#so it’s not like it makes up for it in that regard

[fushitoru]

seperation anxiety! a (clan head) gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ clan head!gojo x wife!reader

summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!

warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)

a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)

general masterlist

“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”

The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.

Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.

At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”

You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.

But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”

A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene." 

His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in. 

As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”

“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.

“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”

Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”

“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.

“No, but—”

His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”

He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.

“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”

As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers. 

Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!” 

“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”

Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.

Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.

With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”

To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up. 

“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”

You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.

Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under. 

Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”

In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck. 

a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry 

The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless. 

It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”

“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table. 

“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond. 

A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”

Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?” 

At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.

It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage. 

Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”

general masterlist

a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3

[gallifreyriver]

I don't know who needs to hear this but anyone saying "Just stop- You sound like Trump voters after he lost in 2020" in regards to those considering asking for a recount are either psyops or woefully ignorant of the situation.

You don't sound like a sore loser for taking note of the well documented cases of burned ballot boxes in at least three states, and multiple bomb threats to polling places in heavily democrat-populated areas in swing states, which shut them down for hours on election day.

Or taking note of other alleged voting interferences such as mail-in ballot tampering, or the case where a mail carrier has been arrested for stealing and forging mail-in ballots in Colorado.

Or for taking note of the fact that Trump constantly told us he "had a secret plan" to win the election on election day.

Or the fact that conservatives (and Trump) have a long history of cheating, and the fact that there's literally evidence that they meddled in at least the last two elections.

And no, I won't be linking sources, because I want you to look this up yourself instead of just taking my word for it.

My point is that it's reasonable to be suspicious and want to double check, especially given all that I listed above.

The reason we called Trump voters sore losers wasn't because they asked for a recount- they had every right to do so, just as we do now.

They were called sore losers because not only had there been no evidence of tampering or fraud (unlike this election), they didn't stop at asking for a recount- they got violent and started not only multiple riots, but also an attempted fucking coup where they stormed the capitol and chanted that they were going to hang Mike Pence because he refused to overturn the election.

Ask for the damn recounts if you want them. Every party has the right to ask for a recount.

Is there a good chance it changes nothing? Of course!

The worst that might happen when asking for a recount is just finding out that the count was accurate and needing to accept that and move forward.

But that still doesn't make it stupid for someone to ask for one given the fact we saw in real time several reports of election tampering. Besides, even if it doesn't change the outcome of the presidential election there's still a chance it might influence the outcome of the local elections, which are also very important!

This obsession with the left needing to appear constantly stoic and poised and unbothered, to the point of being too embarrassed to stand up for ourselves or even ask questions in fear of "looking as bad as them" is going to be the death of all of us.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Pretty Lady

Summary - Escaping the clamour of a celebration, she unexpectedly encounters young Rickon, who instantly takes a liking to her. Their surprising bond captures Cregan's attention, setting the stage for a night of subtle revelations and newfound connections.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x reader

Warnings - None

Word count -��2352

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Cregan Stark, known for his modesty, seldom hosted grand celebrations. However, his name day was a notable exception, a rare moment where he allowed himself to revel in extravagance.

The occasion was so grand that even I, sister to one of Cregan's closest companions found myself swept up in the festivity.

My brother's persuasion had been all it took for me to accept the invitation. The feast was nothing short of magnificent, music filled the air, the wine flowed freely, and dancing was unceasing. 

However, a noticeable absence marred the evening, there were very few female guests present. Given that Cregan was a young lord without a lady of the house, it was no surprise that the guest list had been crafted with little regard for balancing the genders.

"Do not look so glum," my brother's voice jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see him swaying slightly, clearly tipsy.

"You're drunk," I remarked, raising an eyebrow as I observed his slightly unfocused gaze. He just shrugged, unfazed.

"I'm heading out for a bit. This hall is stifling," I said, making to leave. He rolled his eyes but reminded me to stay close.

Grateful for a break from the oppressive heat, I wandered into the cooler corridors, enjoying the solitude. The calm was abruptly shattered by a soft, plaintive cry. Pausing, I glanced back toward the din of the celebration, but the sound came again. 

Curious, I followed the cries and pushed open a heavy door leading into a nursery.

