’d make or what 10% of it would be but she knew she would still have a hefty sum even after paying both Tasha and Helen their cuts. All part of the investment, she decided quietly. “So who's the client?”

“Size? Look like a 10 or a 12?” 

“Good eye. 10. The client?” She asked again. 

“Michael B. Jordan.” 

Raven’s heart dropped and her jaw nearly unhinged. “Wait wait wait. THE Michael B. Jordan?? Actor, director, Hollywood bad boy, Michael B. Jordan? ‘The MCU just created a whole phase around him in a six movie deal’ Michael B. Jordan? ‘Time’s Magazine just dubbed him our generation’s Denzel’ Michael B. Jordan? He’s the most sought after actor in the game right now.”

Tasha nodded, rolling her eyes at Raven’s fangirling. “Damn, sis. You know his whole IMDB? But yea, that Michael B Jordan. He’s a regular when he’s out here in LA. Tomorrow’s his birthday so his friends hired me for the night. Look, leave that starstruck shit at the door when you get there, he hates that shit. And he’s rough,” she added as a warning as she handed Raven a dress. 

“How rough?” She could feel desire pool at her core at the thought. She thought about all the times she and her exes would dabble in BDSM and control but none of them were ever willing to take it as far as Raven thought she wanted it. Now, maybe it was her shot to test it out. She had figured she would get a client who was into that anyway, seemed like the most popular kink among all the clients she heard about. Raven quickly slid out of her old outfit and into the new one.

“I hate coaching you new girls,” Tasha muttered under her breath as she checked her phone.  

Raven quickly corrected herself. “I-It’s not a problem! I promise. I like rough… I did some stuff with boyfriends and I actually really enjoy it so no problem. I’m just trying to figure out what to expect.”  

“He isn’t gonna actually hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about. He expects obedience and submission but he’ll respect your limit if it goes too far. But since he’s never been with you before, he’ll probably keep it vanilla. Most you can probably expect is him calling you names, maybe he’ll make you beg or spank you a couple times? He ties me up and shit and can get creative but this is a surprise so I doubt he’ll have time to plan anything all that interesting. Don’t expect any warmth… well don’t expect that from any nigga you go in dates with as a rule but I know he seems one way in interviews and shit so people think they know him. When the door closes, you’re there to play a part and serve him. That’s it. He wants control, give him that and you’ll be fine.” 

“Ok. Anything else I should know?” 

“Oh don’t call him by his name.” 

Raven’s nose wrinkled. “Ok what do I call him?” 

“You know, sir, daddy, whatever. Take your pick.”  

Raven nodded, she could tell Tasha was getting bored of her “coaching”. But she only had one last question.  

“Is it normal to be this nervous?” 

Tasha laughed. “The first time? Yea. I almost vomited the first time I went on a date. Once you get regulars, it’s not . You get to know them, they get to know you and it gets comfortable. They are paying you but you got more power and control than you’d think. But just keep your head about you. He acts like a bad boy but he’s cool people, not a bad guy for your first time. Trust me. Dress fits like a glove. You should keep it.” 

Raven turned in the mirror for a few minutes before offering Tasha a sad smile. She coveted so many pieces in the closet but Helen always insisted they be returned unless you wanted to purchase them from her. “I can’t afford it.”

“Helen won’t miss it. It's an old dress of mine I used to wear on early dates. It doesn’t even fit most of these skinny bitches.”

Raven glanced at her. “Why are you being so nice to me? Most of the girls are… awful,” she muttered the last part more to herself than to Tasha. “They wouldn’t have done a fraction of the shit you’ve done in the last 10 minutes.” 

Tasha merely shrugged. “Most of them see every girl who shows up here as competition. You’re pretty, have a nice body and all that. But no shade, you ain’t worth the energy to be mean. Besides, if I let you fail, I could fuck up my best customer. One date with Michael and I have my rent paid for months. Don’t get it twisted, I’m a bitch,” she assured her. “But I’m not a dumb bitch.” She glanced at the clock. “Aight, I gotta go. Nanny’s gonna be gone in a bit and my son is sick. Have fun and don’t mess this up cause you’ll be on your own with Helen if this shit goes left.” 

“Noted. Thanks… again.” 

Tasha chuckled. “I thought I said don’t mention it? You’re gonna have to become more of a bitch to survive around here, newbie. Cause this good girl shit? It’ll get you eaten alive.” 

Tasha gave her one last glance before leaving Raven alone with her thoughts. 

“Such inspiring words,” she mumbled to herself before she glanced at a notification on her phone. 

Dad: Car broke down. Gonna be $700 to get it fixed. Send that with the mortgage

No please, not even framed as a question. Her money was never her own, it was her family’s. And while they blew their own money on vices and frivolous shit, they always knew Raven would swoop in to foot the things that mattered. And so now, they did not even ask. They just presented their bills to the Raven ATM and she always found a way.   

Raven: I’m helping with the mortgage already… any chance you can cover that? 

Dad: Had to set aside money for Kiara’s school… she wants to go back to be a chef. It’s just $700. 

She rolled her eyes, she did not even have the cash from her date in hand yet and the money was already dwindling right before her eyes. She knew she could not say no, there was no point. 

Raven: Yea, I’ll get it to you later this week.

More motivation, she supposed, to make sure the night was flawless.

***

The club was filled with hazy smoke as Michael and his friends passed around a blunt in his section. The night was young and the drinks were flowing with no signs of slowing down. 

“Aye brah,” Steelo hit his arm softly to get his attention. “We got a surprise for you waiting at the St. Regis,” he held out the hotel room key. 

Michael whistled and dapped the man up. “My nigga!” He was appreciative. It was his first time back in LA since finishing up filming in Atlanta and he had missed burying himself in his favorite girl. He had tried to find temporary release while in Atlanta but no girl was like Tasha and that was a fact. 

Michael grabbed the card and slid it into his pocket. “Aight that’s my cue. Thanks for the birthday present. See y’all niggas tomorrow. Rest of the night’s on me!” 

He said goodbye to everyone before his security led him to his car. Despite the liquor and drugs coursing through his system, he had a clear enough head to envision what he would do to Tasha. That girl was truly up for anything and he loved every second of it. 

He put his phone on DND as he entered the hotel and went up to the room Steelo texted him. 

He did not make much noise as he entered the suite, expecting to find Tasha already naked and ready in the position he liked. Instead, he found a woman standing by the window. He studied her for a moment, in his confusion, taking in her reflection as she marveled at the penthouse suite view of downtown LA. He studied how her fingers barely touched the glass of the window as if that would give her a closer look. He could see her face in the reflection. She was beautiful, her big brown eyes filled with longing and wonder at the twinkling lights across the horizon. She was so taken by it that she did not even notice Michael until he cleared his throat. 

She turned around, Michael suddenly amending his earlier thought. She was not beautiful, that was an insulting understatement. She was painfully breathtaking. He had been in the presence of many beautiful women in his life but she surpassed them all. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I-I was j-just waiting and g-got caught up in the v-view. T-this is the perfect room, you can see the whole city. I-I’m Nicole.” She always went by her middle name with Helen and on her first date. Easy enough to remember to ensure she actually answered to it but kept her true identity to herself. 

“Where’s Tasha?” 

“Oh, umm she had an emergency. Helen wanted to make sure your birthday gift was still perfect so she sent me. I hope that’s… alright?” 

Michael watched as she chewed on her plump bottom lip, he wanted to pull it out of her teeth and bite it himself. He could also hear the nervousness and fear in her voice as if she was worried he would throw a fit about the change. And while no one compared to Tasha, he still could have a good time. Besides, they could not have picked a more perfect replacement. Her ass was delectable, his hand twitched with the urge to smack it. Her hip to waist ratio was mouth watering, he could only imagine how she would look with the deep arch he liked, how his fingers would dig into the meat of her hips as he fucked her from behind. Her breasts sat high, looking good enough to devour right then and there. It was not the girl he was expecting, true, but he would not dare complain. 

“All good. We can still have a good time together.” He noted how her entire body physically relaxed at his words, her shoulders coming down from her ears, her jaw relaxing, the tension in her tight limbs releasing.

They stared at each other for a moment before, awkwardness spreading across the room before she glanced down at herself. 

“S-sorry, I s-should probably take this off… or I can wait till you tell me? You were probably expecting me to already be… Tasha didn’t say what I should do when I arrived or how you liked… so… I’m talking a lot. Does it feel like I’m talking a lot to you? There’s probably not this much talking, is there? I’m gonna stop a-and let you talk a-and tell me how you want me.” she clamped her lips shut as she realized she was rambling. She wished she could smack herself in the forehead. This was already not going well. She did not know how she got up and performed in front of ogling men all through her college and her masters program. She had an altar ego when she danced on stage then but it seemed that vixen was nowhere to be found. And she desperately needed her again. She knew she would arrive once they actually got started. This was where her first date went off the rails, the lead up. There was a certain distance with men at the club… this lifestyle though, was the exact opposite and she did not expect how hard it would be for her. She just wanted to do the deed and go but being one of Helen’s girls required so much more. And all that pre-sex conversation and “bonding” with men she’d never talk to regularly was difficult for her. It didn’t come naturally like it did to other women. “Sir.” she added, remembering Tasha’s instructions. “Sorry.” 