Inside, the scene was heart-wrenching. A small boy sat amidst scattered toys, tears streaking his cheeks.

"What's the matter, little one?" I asked softly, moving towards him with careful steps to avoid startling him. His tearful eyes met mine, and he reached out his arms in a silent plea. I gently picked him up, settling him on my hip as his sobs began to subside.

"What's your name, sweetling?" I inquired, tenderly wiping away his remaining tears.

"Rickon," he murmured, and I felt a jolt of recognition. This was the young son of Cregan.

"Well, little lord, why are you crying?" I asked, glancing down at the toy clutched in his tiny hands, which was broken in two.

"That's an easy fix," I said, setting him gently on the floor and joining him. I took the broken toy, skillfully reassembling it. Rickon's face lit up with joy as he clapped his hands.

"Thank you," he mumbled, throwing himself into my arms. 

I caught him with a laugh, settling him comfortably in my lap as he resumed playing. I ran my fingers through his soft hair, humming a soothing tune.

"Isn't it bedtime, darling?" I asked gently, but Rickon shook his head vigorously, despite his drooping eyelids.

Rickon's curiosity soon got the better of him. He studied my face closely, his small fingers reaching up to poke my cheek. "Pretty," he declared, his eyes twinkling with innocent admiration.

I couldn't help but laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seemed to brighten the dimly lit room. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" I said, giving his nose a playful tickle.

Before Rickon could respond, the door creaked open, and I turned to see who had entered. Startled, I instinctively tightened my hold on Rickon. To my surprise, it was Cregan himself.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes taking in the unexpected scene. For a moment, his stern expression softened as he observed me with his young son. There was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, mingled with a hint of curiosity.

"It seems my name day celebration has been graced by an unexpected guest," he said, his tone laced with gentle teasing, aware of the effort it took my brother to persuade me to attend.

I rose to my feet, Rickon still nestled comfortably in my arms. "He was upset, and I was just trying to help," I explained, feeling a bit self-conscious under Cregan's scrutiny.

Cregan smiled a rare and genuine expression that lit up his face. "I'm glad you did. Rickon's usually very shy around strangers, so your kindness has meant a lot."

Rickon's eyes were bright as he looked up at his father. "Lady pretty fixed my toy," he said proudly, hugging me tighter.

I couldn't help but laugh softly at Rickon's endearing declaration. As Cregan approached, he extended his arms, signalling his intent to take Rickon. However, the young boy buried his face deeper into my shoulder, clinging to me stubbornly.

"Rickon, come on," Cregan coaxed gently, trying to pry the boy away. "The pretty lady has other things to do."

At Cregan's words, Rickon's lower lip began to tremble, and soon, he was crying again, his small form shaking with the effort. I looked up at Cregan, feeling a bit flustered by our close proximity and the casual tone he had used.

"It's alright," I said softly, trying to soothe Rickon as I rocked him gently. "I don't mind staying with him a little longer. It's no trouble at all."

Cregan hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern. "I don't want to keep you from the celebration. I can call a nursemaid to come in if you'd prefer."

I shook my head, a small smile on my lips. 

"It's quite alright. I needed a break from the festivities anyway. It's how I ended up in the company of this little lord," I said, giving Rickon's nose a gentle boop, which made him giggle softly. His eyelids fluttered as he nestled against me, his small body gradually relaxing into sleep.

As I began to rock Rickon in my arms, his soft snores soon filled the room. Once I was certain he was settled comfortably in his crib, I quietly stepped back, careful not to disturb him.

Outside the nursery, Cregan joined me in the corridor. "Was something not to your liking at the feast?" he asked softly, his tone genuine but laced with curiosity.

I shook my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. "No, it was a grand affair. I didn't mean to offend you. It just seemed that the celebration was more suited for the men."

Cregan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. As we walked side by side, the soft click of our footsteps was the only sound in the quiet hallway. 

The dim light from the sconces flickered, casting a warm glow on our faces.

"It's true," Cregan admitted with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "I've always found it difficult to strike the right balance with such events."

I glanced at him, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "Well, it seems we've both found a little respite tonight, haven't we?"

Cregan's lips curled into a small, appreciative smile that seemed to soften his usually stern features. "Indeed. And I must say, your company has made the evening far more pleasant than I anticipated."

Our eyes met, and I could see the genuine warmth in his gaze. There was a flicker of something more in his expression, something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Is that so?" I teased gently, unable to resist the flirtatious tone. "I hope you're not just flattering me to ease my boredom."

Cregan chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. "I assure you, I'm not one to offer flattery lightly. Your presence has been a welcome and unexpected delight."

I felt my cheeks warm at his compliment, and I met his gaze with a mix of shyness and curiosity. "I'm glad to hear that."

We continued down the corridor, the conversation flowing easily between us. 

The earlier tension had melted away, replaced by a relaxed and genuine connection. I couldn't help but feel that the moments we shared were more than mere chance they felt like a subtle, unspoken bond forming.

When we reached the threshold of the grand hall, the sounds of revelry grew louder. My brother, clearly inebriated, suddenly appeared, lurching toward me with a broad grin plastered across his face. His arm clumsily draped over my shoulders, and his drink sloshed perilously close to spilling.

"Hello, my favourite people," he slurred, his gaze bouncing between me and Cregan. I stifled a laugh, struggling to stay upright as he leaned heavily on me.

"You are beyond saving," I said, trying to steady my brother, but he was dead weight against me. Cregan, with a practised ease, stepped forward and effortlessly took hold of my brother, guiding him away from me with a steady grip.

"I'll take him to his chambers," Cregan offered, his tone calm and assured. I exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful for his assistance.

"I suppose I'll retire for the night as well then," I said, glancing at Cregan with a warm smile. "I'll see you in the morning, Lord Stark."

Cregan's nod was accompanied by a soft, genuine smile that made my heart flutter unexpectedly. "Goodnight. Rest well."

As I watched him lead my brother away, I couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of contentment. There was something comforting in Cregan's presence.

The quiet anticipation of seeing him again tomorrow left me with a sense of warmth that lingered long after I had settled into bed.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The next morning, I walked through the halls with a smile on my face, the echoes of yesterday's revelry still fresh in my mind. As I entered the dining hall, it was already bustling with the remnants of the previous night's festivities. 

The room was a lively mix of hungover lords and weary guests, their bleary eyes and rumpled attire a testament to the previous evening's excesses.

I made my way to where my brother sat, his head resting in his hands, mumbling incoherently to himself. Unable to stifle a laugh, I took a seat beside him, the warmth of the room contrasting sharply with his evident discomfort.

"Lord Stark," I greeted, and Cregan looked up with a warm, albeit slightly amused, smile.

"Good morrow," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He seemed more refreshed than the majority of the room.

Turning to my brother, I asked, "Brother, are you alright?" I leaned in, trying to gauge his condition. He waved a hand dismissively, barely acknowledging me as he tried to right himself.

I scrunched my nose and swatted his hand away, finally earning his full attention. He looked up, his face etched with a mix of embarrassment and regret. 

"Do not ever let me drink that much again," he chided, his voice a groggy whisper.

I bit my lip, struggling to keep from laughing outright. "You were practically drowning in your cups," I teased.

Cregan, who had been watching with a hint of amusement, chuckled and added, "Indeed, you seemed to have a rather intimate relationship with the wine flagon."

My brother shot him a curious glance before turning back to me. "And where were you, may I ask?" His voice was a bit sharper now, his interest piqued.

I popped a grape into my mouth, savouring its sweetness before responding. "I was in the company of a young lord who kept me excellent company," I said, the playful tone in my voice hinting at the pleasant encounter from the previous night.

My brother sat up, his curiosity clearly aroused. "What lord?" he asked, looking from Cregan to me and back again.

Before I could answer, the young lord in question made his entrance. Rickon stumbled into the dining hall, his small figure a beacon of cheerfulness amid the sombre morning crowd. 

"Pretty lady!" he called out, his voice ringing with enthusiasm. Without hesitation, he clambered up onto my chair and into my lap.

I laughed, my heart swelling at his exuberance. "Good morrow, young lord," I murmured, brushing his tousled hair from his eyes. He beamed up at me, clearly delighted to see me.

My brother, still nursing his hangover, looked up and watched the scene with a mix of surprise and curiosity. His expression shifted from confusion to a knowing grin as he took in the interaction between Rickon and me.