Michael could not help but chuckle slightly. He could not explain why but he found her ranting and nervousness endearing. She was like a lamb trapped with a wolf, so sweet and earnest, not realizing that he was the complete opposite of both those things. It was far different from his first date with Tasha who knew exactly what to say and do. This girl seemed to not know either. But he found that charming, authentic. Other women were always playing a role. It seemed as though she showed up as her true self, beautiful, innocent, awkward and all. 

He wondered how long she’d been in the game. Couldn’t be that long,he reasoned, given how nervous she looked. However, she seemed eager to please, which was his favorite type of woman. If she was done for what he had planned, he knew he could still have fun with her. 

“You can stay like that for now. Tasha told you what I expect?” 

Raven nodded. “Yes, sir.” It sounded so odd on her tongue to call anyone sir in this day and age. However, she could not deny there was a certain arousing quality to it. 

Michael perched against the table across from the bed, gesturing for Raven to sit down on the edge of the bed across from him. “And what do I expect, Nicole?” 

“Obedience, sir.” Raven fidgeted with the hem of her dress as she watched him study her. She could feel him undressing her with his eyes. Usually, she did not wilt under the ogling stares of men. Seven years working as a stripper got her over that hang up really quick. However, something about Michael’s stare was unnerving. Not in a creepy way but in an intense one, as if he was trying to learn everything he could about her by simply staring. 

“You nervous?” 

“No.” 

“Clearly Tasha ain’t tell you everything cause one thing I don’t allow is lying. 10 spankings. Lie again and I’ll triple it.” 

Her eyes fell down to his arms, taking in the taut muscles straining against his t-shirt. She wondered how heavy handed his slaps would be. Her panties were growing damp the longer she spoke to him. She could not remember the last time a man elicited this sort of reaction from her body.

“Yes.” 

He raised an eyebrow, Raven immediately correcting her mistake. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl,” Raven immediately felt her body warm at the term, she could not hide the small but distinct smile that formed. She liked hearing it on his lips. “And don’t be. It’ll be a fun night for us both. I don’t know your limits and all that shit so I’ll take it easy. Tash and I got a safe word. We can use one for the night if that would make you more comfortable?” 

Raven smiled, grateful that he was even taking that into account. “Yea, that would be great.”

“You pick.” 

“Ummm… Wakanda?” she blurted out, the first word that came to mind as she looked at him. She immediately hit herself in the head, cringing at herself. “I’m sorry, that’s so embarrassing… I’m a Marvel n-nerd and it’s just the first word that popped into my head.” 

Michael tried to hold his laughter in but could not. His laughter filled the room, causing Raven to feel slightly less embarrassed. “That is definitely a first but if that’s what you want then deal. You used a safe word before?” 

Raven shook her head. 

“When you want or need me to stop, something’s too painful or going too far, you say it and everything ends for the night. Understand?” 

She nodded again. 

“When I ask you a question, I also expect you to use your words.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, now that we got that shit outta the way… we can have some fun.” He folded his arms and stared at her. “Lose the dress.” 

Raven took a deep breath and stood up, her arms stretching behind her back to find the zipper of the dress. Before she knew it, the soft fabric was pooled at her feet. She smirked at how his eyes darkened with lust, how his knuckles gripped the edge of the table as if to control his own urges. Slowly but surely, the nerves in her body started to dissipate as lust replaced them. She started to repeat the motion to remove her bra but his voice stopped her. 

“Did I tell you to take that off too? 5 more.” Raven could not help the way her own eyes flashed with excitement at the thought of punishment, a fact Michael was all too keen to point out. “Oh I see… you want it… want me to spank that fat ass until it’s covered in my handprints?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” And she did, she wanted his hands on her body as soon as possible.

“Leave everything else on and crawl to me.” 

Her voice hitched. She had never crawled to anyone. She had seen it in porn, men leading women around in leashes, treating them as pets. And while she knew she should have found it degrading and humiliating, it had only turned her on. She could never convince her past boyfriends to take it that far, the most they were willing to do was spank her or call her names. But Michael was clearly a natural at this and knew exactly what he wanted. And she was more than happy to oblige. 

She sank down to her hands and knees, the carpet roughly poking into her skin. She ignored it though as she kept her eyes trained on his, each step closer increasing the ache between her thighs. She could not remember the last time she had been this wet without anyone laying a finger on her. But it was him… his aura, his commanding being, the possessive look in his eyes that let her know she was his, even if it was only for the night. She so desperately wanted to please him and she found that, in her heart, it was not because it was her job. But because she genuinely wanted to hear him praise her. 

By the time she reached him, the march across the room feeling longer than it actually was, every pleasure sensor in her body screamed and begged to be touched, caressed, kissed, or bitten. Whatever he wanted to do, she did not care. 

She sat back on her heels, an innocent doe eyed look on her face as she stared up at him, waiting. Michael could have cum right then and there, the picture of submission beneath him and it was their first time together. 

And only time, he reminded himself. For some reason, that thought burned uncomfortably in his mind, so much so that he pushed it out just as quickly. 

“Good girl,” he liked how her whole being seemed to beam at his compliment. His hand went to her hair, wrapping his fist around her long kinky curls. 

He held tight as he unbuttoned his pants and his dick sprung into her face. Her eyes grew as she took in his size and girth, he certainly had a package to be proud of. And she yearned for a taste of him, salivating for it. She willed him to shove it down her throat. And she did not have to wait long as his head poked at her lips to part them. Her tongue flicked his head gently. He let her control it for a few minutes, the young woman opting to tease him with soft licks up his shaft that made him moan softly. 

“You’re gonna pay for that later,” he moaned as she continued working him, teasing his dick with her mouth. She spat on him, using her hand to get him as sloppy as possible. 

She looked up and winked at him. “You want me to stop, sir?” 

This girl is gonna be the death of me, he decided right then and there. Submissive but a brat… and she was a natural at it.  

“Nah you ain’t stoppin’ anytime soon.” He unceremoniously pushed into her mouth, this time pushing as deeply as he could, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged immediately, choking and spluttering as her eyes filled with tears. “Want me to stop?” 

She shook her head immediately, her eyes still showed her eagerness. 

And he did not stop again. She moaned around him, sending tiny vibrations through him that drove him wild. He did not give her a chance to breathe or catch her breath as he fucked her mouth like it was a mere convenient hole. And he could tell she loved every second of it as he watched one of her hands drift from his thigh to between her own. He immediately stopped, using her hair to yank her head back. 

Layers of spit kept her mouth connected to his dick. “You don’t touch yourself without asking, understand? That pussy’s mine. Such a desperate and pathetic little slut, already trying to cum.” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

As much as Michael had wanted to bust down her throat, he was ready to bury himself inside her sweet pussy. But first, he needed a taste. And before she could receive any pleasure, she had to be punished. 

“Crawl to the bed and bend over the edge. Ass in the air.” 

Her heart sagged as she realized he was not going to let her continue tasting him. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste again,” he winked at her. “Bed. Now. Make me wait another second and I’ll add another 10.” 

Raven knew his words should have had her hauling ass to the bed, however, she opted to take her sweet time. He liked submission, that was true. But it was clear he also liked a little pushback that allowed him to prove his dominance, reestablish his control. And that was one role Raven had always wanted to play. She took her time crawling back, putting an extra sway in her hips to show him her thick ass. She also knew that he could likely see the glistening of the mess between her thighs as she moved. She could feel the intensity of his stare on her as if he were burning a hole in her head. 

“Oh baby girl… the things I’m gonna do to you,” he whispered, his voice tickling her ears. 

The journey back to the bed was longer, Michael allowing her to continue her show. Finally, she picked herself up and assumed the position he demanded. 

She waited with bated breath, no movement in the room but she could still feel his eyes on her. 

“I hope you enjoyed that,” he offered as she finally felt him move toward her, her pussy clenching in anticipation. “Cause you’re gonna pay for it in a minute.” 

She braced herself for the onslaught of pain and pleasure but it never came. Instead, she felt a gentle touch, his hands gripping her ass. Lower and lower they went until one was hovering right above her pussy. She did not understand how he was so close and yet was not touching her.  

“P-Please,” she whimpered, desperate for any type of contact. 

“Please what? Want me to make you cum like the filthy slut you are?” 

“Y-yes, p-please… I-I’ll d-do anything,” her voice was filled with her desperation. She needed him like her body needed air to breathe. 

“I don’t think you deserve to cum,” he shot back. “Acting like a fuckin’ whore for a man you don’t even know. I bet I could touch you once and you’d cum… so horny, so desperate for me. Just like I knew you would be. Do you think you deserve to cum?” 

She knew the answer she had to give. “N-No, sir.” 

“Why?” 

“B-because I’ve b-been a bad girl.” 

“Yes, you have. And bad girls get punished, don’t they?” 