"Well, it seems you've made quite an impression," my brother remarked, his voice carrying a newfound warmth and friendliness.

I smiled warmly, holding Rickon closer as he settled comfortably against me. His small hands were already exploring the folds of my dress, his contentment evident.

"Indeed," Cregan chimed in, his tone carrying a subtle note of pride. "It appears that Rickon has taken quite a liking to your sister."

His words were accompanied by a smile that seemed to linger just a moment longer than necessary, a hint of admiration in his gaze. 

"He has great taste," Cregan added smoothly, the compliment carrying an underlying charm.

My brother's head snapped towards Cregan, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "That is my sister you are talking about," he said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

Cregan merely shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he observed Rickon's playful antics. "Indeed, it is. And I stand by my statement."

As he spoke, Cregan's gaze briefly met mine. There was a warmth in his eyes, a subtle compliment that made me blush slightly. I couldn't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the way he looked at me as if he found something endearing in our interaction.

Rickon, oblivious to the adult conversation, continued to fidget with the folds of my dress, his laughter filling the air. The light-heartedness of the moment seemed to draw Cregan and me closer.

"Well, I must say," Cregan continued, his voice taking on a more playful tone, "your sister has quite the talent for capturing the hearts of the youngest among us. It seems to be a rare gift."

My cheeks warmed further at his words, and I glanced away momentarily, trying to hide my blush. My brother, meanwhile, looked between us with a bemused expression, clearly enjoying the exchange.

"Careful, Cregan," my brother said with a teasing glint in his eye. "You're making it sound like you've got a soft spot for my sister."

Cregan's smile broadened a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

"Well, what if I do?" he replied, his tone light but unmistakably sincere. He met my gaze again, his eyes lingering with a direct and appreciative look that made my heart race.

The playful banter and warmth between us transformed the morning's earlier chaos into a more pleasant and intimate connection. 

As we continued chatting and laughing, it was clear that a new, more direct layer of camaraderie was forming between Cregan and me, adding a fresh dimension to our interactions.

A/n - Bit choppy but I've already tried to fix it three times and now I give up

[codnasties]

More cheater ghost please!!!!🥹 How about married ghost fucking his daughter ballet teacher cause his wife sucks or is also cheating on him.

Sweet reader making eyes at the tall handsome father of her favourite student.

Additionally as she's a ballet teacher, she's flexible, something ghost may like as he can do all the monkey sex😂

cheater!ghost x daughter's ballet teacher 👻 (🌽 link)

what ghost is about to do feels unethical and unacceptable on many levels ... like, he's about to cheat on his loving wife, who he share's a daughter with. the person he's going to cheat with is said daughter's ballet dancer - who she loves -. and on top of that he's about to fuck you in the same outfit he's seen you wear to class countless times.

but he can't keep ignoring the sweet thing that teaches his daughter. younger dainty thing that always looks up to him with lust filled eyes. and how are you not going to. he's tall, handsome, so fucking caring and wears the sluttiest compression shirts every single time.

and all that pent-up sexual tension came to a head when one day you called him, asking him to come to the studio saying you have some important matter to talk to him about regarding his daughter. he just knew that there were no problems with his daughter and that there was not going to be any talking done. but the man can't resist.

that's how he ends up bending you over the small sofa in your office, fucking into you roughly and chocking you as he calls you a little minx or a whore. he may even help himself with your balket dancer flexibility and fold you like a fucking pretzel as he keeps abusing your poor pussy with his thick cock. making you moan like crazy as he is unable to stop his own noises.

you are going to have to show him all your little ballet outfits, because he's loving you in those ;)

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born | Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word count: 4.1K

Summary: When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

Part 1

A cackle pierced through you as Cressida  looked upon you with a devilish glint.

“You believe you are a witch?” Her tone caught you off guard. Her patronisation questioning everything you had ever held to be true. Surely you were? It was the only thing that made some sense. Your brows furrowed  tightly as you regarded the woman who had offered you shelter and refuge over the past few years.

Her laughing died down, her beautiful skin perfect by the ruins and spells she’d used for centuries, not displaying a single crease visible upon her flesh.