She nodded, her fingers getting tangled up in the comforter on the bed. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl. Tonight, you don’t cum without permission. This pussy and all your pleasure is mine to give and take away. When you’re ready, beg. Count ‘em out or I'll start over.” 

She cried out as he ripped her lace thong right off her body, the fabric snapping against her. He quickly followed it up with a swat to her ass that made her moan. 

“One.” 

She steadied her breathing and counted through each one. It got harder and harder to maintain the count, as he would stop at random intervals to touch her. The first time, two fingers slid into her drenched core, curling into her g-spot with every stroke. He slowly finger fucked her and rubbed her clit, her punishment almost completely forgotten as she surrendered to the bliss of his hands. She could feel her own orgasm building, her pussy clenching around his finger. However, he did not even give her a chance to beg before he stopped. He resumed spanking her, Raven almost losing count in the haze of the pain and pleasure he provided. 

“13.” 

“Are you gonna be a good slut for me? Or do I need to add more?” he asked gruffly in her ear as he put more force in each hit. 

Still sporting the strength and weight of Erik Killmonger, his athleticism, strength, and power showed through every single slap. 

“15… y-yessss… I p-promise, I-I’ll b-be good. Six… sixteen…” 

“You’ll be a good what? Say it!” he ordered as his hand rained down on her ass. She knew she would be bruised tomorrow but she could care less.

“20… I-I’ll b-be a good s-slut. A g-good whore. F-fuck me, p-please!” She begged. Her words were strangled, like a dying woman begging for life. He had her right where he wanted her, she knew that much. And she loved it. Loved every second of surrendering to him and accepting whatever he chose to give: pain, pleasure, humiliation. She did not care, she wanted every single thing and more. 

He stopped, resuming his teasing. This time, he spread her legs and ate her out from the back, his tongue doing the work of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit on her clit. 

She panted as she felt her orgasm build. She remembered his instructions and immediately started to beg. 

“P-Please let me c-cum. F-fuck… f-feels so good. Daddy… please!” She had not intended to call him daddy at any point in the night. She always hated the way it sounded and felt. However, it slipped out and she did not hate it so much on him, and neither did he. 

“Cum for daddy, baby,” he whispered, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he fucked her hard and fast. 

She buried her face in the comforter as the most powerful orgasm of her life ripped through her. So powerful, she felt tears streaming down her face, destroying her perfectly done makeup. Her thanks and appreciation for allowing her to cum was incoherent as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her.

While she calmed down, he took a moment to slide a condom on before lining himself with her wet entrance. He used his head to tease her, her entire body jolting with pleasure as he tapped it against her clit. 

“What do you want, baby?” 

Unflinching, she pushed herself to her forearms and glanced over her shoulder. “F-fuck me. Fuck me like a whore.” 

Without a second thought, he slammed his dick into her, Raven letting out a scream of pleasure that made him thankful the rooms around him were empty. His steady, powerful strokes sent her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She had never been fucked like this before, hard and rough. She had never expected pleasure quite like this when she entered the hotel room but she would thank God for it. 

The only sounds were her consistent moans and screams as Michael fucked her viciously, his hips slamming into her hips with every thrust. She used her forearms to meet every thrust, which only turned Michael on even more. She lost track of the amount of times she begged him to cum. He only did not allow her once, savoring the sounds of her pleas as she tried to hold it in. And when she couldn’t, he did not skip a beat in flipping her over and punishing her, this time with his belt, which almost made her cum on the spot again. 

He moved her around the room, fucking her on any surface he deemed strong enough to hold her weight. 

“You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy?? You gon’ cum again, you fuckin’ whore?” 

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the table he fucked her on. Both of her legs were draped over his shoulders, allowing him to reach regions Raven did not even know were possible. She could barely think since he put her in this particular position, let alone formulate a sentence to respond. 

He hand one hand cradling her neck and head while the other held onto her back, using both as leverage to fuck her. He moved the one on her back to bring down a harsh smack to her outer thigh. 

She gasped. “Y-Yes, yes, yes! P-Please let me c-cum! D-daddy, p-please, please, please.” 

“Cum on this dick, baby. That’s it.” he continued fucking her through her orgasm, Raven left feeling as though she could not withstand much else. As she felt yet another orgasm start to build causing her to shy away from him. “Nah don’t run from me. You wanted it. Acting like a fuckin’ brat. Take this dick!” 

“It-It’s too… fuck! J-Just like that… It’s… t-too much,” she panted out, her words choppy as she still tried to run from him despite his instructions. Her body did not know if she wanted him to stop or continue, to go faster or slower. That is until she let go of the table, all of her weight naturally leaning to one side as her arm gave out beneath her.  

“FUCK,” she cried out as she felt the table slowly tip over. Because Michael was also bracing his weight on it to fuck her, they both toppled to the ground. She groaned, her eyes blurring as her head hit the corner of the tv stand next to them before she fell down to the ground. Her hand clutched the side of her head, now understanding what the phrase seeing stars meant. 

She clenched her eyes shut as she tried to give herself a minute for the pounding in her head to stop. She let out a breathy chuckle, in pain but finding the injury rather hilarious as she felt Michael try to untangle their limbs. Soon, his deep baritone joined in, their laughter filling the room as they laid on the floor. 

“You… alright?” she asked when they both settled down, her hand still pressing into her head. 

“Yea, fell on my arm but it’s not that bad. You good?” 

She nodded. “Y-Yea, just banged my head on the tv thing.” 

“Let me help you up.” 

Michael held out his hand, Raven giving him her free one to pull her to her feet. However, at the fast movement, she immediately felt lightheaded. Her naked body sagged into his as everything started to fade in and out. 

“Oh shit, you’re bleeding,” he muttered, lifting her head up to examine her, his arm immediately going around her waist to hold her up. “Can you stand?” 

“Barely,” she muttered. Her head felt so heavy, all she wanted to do was collapse back down to the ground. 

“Aye aye, ma. Keep your eyes open for me, aight?” He guided her over to the bed and sat her down before running into the bathroom to grab a bathrobe and a towel. He wrapped her in the robe to make sure she was covered before calling an ambulance and calling down to his security to alert them of the situation. 

He figured an ambulance was slight overkill as she likely just had a concussion but he did not want to take any chances. He worried he pushed her too far too fast. He immediately felt guilty. If he had not been fucking her so rough, she would not be half unconscious next to him. He had just gotten completely lost in her. 

He quickly pulled on his own clothes so he could be ready when the EMTs arrived. He grabbed a towel and swatted away her hand to press it into the wound. It did not look that deep but the sight of her face covered in blood was still jarring for him. Her bloody hand rested on his arm as she tried to continue sitting up. Her eyes started to flutter closed, Michael using his grip on her shoulder to keep her upright.

“Eyes open.” She still responded to his commands. “Good girl, that’s it. Keep your eyes on me. Tell me about your tattoo.” It was the first thing he could think of, referencing the ink on her forearm. 

Even through the pain, she managed to give him a funny look. “You fucked me so h-hard, I-I might h-have a c-concussion a-and you c-care about my tattoo?” 

“Gotta keep you awake somehow, baby girl. Tell me.” 

The tattoo, one of a small bird cage, three small birds flying out of the open doors. The word freedom was written beneath it. 

“M-Maya… Angelou… h-her memoir, I Know Why The Caged Bird… Sings. F-first book I r-remember relating t-to… the i-idea that literature and s-storytelling c-could save y-you. She m-made me w-want to be a w-writer.” 

“You’re a writer?” 

Even in her pain, he could see her body sag slightly, sadness rippling across her face. “Yea…w-was anyway,” she mumbled. 

“What kind of books do you write?” 

However, Michael would never get the answer to that question, at least not that night. The edges of her vision were starting to blur and grow black. Her eyes lulled closed and this time, not even the sweet sounds of his voice and commands could force her to open them back up. 

***

Raven groaned as she woke up in a bed, the beeping of the machines around her filling her ears. She shifted uncomfortably as all of the sensors in her body started to wake up and she began to register everything. The pounding in her skull was overwhelming but her whole body ached. She knew it was likely a combination of Michael’s pension for acrobatics, an ache she’d gladly sign up for again and again, and the fall. Slowly the events that landed her in the hospital came back to her. 

The fall. How embarrassing. She knew she’d never live this one down when it made its way back to Helen and the other women. Falling and ending up in the hospital after her second date overall and first one with one of their biggest clients. She was screwed. 

“Welcome back.” 

She glanced to the side, shocked to find Michael sipping a coffee and sitting in the chair by her window. She was equally shocked to find that it was already light outside. 

How long was I out for? She thought to herself. 

As if he could read her mind and questions, Michael chuckled. “About five hours… longest five hours of my life,” he added under his breath. “How’s your head?” 

“Better than my pride. W-what are you still doing here?” She could not keep the shocked tone out of her voice. It was not that she did not appreciate him sticking around, she just would have never expected it given how Tasha described him. 

“Wanted to make sure you were good,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I didn’t want you to wake up in the hospital alone.” 

Her heart fluttered, even though she knew it shouldn’t. He was a client, and as soon as he assured she was alive and likely not going to sue him or something, he would be on his way and forget all about her. That was the gig. 

“Oh um… that’s really sweet. T-thank you. And thank you for bringing me here.” 

“It was my fault so it seems only right.” 

“Eh, I think we both shoulder some of the blame there. Not sure why we thought that rickety table could hold both of our weight. Blinded by passion, I suppose,” she mused. “It was fun though,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Sorry… for ruining your birthday gift. I k-know I wasn’t the girl you wanted or how it should’ve ended. I feel bad,” she admitted. 

 Michael studied her for a moment, unsure of how to respond to any of that. Sure, she was not the girl he had expected to find in his room. However, he was happy about that. The night had exceeded every expectation he had, until the very end of course. She was a breath of fresh air, a new challenger who had been up for everything he threw at her. And something about her… he just found himself drawn to it. Which is why he was still sitting here in the hospital five hours later instead of leaving. It was not just the great sex or her beauty, it was her. She was sweet and awkward but had fire and could go toe to toe with him when she wanted. He liked that, the challenge she presented. And while he knew she was only supposed to replace Tasha for that one night, the entire time he was buried inside her, all he craved was more of her. And that feeling had not subsided, even as she laid in a hospital bed. 

He shook his head. “I always believe shit goes exactly as it’s supposed to. And don’t sweat it. I had an amazing time last night. You were somethin’ else.” 

He watched as a small smile bloomed on her face. 

“No Tasha, I know,” she admitted, biting her lip. Once again, he resisted the urge to rip it out. A picture of her lips wrapped around his dick flashed in his head. He knew it was inappropriate to lust after her while she laid in the bed. But he could not help it. Having her was like the first hit of a drug, he needed another fix. “But I’m glad it was still fun for you. I had a good time too.” 

Michael closed the distance between them, one hand going to brace on the railing of her bed while the other held his weight as he leaned over her. 

“Don’t compare yourself to Tasha or any other girl out here. You’re one of a kind.” His voice was low, he usually reserved this voice for behind closed doors. It was commanding and authoritative and he could tell she loved it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her legs tighten together, the lust clouding her eyes, the way her lips parted to let out a shakily breath. “Understand?” 

She nodded, gulping. 

“Words.” 

“Y-Yes, I u-understand.”

But she did not understand. Did not understand why he was still there, why he seemed to care about her, even if it was just to sit in a hospital when she knew he had better things to be doing, or why he at all cared whether she compared herself to anyone. She did not understand him. She had expected what Tasha warned her about… that she would just be there to service, a mere body for him to use as he pleased for the night. That did not bother her, she was there to do a job. However, he seemed to be more than that. You don’t spend all night in a hospital for just a body, right? You don’t care about the low self esteem or self deprecating comments of just a body? And you don’t look at just a body how he was looking at her right now… with such an intense craving and yearning that all Raven wanted to do was to let the ground swallow her whole. 

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand cradled her face as he took in the bloodied bandage on her forehead. He tilted her head up studying it, his thumb gently caressing her big tresses of kinky hair. 

However, their moment, whatever it was, ended as quickly as it started as Raven’s phone rang loudly next to her. Michael seemed to realize his mistake and looked almost startled, as if he did not know how he ended up so close to her. He took several steps back as Raven grabbed her cell phone from the table. 

She groaned as she realized it was her dad. Michael turned to stare out the window, giving her a bit of privacy as she answered the call. 

“Hey, what do you need?” She knew he was calling because he needed something. None of them ever called to see about her. 

“Hey Rae… could you send whatever money you can today?” 

Raven’s face twisted up in confusion. “Today?? The mortgage isn’t due till the end of the month.” She glanced at Michael who seemed preoccupied in his phone before lowering her voice. “I-I can’t just pull money out of nowhere. Why do you even need it?” 

He sighed. “Kiara got arrested.” 

“Arrested?? For what??” 

“Yea, she got into a fight with her new boyfriend at a bar and they hauled them both off to County. Gotta post bail for both of them by tomorrow afternoon. Or she’ll have to sit there until Monday.”

Raven felt the ache in her head grow but this had nothing to do with the concussion. She would never understand how she was the ugly duckling of the family, the forgotten and unwanted second daughter when Kiara, the prodigal perfect daughter, could barely hold down a job or stay out of trouble for more than a week. Well, that was not true. She completely understood… it did not make it easier to stomach or deal with though. 

“How much?” 

“$10k for them both.” 

“Ten thousand US American dollars??” she cried out loudly, her shock getting the better of her. At that, Michael’s movements did still for a moment, he had been trying not to listen but her outburst made it rather difficult. “I c-can’t come up with that type of money today. Not just because it’s impossible but I’m in the hospital.” 

She heard her dad sigh. “Your sister can’t sit in jail all weekend, she’ll be hurt in there. I’m pulling some money out of savings but it isn’t enough.” 

Raven shook her head. “I’m doing just fine by the way, thanks for asking or caring,” she shot back. Michael could not help but glance over his shoulder at that, taking in the hurt and disappointed tone in her voice that she masked with snark. 

He felt the uncomfortable sting of rage at the despondent look on her face. He wanted to snatch the phone out of her hand and hang up on whoever it was. 

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well. But are you gonna send me the money or not? I don’t have time for this. Your sister is rotting in jail right now, only God knows what could be happening to her, and you wanna have an attitude? We are the only family you have. The least you could do is make sure we’re ok while you live it up in LA. I need $6,000.” 

She clenched her eyes shut. She knew that meant handing over her entire cut after she paid Helen and Tasha and then the last bit of savings she had left. But she also knew she could not say no. “Fine. I’ll figure it out and send you the money by tomorrow.” 

“Oh it’s her calling from the jail. I gotta go. Text me when you send it. Bye.” 

She pulled the phone from her ear and shook her head. “You’re welcome,” she muttered to herself. She leaned back in her pillows and forced her eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears that brimmed in her eyes from falling. She did not know why her family’s treatment still got to her, 30 years later. Tasha was right… She needed thicker skin in all areas of her life. 

“You good?” 

She pressed her hands into her cheeks as a couple tears fell. She felt a wave of embarrassment as she remembered Michael was in the room. As if her interaction with him could not get any worse. They went from mind blowing sex to a hospital room and brain injuries to tears. 

You really ruin everything for everyone, she thought to herself. 

“Yea, yea. Just dumb family stuff.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.” 

“I thought I told you I didn’t like lies.” 

Raven eyed him for a moment. Part of her would love to talk to someone about her family drama, unload all the pent up feelings she pushed deep down into her soul. However, she knew she could not do it with him of all people. So instead of the vulnerability and honestly he demanded, she instead offered him a cheeky smile. 

“The Nicole that responds to your demands costs $5k a night. And as you heard on the phone, I could most certainly use it,” she added with a wink. 

“Nicole?” The doctor came in just as Michael was about to open his mouth to respond. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit in the head.” She glanced at Michael with an expression that read what kinda stupid question is that? He merely snickered.   

“Makes sense. Well you have a very mild concussion. You’ll need to rest for at least the next 7 days… avoid a lot of screens and movement and anything that requires a lot of mental power. It was very mild though so you should be back on your feet soon. You’re free to go.” 

“Thank you,” she muttered. A week in bed meant a week of no work. And all the money she had to show for this disastrous night was gone. However, she had no time to really wallow in any of that. One thing Raven always did was figure it out. 

She slid out of bed, immediately swaying slightly causing Michael to rush to her side. He was quick on his feet, all that boxing training went to good use. He caught her before she crumbled fully, guiding her back to the bed. 

“Gotta move a lot slower than you’d think with a concussion, especially the first few days. You sure you’re gonna be good on your own?” he asked as he stared down at her. 

She chuckled, the sound void of any true humor. “Yea I’ll be fine. Always am. Thanks for the assist. C-could you hand me my dress?” 

Michael grabbed her clothes from the table in the corner. He watched her as she slid it back on, her movements far more measured and slow as she heeded his advice. She looked far more weary and exhausted than she did when she first woke up, as if that phone call and whoever was on the other line had aged her considerably. 

Once she was fully dressed and finished her discharge paperwork, she settled onto the bed to slide into her hospital slippers. Not the best shoes to wear home but they beat the uncomfortable heels she could barely walk in on a good day. 

“Thanks again… for waiting with me. You really didn’t have to.” She glanced down at her phone as she waited for him to respond, absentmindedly opening the Uber app so she could get a ride home. 

“What are you doing?” 

Her face twisted up in confusion. “Calling an uber?” 

“You shouldn’t uber home like this. I’ll drop you off.” 

Raven instinctively shook her head, the action causing a spot of pain that forced her to stop. “I-I can’t let you do that. You’ve done more than enough. Seriously.” 

“I wasn’t askin’. Ain’t about to let you uber home. If you don’t want me to know where you live, my driver can take you and he’ll come get me after.” 

Raven’s heart warmed at the thought. She did not like the idea of a client knowing where she laid her head every night. That seemed to be one of the few rules all the girls lived by. However, she trusted him. For some reason. 

“No, no, it’s not a problem. T-thank you.” 

Before she knew it, he and his security were hustling her out of a back entrance the hospital used for high profile guests and into a SUV with tinted windows. The car ride was virtually silent, Raven not knowing what to say or do around him. A night in a hospital meant they had a rapport. But he was still a client and this was the longest and most intimate interaction she had ever had with one. And everything since 3 am last night seemed like it was authentically from the kindness of his heart. She had promised him nothing in return for such kindness and he did not ask for anything. She wondered if he assumed and she just missed the cue? 

However, as they pulled up outside of her apartment building in her neighborhood, she glanced at him expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing came. 

Instead, he merely said, “You sure you’re gonna be ok alone?” She could tell his eyes were searching the neighborhood, taking in the less than safe area she lived in. 

She nodded. “I, umm, have a roommate. So not fully alone. She’ll be home from work later tonight so I’ll be good. Thank you. A-and sorry again… for ruining your special day. At least, you got a good story for your friends and Tasha next time?” she chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll never let me live it down. Anyway… thanks again for everything a-and it was great to meet you.” 

She knew this was goodbye for good. Their one night together was just that, one night before he went back to being Tasha’s best client. She was the replacement, not the one they came back to for more. 

Though she did not fully know why, she reached over and grabbed his hand that rested between them and squeezed, “You were a hell of a first date,” she winked at him.  

Michael found the part of him he hated most did not want to say goodbye to her yet either. The part he kept caged and usually ignored had full control over him today. It was as if she had pressed all the right buttons to release that specific beast and did not even realize what she had done. Now, the beast roamed free and he found it difficult to herd it and the feelings it created back into their cages. 

He did not want to feel what Nicole made him feel… he did not want to care about whether her neighborhood was safe for her; he did not want to know who she was talking to so he could strangle them for causing that look in her eye; he did not want to know anything else about her like why she said she was a writer in the past tense, what she had written or what she turned to reading and writing to be saved from; and he did not want to feel the urge to reach in his pocket and write her a check for another $5,000 to solve whatever her problems were if it meant she would not look as she had in the hospital ever again. And most of all, he did not want to yearn for all those answers like he needed air. The man who would’ve done all those things, who would have already yielded to those feelings was gone. He needed to remember that. 

“Great meeting you too, Nicole” he offered shortly.  

Raven paused as she jumped out of the SUV, turning back to him. “It’s Raven, actually.”

At his raised eyebrow, she clarified, “My real name. You said you don’t like lies, remember?” Her smile was sweet and innocent. 

“I thought that was gonna cost me another $5k?” 

She smiled playfully, a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there since she woke up. “Spending your birthday in a hospital with a girl you didn’t even know means you earned my real name for free. And where I live… don’t turn out to be a stalker creep though,” she joked. “Cause that would suck.”

He laughed. “No stalking… got it. Thanks for the two birthday gifts then, Raven.” 

She offered him one final smile and wave before she closed the door and walked into her building. 

As he drove away, he was thankful to never see her again. He would return to the comfortability of Tasha who played her role and sparked no other feelings in him but carnal lust. That was all he had room for. All those other feelings Raven elicited would fade and the beast would be locked up once again.

As Raven laid in bed, trying to force herself to rest, she could not help but think a similar refrain. She could not get him out of her head. The duality of the way he fucked her with the care and kindness he showed her after. The genuine concern he seemed to have for her. She wanted more of that, more of him. She wondered what it felt like for him to make love to a woman, and wondered how it would feel to hear him call out her real name. Wondered how it would feel to be held by him… how he took care of her, even if it was only briefly. She thought about how it must feel to be loved by him, the intensity of it must have been intoxicating. She thought back to the night before, flashes of it coming to her. If she focused, she could still feel where his hands were, like fire against her skin. 

However, she knew those fantasies were dangerous and a fool’s errand. She could not fall head over heels for her first real date. That was not the job. And maybe she would find a client of her own like him one day, but she knew she would not last long if she pinned over every man who was nice to her. She thought she had let go of her hopeless romantic phase long ago but it still resurfaced every once in a while. But Tasha was right, she would not survive in their world long wearing her heart on her sleeve. And she needed to survive, her family needed her to survive. So, she would never see the Michael B. Jordan again and she, too, was thankful. Because then she would forget about him and move on.  

She sighed as she settled into bed. Despite ending up in the ER, the night had been a success. Michael had been pleased, which was all that mattered and hopefully he relayed that to Helen. And that meant more clients, more opportunities to make money and get her life, at least financially, back on track. That’s all she needed and wanted to focus on. Anything else, fantasies of a man she could never have again, were foolish and best left for the characters she wrote in her free time. 

Sleep eluded both Michael and Raven that night as they were plagued with fantasies of each other, the person they both knew was foolish to want because they knew they could not have them. 

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii

A/N: I'm both really excited and nervous about this series so I hoped y'all enjoyed chapter 1! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought!

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: nsfw/18+; afab!reader; hisoka is his own content warning™. a little self-ship coded, shh. wc: 800

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You hold your hand to your chest, waiting for your heart to burst through your ribcage like a wild bird, the keys that were held loosely in your other hand dropping to the floor and landing with a sharp clatter. It seems you have an uninvited guest this evening—Hisoka sits perched in the center of your sofa, shirtless, legs crossed and a wry smile stretching across his face.

“Why dear, you’re home late,” he croons, golden eyes gleaming as he drapes his arms over the back of the couch and cocks his head at you.

“I got held up on my way out of the office,” you scowl, closing the front door behind you and slowly inhaling, exhaling even slower, trying to calm your racing pulse. “I didn’t know I had company to attend to tonight.”

“Well, I would’ve called but…” Hisoka trails off and shrugs his shoulders, uncrossing his legs and planting his feet on the ground. He behaves like a feral cat, coming and going as he pleases, entering your home of his own accord no matter how well you seal the doors and windows and how many times you change the locks, disappearing for days and weeks at a time, then showing up out of the blue demanding attention and affection. And, without fail, you fall for it every time.

A familiar scent catches your attention as you toss your coat onto a nearby chair. “What’s that smell?”

“There wasn’t anything in your fridge that looked appealing so I ordered curry.” He sounds almost bored by your question, as if the answer should have been obvious, and gestures lazily in the direction of kitchen. “It’s probably getting cold by now though.”

“Goddammit,” you mutter under your breath, pulling out your phone to check your bank balance as you saunter towards him.

“Don’t be so distrustful, dear, I paid for it myself,” Hisoka snips, raising an eyebrow, reaching forward to snatch your phone from your still-shaking hands. “You actually think I need to steal your money?”

“You already break into my house constantly, can you blame me for assuming?”

“Do you really think so little of me, pretty?” he coos, grabbing your wrists and tugging you towards him until you stumble against his knees, catching yourself on his broad shoulders. His long fingers sink into the plush of your hips and he pulls you forward easily until you land in his lap, straddling his muscular thighs; you can already feel the swell of his arousal pressing against your warmth.

“Stop fucking breaking into my fucking house, Hisoka.” Your arms find their usual spot draped around his neck as you settle against him, your fingers playing with the fine hairs at the back of his neck, and you swear you can feel him throb as you curse him out. “Fuck’s sake, I’ll just give you a key.”

“Aw, come now, where would be the fun in that?” he condescends, nuzzling your cheek as his warm palms caress the curve of your ass, sharp nails digging into your jeans, another clothing item dangerously close to ruin by his wandering hands. His lips crash suddenly against yours, his kisses bruising and cruel, the tip of his tongue probing your mouth hungrily while his hands pull you down even more firmly against the bulge in his pants.

“At least—at least text me when you’re coming o-over,” you stammer, a rush of blood pooling at the apex of your thighs as he rocks up into you. It’s sick how easily he wrings the annoyance and the anger out of you, leaving you twisted up and heated and needy, ready to soak up all that he has to give you.

��What, and ruin the surprise? Besides, you look so cute when you’re startled.” Hisoka grabs your wrist and gasps lewdly as he presses his lips to it, moaning against your skin while his tongue makes patterns over your pulse point. “Oh, my pretty little prey animal, your heart’s beating so fast for me.”

He sinks his teeth into the meat of your palm and you’re flooded with a rush of arousal. If only you’d worn that skirt to work that you’d briefly considered and discarded that morning, you could already have him inside you, hastily sliding your panties to one side to accommodate him. Instead, you have the illusion of struggle, a fabric barrier keeping you from showing your hand too quickly.

“D-don’t you want to eat dinner?” you ask through a sigh, a final shot fired in a losing battle.

Hisoka snickers cruelly and deftly maneuvers you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. He gazes down at you and grins, something wild and untamed glimmering in his gilded eyes. “The food’s already cold, little bunny—it can wait a little longer.”

[spheciform]

Sad she only got one album out before everything went to shit, but what's a girl to do?

This is a fake album cover for my dnd character, Helvia, and her fake band THREAT DISPLAY!!! Context for this piece and Helvia as a whole under the cut because once I start I can't stop talking about her <3

SO the campaign hasn't started yet, but Helvia is my character for a science fiction campaign. She's robot!!! Well I guess that's obvious now. BUT the basic gist: Helvia was manufactured as an industry-controlled and maintained electronic "punk" singer. When the project ended up making no money, everything related to it (including her), was abandoned. Three years later, she wakes up out of stasis with no clue what happened, an insane debt, and a failing memory. You will look at her !! Her full name is Helvia Cardinalis. This is just a genus of mantis it doesn't have any special meaning I just like bugs <3

-she has generated "background" memories of an entire life, but there's no telling which of those are real. I don't actually know which of them are real. My dm does!!! We'll be finding out together!!

-sometimes she uh. Doesn't know basic information. Whenever something she should reasonably know gets brought up I get to roll a flat d20 to do a "memory check", the checks getting harder the older the memory is. When she fails, she gets to lie or change the topic etc because she would rather DIE than admit anything is wrong with her.

-the album cover is kind of an intentionally really poor introduction of her character. She's more silly than anything? The entire project was meticulously micromanaged by the company that made her. The "novelty" and aesthetic of having a construct as their lead took forefront in its advertisement. There were two other members of THREAT DISPLAY!!! But she has no memory of them because they were considered comparatively SO unimportant to advertising and to her that they have gone... forgotten.

-Helvia herself is. A real character alright!!! Based entirely in what a corporation thinks a "cool alternative girl" is, she's impulsive, selfish, and just. So fucking stupid. She's firmly a "might makes right" type of person who was designed to appear counterculture but still ultimately serve and be fine with the status quo as long as it benefits her. She's going to do anything that grants her immediate satisfaction, and is obsessed with maintaining her image as "cool and above it all", even as her body is actively breaking down. She easily falls for flattery.

Notes about the piece: yeah I downloaded and used splatoon fonts for the nonsense text. I think I typed gay sex like twice I'll be real none of it translates to relevant information. I think there's something in there about how I hope it came across as an adequate parody of machine girl album covers (my main inspiration). The composition of the piece itself is meant to feel kind of skeevy and exploitative because well. It is!! It's drawing the fine line between 'wow this is so cool and counterculture of us wow!!!' and fetishistic? Etc etc missing the chestpiece as an analog for putting a woman topless on the cover. There's actually a separate sketch I did as a canonical "mock up" for the design that originally included the other members, treating them like props because they're so unimportant, before they were scrapped from the final design because they were That Unimportant.

Notes on Helvia's design: I pulled from a few sources for this!! Notably I looked at so many pictures of that band Tramp Stamps. Remember Tramp Stamps? I don't. They're like the direct analog I think to her. I also pulled from vocaloid designs!! Impractical, cool, kind of "anime" feel. This comes across most in her hair I think which is just so beautifully impractical. The yellow gloves are so stupid important to me actually they're kind of ugly but it's the only way her name ended up being important: helvia cardinalis (mantis) is Bright Yellow and raises its 'arms' in its threat display, which I wanted to pull from for potential posing of her!! So. Bright stupid yellow gloves <3 they're an easy way to tell her character apart too & mean I don't have to worry about drawing all the nonsense on her arms. The translucent skirt also comes from the mantis, sort of pulled from its wings!! Original concepts for her included synthetic skin rotting away but her design was already more complicated than I normally go for and we ultimately ended up realizing her being openly and visibly a construct was important for her image in her music career so it worked out well! She is at least missing an eyeball :] doesn't affect vision since the mechanics are still in place but I guess she just gets that fun sans glow socket <3 her outfit is meant to look simultaneously cool, vaguely expensive, but also super super cheap?? Overall I'm happy with the fact that she looks both cool and really stupidly impractical in that classic 2000s deviantart oc way <3 it's important to me! Ultimately:

[skulla-rxcks]

Because you’re mine. {Chapter 1}

next chapter

Paring: bangchan!afab reader, ot8! Reader

Rating: explicit (eventually)

Genre: mafia au

Warnings: eventual smut but not in this chapter, kidnapping, slight yandere!chan

Thank you for 100 followers :) ! Ily guys sm

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

Chapter 1: stranger

“Fuck!” I mutter stamping my foot, realising I walked in a completely different direction I was supposed to.

Hell, I guess that’s because there’s hardly any phone service in this area which means I have to find my way to a job interview so I can finally earn more money for myself; a cashier at a gas station, pretty lame but hey. Money is money.

As soon as the reception is back I go into maps and reload the page, my phone battery dying almost immediately. How am I going to get to this interview on time? What if they reject me on the spot? The questions jumble across my mind.

“Hey, are you lost?” a mans voice comes up behind me, his breath ticking my neck because of how close he’s getting.

“excuse me I’m talking to you.” He repeats.

“Oh Uh, I actually am, I’m looking for the l-local gas station around here, I’m late to a job interview and my phones dead.” My body trembles slightly as I turn around and look up at the man who’s talking to me.

“You know, you could’ve taken a short cut, tho it seems a bit late now doesn’t it, mmm? You did say you’re running late after all.. how about I give you a lift home? It’ll just take longer trying to find your way around..”

“I don’t know if I can trust you.. I-I don’t even know you!” My voice is shaky, eyes watery, scared about what to do.

“Shhh shsh.. first off; you can call me Chan or Chris, and it’s okay don’t worry, look if you’re that scared you can hold my pocket knife while I drive.”

The car ride is silent. My hands starting to get sweaty from gripping onto the pocket knife. It’s a bit too quiet so I decide to talk, asking a simple question.

“Hey Chris? What do you do for work? Your cars pretty nice and everything so I’m wondering.”

“It’s personal business.” he replies in a tone cold enough to send brutal shivers throughout my body.

Personal.. business? What the hell does he mean? I probably shouldn’t ask any further questions who knows what he can do to me, he’s just a random man who offered me a ride home.

“Hey uh. My house is that way…” I reassure him. “Chan, i s-said my house is that wa…” my body goes cold as I say that, a sharp and cold sensation thrusts into my arm; almost like a needle. I can’t see anything. It’s just black and red. Red and black, my whole body feels numb

A few hours later. I find myself waking up tied to a chair.

“oh so your finally up..” foot steps approach me.

“Chan..?Where am I..what did you do?” I say scared, feeling his hands on my face as he takes off my blindfold, finally letting me see where I am. It’s a dark room with one singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling, looking down I notice I’m tied to a chair.

“i had to do this, otherwise probably wouldn’t have seen you again, going out isn’t really my thing.. I could be caught..”

He reassures me, moving behind the chair and placing his hands on my shoulders.

“C-Chan.. w-why I am tied up.. please let me go.”

“Mmmmm… we were attacked recently and you could’ve got taken if I didn’t secure you in one spot..” his hot breath tickles my neck, making me gasp at how close he is.

He continues talking but I zone out, instead focusing on the way his breath feels on my neck, making my legs shaking under his touch. “What do you think I should do with you?” “what do you m-mean..” I mumble.

“you’re so easy..” I feel his lips move along my jawline. “I could kill you right now and be done with you like everyone else I bring back here.. but i want something else.” He continues.

His tongue traces along my neck, I swallow hard, unable to form words. “I like you, princess, you have a certain charm that intrigues me.. maybe I’ll untie you, but only if you stay here with me… hm?”

“Chan? Are you in there?” Someone pounds on the door, from the voice it seems like another man. “Yep, Just uh, give me a minute Felix.”

Chan turns back to me and whispers into my ear again. “I’ll be back soon, Okay? Stay here.”

He leaves a light kiss on my earlobe before opening the door and leaving me all alone.

Many questions run through my mind; what does he do? Who is he? Why is he treating me like this?

I want to get out of this chair, i need to. But I’m forced to sit down. I want to cry, i want to scream. I hate it. The sound of nothing fills the air, i look around for anything to help me get out. There’s literally nothing at all. Only the chair and a lightbulb.

I could yell, i have the ability to speak but who knows what this man is capable of? The only thing I can really do is stare at the empty space around me, as much as it is useless it’s better than overthinking about everything. After what feels like hours i hear the door click, a man with a mask enters, i can’t tell who it is due to the mask hiding all of his facial features, i can tell that his arms are buff and he’s fit though, with a similar figure to Chan.

“C-chan..?” I mumble out, lip quivering as i look at the guy in front of me.

“Yeah. Don’t move, need to take you out of this room.” He groans, untying the ropes around my legs and wrists, making me fall to the ground as he takes the chair away.

“H-huh? Why..?” I question, taking his hand and walking out of the room with him.

“Stop asking questions. I’ll explain it all soon” Chan snaps back. Once we’re out of the empty room the area around us changes drastically, red carpet, lanterns on the wall. Almost like a palace, enough to make me gasp in response to my surroundings.

“Follow me.”

[andr0medafallen]

Jogan Fruit

A/N: The first smut piece I ever wrote, heavily revised by yours truly.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: porn with plot, oral (female receiving), somewhat irresponsible drinking, drinking games, inappropriate use of the word "crime syndicate" (not sexual, just stupid), biting, dubious consent (somewhat drunk sex, consented to by both parties)

Description: You live your life by the book. Rules are good. Rules like don't have sex with your Commander. A friend's meddling seeks to change that.

Word Count: 3.5k

“We should play a drinking game,” Corr suggested as you waved down the bartender for another round of jet juice. She did this, without fail, every fucking time you agreed to go drinking with her. It’s no one’s fault but your own, though, for continuously befriending adrenaline junky pilots who are more afraid of boredom than alcohol poisoning or embarrassment.

“What are you, five?” You, personally, are afraid of plenty of things other than boredom. And Corrinth’s god-awful drinking games are pretty high up on that list.

“I’m sorry, since when do five year olds play drinking games?” Corr argued, not even giving you her full attention as she sent a wink in the direction of the server setting down your cocktails.

“I bet they do in Mos Espa,” You mumbled, taking a sip from the sugary blue drink which Corr had ordered for you. Corr always ordered all around the spectrum of the rainbow of alcohol, especially when it contained a tiny paradisiacal umbrella in the sea of artificial sweetener. You certainly couldn’t complain, though, especially when it meant that Corr was paying. Spending credits on your behalf seemed to be the only fail-proof way to get you to go out the night before a big mission, and she knew it. Somehow her judgements about how you worked too hard never seemed to convince you to follow in the footsteps of her spontaneous lifestyle, but you loved to see her wasting money, so here you were. 

“Well that felt targeted with a touch of classism.” You sighed at her antics. Why you would ever choose to befriend the only person from Tattoine who actually likes the planet is beyond you. What kind of a masochist do you have to be to genuinely like Tattoine?

“It’s a crime syndicate.” You defended your honor against her attacks, but you knew that she wouldn’t let the argument go until you decided to play a drinking game, of all things. Like a seventeen year old rich kid in Canto Bight whose parents are on vacation and has the house to themselves for the weekend. And to be clear, you don’t mean that endearingly. You mean it in the sort of way that implies that you definitely don’t want to play a drinking game and hate rich kids and Canto Bight.

“It’s like, not even that much of a crime syndicate,” Corr disputed, plucking the sugary preserved jogan fruit off of her drink and popping it into her mouth. You could practically taste the over-sweet syrup, just by looking at it. 

“That doesn’t even make sense, how can something be ‘not that much of a crime syndicate’? It is or it isn’t!”

“Okay, well how can a whole city be a crime syndicate, that’s not how that works,” Corr complained.

“Oh, fuck me, it’s literally run by a crime syndicate, it might as well be.”

“The Hutts don’t even run it any more sooo… you're wrong, I’m right, let's play a drinking game,” She grabbed her drink and started chugging as if planning to throw back a shot in vindication, but for lack of any near, she settled for the next best thing.

“Kriff!” You snatched the drink out of her hand before she could get herself beyond the point that would ensure that you would have to spend the end of the night holding her hair back for her. “Okay, I’ll play your stupid drinking game.”

“Yes! Truth or extreme truth,” she decided, rather quickly.

“Please, for the love of all things holy, do not make me play that,” you backtracked. Why did you ever agree to play her games again? Stars, caring about people is way overrated.

You know, caring about people. Like how you care about Corrinth, even though she is positively insufferable whenever given the option. Or Commander Poe Dameron, who for some reason is walking to your table with that intoxicating confidence that you wish wasn’t deserved. Commander Poe Dameron who you should not at all care about, or who you should at least care about in a normal, professional manner, if at all. Not that many resistance fighters followed that rule, but you liked rules. Rules such as not caring about your Commander. The kind of rules that protected you, even if they did lead to your flood of anxiety at the mere idea of drinking with the man.

“Play what?” He asked, leaning against the dingy bar table that you were sitting at. You’d seen him coming, but you still nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke, dulcet tones voiced right into your ear, a symphony accompanied by the silent echo of his warm breath across your skin. He was wearing his off-duty clothes, linen shirt hugging his biceps, and I’m sure you can use your own imagination about the way his slacks hugged his hips. And the crisp scent that must have been pressed to his pulse point only seemed to set you on edge.

“We’re gonna play truth or extreme truth,” Corr excitedly told him, tossing him one of her winning grins. No one could ever kriffing say no to it. Hell, you could never say no to it.

You crashed your head into your arms on the table in an exaggerated display of annoyance.

“Come off it, Corrinth!” You growled, head raising by the neck just to emphasize your irritation; your desperation to not play this game, especially with Poe.

“Wait wait wait wait–” Poe gestured wildly with the bottle of ambrostine he must have picked up at the bar, as if to signal a pause on the conversation. You guessed that his interruption meant that you hadn’t sufficiently convinced either of them to drop the subject. “What is truth or extreme truth?”

Corr smirked, as if she had been waiting for this question since Dameron stepped foot in your vicinity. Or very possibly since she had planned this kriffing “girls night”. Why Corrinth finds it so absolutely necessary to intervene in your love life when she’s got absolutely no need to live vicariously through anyone is beyond you. She’s got a lovely and fulfilling relationship and she’s got plenty of game, but she only ever seems to be interested in getting you to unearth your secret crush.

It didn’t help that Dameron had to create the perfect setup for Corr to open her mouth and reply, “Fuck around and find out.”

This was problematic for a few reasons. 1, Corr had practically issued him a challenge in bright fucking obvious neon lights to choose extreme truth. And 2, While Poe is not the reckless flyboy that many people seem to think he is, the likelihood that he would turn down this challenge was low. Oh, and there is the fact that extreme truth is just an explicitly sexual truth, and the whole game is honestly just a remarkably uncreative spin on truth or dare, so there’s that too. Needless to say, you were not happy.

The grin which Poe returned shot off so many alarm bells in your head that you thought you might explode. Your eyes met over the table as you stared at him, but you quickly turned away, taking a drink of your ‘Jogan Jumper’. 

“Oh, yay!” Corr turned towards you. “You should go first cause you invented it.” Wow. That was definitely a piece of information that your outranking officer and crush did not need to know. You should have just taught her truth or drink. So much for trying to get out of dares.

You rolled your eyes before bringing your gaze up to Corr. “Corrinth,” You gritted out. “Truth or extreme truth.”

“What?” She chided, playing dumb. “Don’t be rude, it’s Commander Dameron’s first time playing!”

Fuming, you turned to Poe, who looked a little confused but good-spirited. “Truth or extreme truth, Dameron?” You asked, voice dripping with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

He smiled, glancing at Corr who gave him the most mischievous look of encouragement that you have ever seen in your life.

“Extreme truth,” He decided. Wow. What a fucking surprise.  While the rules of the game entitled you to cursing any possibility of friendship with your Commander by asking him a question straight from a holovid title, you deigned instead to turn to Corr and glare at her silently, lips pursed.

“Oh, I have a good one!” She chimed in, twirling a strand of bright blue hair around her finger.

“Let’s hear it,” Poe chuckled. Curse him, for being the type of man who didn’t become a modicum less attractive when intoxicated and covered in a light sheen of sweat. It was pure evil, the way his skin glistened, every curve of his beautiful face emphasized in an unfairly beautiful way.

“Out of all of the people in the room,” she smiled at him, “Who would you most like to fuck?”

His eyes flicked to yours momentarily, before fixing on his drink. Looking back up at Corr with a furrowed brow, he asked, “That’s what extreme truth is? It’s just a truth about sex?” He seemed flustered, his tan cheeks covered in a smattering of pink. You were surprised, if anything. He never seemed like the type to get shy about this sort of thing. Embarrassment seemed to be more your cup of tea, but you supposed that even you were wrong every once in a while.

“He doesn’t have to answer it,” You muttered. You nodded your head at his drink. “Just take a swig.”

“Yeah, you could chicken out,” Corr agreed, before turning to you. “He’s probably just scared that we’ll find out he wants to fuck Borsk the fish boy.”

You folded your arms over your chest, giving Corr your best ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. “Corr, be nice, Borsk isn’t that bad.”

“Uh, yeah, I think that not that bad constitutes not having sex with fish, but whatever gets you going, I mean, I’m not one to judge.”

Before you could argue that that was just a mean-hearted rumor, Poe interjected, “No, yeah, nothing against Borsk, but I’d fuck Black 3.” He said it quickly, rushing through his words as if his mouth was running a marathon. He didn’t stumble over a single syllable, though; it was as if the words lived on his tongue. As if they belonged there. Your eyes widened. The breath caught in your throat. That was you. That was your callsign, there is no one he could possibly be talking about other than you.

At that earthbending revelation, Corr decided it was a good time to pull out her com, screen completely blank. 

“Oh shit, it’s Eida.” It wasn’t even a good lie. You could clearly see the black screen of the communicator. Poking it to mimic answering couldn’t change the fact that it hadn’t beeped and no one had called her. “Hey babe, everything okay? Oh stars, that’s crazy.” You cringed. If Corr was going to be such a compulsive liar, she should probably take an acting class sometime. She took the comm away from her ear and poked it again, as if it had done anything the first time. “Girlfriend’s in trouble. You know how it is.”

Poe actually managed to seem genuinely concerned. It was honestly kind of endearing how he actually believed her obvious lie. “Everything okay?”

“Her comm is off and her girlfriend is in the engineering bay patching droids. Everything’s fine,” you seethed as Corr cheerfully skipped out of the crowded bar. To his credit, Poe did not seem put off by your rude demeanor. Honestly, you didn’t know what it meant for his mental health that he wasn’t.

Still, when Poe looked at you with those warm brown eyes that held so much more than you were ready for, you couldn’t help yourself. In one of the most impulsive moments of your life, you grabbed his wrist, the way you might to save someone from falling off a cliff; Like you were afraid to let go. Your lips met the same way; tongues intertwined, starved for something not quite comprehensible, but now that you’d found it you wouldn’t give it up for the world. Your hands were grabbing at each other both delicately and desperately.

Maybe you were making an awful mistake. Maybe you were about to do something that you would regret tenfold in the morning. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t care, not when his warm hands were on you and you couldn’t even begin to comprehend a world in which this wasn’t a good idea.

When your lips parted (a miserable moment, softened only by the quiet peace of the way your breaths intertwined), Poe grabbed what was left of his liquid courage and gulped it down quickly, as if it was the only thing in the way of him and you. His eyes met yours as he licked the sweet syrup off of his lips and set the glass down with a quiet thunk. There was a certain amount of finality in the noise, like a decision made for the both of you.

He grabbed your wrist in the same desperate way that you had only moments ago. Sweet eagerness and a darker need were palpable in the air as you nearly jogged to keep up with Poe’s quick strides. You didn’t know where you were going, mind fuzzy in a cocktail of excitement and nerves. It finally clicked when Poe pulled out his keycard and fumbled to get the door to his quarters open. 

Your heart skipped a beat; your stomach was butterflies. When he finally jammed the card into its keyhole to a green light and cheery ‘beep’, you wanted so desperately to be able to take in your surroundings. You were expecting janitorial closet, and instead got a peephole into Poe’s own heart. He slept here; this is where he came home to after hard missions, where he hung posters for the shitty bands he listened to. And this is where he decided to take you.

Still, with the warmth of Poe’s body pressed against you, there was nothing you could possibly focus on other than the feeling of his lips on your neck and his hands on your waist.

Your head fell back against the wall as Poe’s soft lips sucked at the junction between your neck and shoulder. There was no restraint, you could practically picture the bruises that would bloom shades of purple in the morning. Somehow the idea didn’t make you even remotely anxious. All you could think about was this man, who found it so easy to let go of safety in the face of his desperation for you.

When a whimper escaped your lips, Poe’s head buried itself into the crook of your neck, the rough fabric of his rec clothing grinding against your hips. You delicately slid your hand between your bodies, pressing against where he needed you most—against what you needed most.

The moan which he rewarded you with was utterly sinful, but it soon warped into a groan of aggravation. “No, wait wait wait.” he seemed almost panicked, but in a relaxed way; as if those two feelings didn’t directly contradict each other. You immediately backed away, confused, your mind doing laps around itself from the aftershocks of anticipation and the current worry of rejection.

Dameron was quick to reassure you, though. Not in words, but in the way his hands grabbed your waist. In the way he guided you to his bed. In the way he gently pushed you back until you were displayed underneath him. His eyes didn’t devour you, but gazed at you like you were a beautiful painting that he wanted to sear into the back of his brain, so that he could see it every time he closed his eyes. It was far too intimate for the one night stand you were well on your way to, but you couldn’t help but crave that sort of affection.

“This okay?” He asked, hands moving to his belt buckle.

“Could be a little faster.” You had meant it as a tease, but it came out breathy and hoarse; a beg for him to give you what he knew you so badly needed.

He smirked down at you and slowed the pace with which his deft hands worked at his belt, teasing you. His goal was quickly forgotten, though, when he heard the whine that had pushed through your lips. It was almost immediate, him kneeling on the bed, just to be closer to you; the way he dragged your trousers over your hips and down your legs as if drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. 

If you’d been planning on fucking Poe fucking Dameron tonight, you would have worn nicer underwear. Poe didn’t seem to care, though. He licked a stripe over your clothed clit, and your hands flew to his curls. To pull him closer or to push him away, you still hadn’t decided. His beautiful brown eyes looked up at you from between your thighs, dark with lust. Surging up, he attached his lips to yours, warm hands pawing his hands at the hem of your shirt. You melted into him. There is no better way to explain it. Your bodies intertwined, your lips on his, your hands cupping his cheeks. Your bodies only separated momentarily for Poe to drag your shirt above your head before immediately reconnecting. His hands were everywhere, as if he couldn’t possibly get enough. Calloused fingertips touching the soft skin of your breast and providing the delicious scrape of skin to skin that you craved.

It took only moments for you to turn the tables on Poe, using all of your strength against him as you flipped yourself on top, grinding onto his lap. He gasped into your mouth, hands fisting into the crisp white sheets beneath him. Your hips pressed against his, your hands working at his buttons while your lips explored his body. Your hands couldn’t seem to meet the pace of your thoughts, though, and when they couldn’t figure out the closures on his shirt, the only plausible option in your pleasure-drunk head was to tear the shirt at its seams and throw it across the room. 

Poe chuckled at you. “Eager?” It didn’t take more than an extra hard grind of your hips to shut him up, leaving him speechless and gasping for air. He gasped, head rolling back and hitting the wall behind him with a thunk. “You–You gotta stop doing that sweetheart. You’ll make me come before I even take my dick out.”

You slowed the grind of your hips in response, attaching your mouth to one of his nipples in answer. He let you do so for a moment before grabbing your thighs and dragging you down the bed while flipping you under him. You groaned at the loss of control, but your eyes widened with lust as he dragged down your underwear, the last remaining sliver of clothing which had remained on your body.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched as he attached his mouth to your clit, big brown eyes staring up at you as he sucked and licked at your core. He probed two thick fingers at your entrance as if testing the waters, and when met with absolutely no resistance, started slowly pumping them in and out of you. 

Poe’s ministrations were persistent, and your moans only seemed to be growing louder. You wondered if his neighbors could hear you, and the thought brought a rush of adrenaline through you.

As you grew closer to your climax, Poe’s name became a chant on your lips, accompanied by the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out, in and out. If his neighbors weren’t sure of what the two of you were up to before, they would probably be clued in by this point.

He removed his mouth from your clit, a line of saliva connecting his mouth to your core as he instructed, “I want you to come on my mouth, okay baby?” It was hard to focus on his words when all you could feel was the ache of his fingers inside you and the loss of his mouth on you. It was all you could do to nod in affirmation as you gazed into his eyes.

“Say it,” he prompted, slowing his pumping fingers.

“Yes. Yes Poe, I’ll–Just put your mouth back on me, I’ll come, just–” He cut you off by reattaching his mouth and speeding his teasing fingers. It wasn’t very long after that before your stomach tightened and your pussy began to clench around him, hips grinding onto his face as your orgasm tore through you, eyes rolling back, even as Poe’s tongue persisted. There was a cascade of fireworks clouding your vision as your body spasmed from pleasure.

When you finally relaxed into the mattress and Poe removed himself from your core, it was only mere moments before you felt Poe’s lips on yours, tasting yourself on his tongue, plus the sweet remnants of the Jogan Fruit.

When he removed his lips from yours, you opened your eyes to find him grinning down at you.

“You up for round two?”

[morlock-holmes]

This video is not great, and kind of typifies what I think is an entirely backwards response to that Variety article.

The example used in the beginning is almost the exact opposite of what is implied by that Variety article.

Rodenberry began with an extremely specific sense of feeling about how Star Trek should work. He didn't ask the fans if Spock should die, he already knew that the answer was "no". No doubt he enlisted the fans in order to demonstrate to Paramount that his already existing judgment would make them more money than ignoring them. He was not following fan sentiment, he was directing it.

The hollow eyed Liches that run Paramount today don't have any strong opinions about whether or not Spock should die. If some poor writer goes, "Hey, I'm trying to break this script, and part of me thinks killing off Spock is a sort of culmination of the character, but is it possible that it's just cheap shock value?"

They will stare in confusion and then say, "Were you speaking martian just now, because I didn't understand a word of that. Go poll the fans and then do whichever one makes us more money."

The studios are not being held hostage by the fans. They have decided that there is no point in gambling money on things like "An artist's judgement of what makes sense aesthetically and spiritually" because Star Trek, Star Wars, Marvel et al are things they own as products. Put out the next Star Trek brand product and the Star Trek fans will pay us for it.

What is a Star Trek brand product? It's whatever Star Trek fans will buy from us, no more, no less.

Which raises the question, say, how did all those harassed POC and woman actors get into all these franchises in the first place?

I'm not saying this is bad, mind you. Nothing wrong with giving talented actors more work in wider roles than they have previously had access to, that's actually great. I'm just saying it's worth asking the question of why it happened.

Because, as we have just established, the answer sure the fuck isn't "A coherent artistic vision".

These studios make decisions based primarily on fandom optics, so that means...

Oh my god you guys, I think the fandom is coming from inside the house.