“Oh child what an easy life this would have been if we were more akin.”

~

You sat upright with a jolt, the murmuring of a dream— a memory whispering at the corners of your mind. Your heart swelling with the familiarity of someone you missed, despite her disposition, her cruel tone, that mean glint in her eye— you missed her. But as you felt the plush sheets beneath your body you knew you were no longer in the witches cottage at the corners of The Middle.

You had left that plagued land a while ago now.

A soft rap roused you from your thinking. The usual wake up call must have been the noise to stir you from your slumber in the first place, a familiar rumble of a tone behind the oak doors. 

“Come in,” you replied softly. Your feet swinging off the side of the bed, as you walked towards the large curtain that hung from the high ceilings to the dark obsidian floor beneath your feet.

It should have been cool to the touch under your toes, but the house had a magical way of ensuring your comfort— always.

You heard the bedroom door swing open, your back to the welcomed guest as your fingers dropped from the luxe curtain fabric you had just pulled, inviting the warmth of the morning sun into your rooms.

“Blessed be my morning star, did you sleep well?” A deep sing-song tone bellowed into the room, a playfulness dancing on his words.

You cringed under the greeting, choosing not to turn to show your disdain at his choice of greeting and nickname. The sun was only just rising, sending splintered beams of light across your bedroom floor and walls.

“Helion, must you greet me in such a way?” He could practically hear the way you rolled your eyes and cringed at his words. You hadn’t turned to him yet, your gaze settling on the tops of the city below that the curtains had just revealed.

The view from your bedroom had changed more frequently in recent years. No longer the welcomed view of your childhood— the farm fields you grew up in, the misty fog that covered the northern part of the continent that you had always found comfort in.

No longer the harsh winding forest, dark trees that looked more like creatures that lurked outside the witches cottage— Cressida’s home— if you could even call it a home. Her den, rooted in The Middle.

No longer the glistening golden rooftops of Day, the sparkling white walls that danced the sunlight off the buildings in a way that made the whole court shimmer.

Instead, the panes of glass showed three mountainous peaks, dusted with snow in the distance and a city below— Velaris, the city of starlight.

Or the city of slumber. You were not well acquainted with the routines of the Night court residents. Them usually rousing from sleep well later into the day. However it did make your mornings quieter.

The auras of people settled in sleep, their noise, their colours dimming as you watched the kaleidoscope of energy dance lazily along to rooftops. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t so loud.

You winced slightly at the sight, the lights and colours nudging on your mind. Poking and prodding a little harder than they had yesterday. It had been several days since Helion’s spell. A string of wryds to help contain your ability— dim it down, to subdue it, make it more bearable— but the spell was wearing thin.

Ever since that night—that fateful night where you almost left this world— your ability had been at a loss. Something that had always been as easy as breathing, as easy as a crisp night breeze filling your lungs, was now overwhelming and terrifying. If it wasn’t for Helion and his spell cleaving you're not even sure you’d still be here, in fact you’re certain it would have consumed you. 

As beautiful as the auras of the world were, if you couldn’t control it— it would be the death of you. 

“How are you feeling?” You had finally turned to Helion now, his question lingering in the air. 

How were you feeling? 

You could see, feel, taste Helion’s energy in front of you. A golden glow, so fitting for the High Lord of Day. It beamed within him like an orb of sunlight. You couldn’t touch it though, not like you used to, not like when you were a child and you used the naively play with creatures auras like a toy. Not like how Cressida had taught you to toy with people’s auras which was far from play.

That sense of control had broken, leaving jagged scars across your body to match.

Your hands, almost subconsciously went to touch the rugged scar that ran from your shoulder down to your torso. It tingled under your thoughts, but you pulled your hand back. Not allowing another moment to be wasted on what had happened and the marks it had left on you. 

That was why you needed Helion and his spells. He had a way of dimming it with his own power, making it easier for you to navigate your day-to-day without being utterly consumed by the noise and colours of everyone else.

“I feel okay actually,” you had responded, your eyes moving up to the lines on your friends face. He smiled softly at you.

“This is the longest you’ve been without us having to spell cleave, but today—“

“Today could be a noisy day,” you finished his sentence, understanding what he was implying.

Tody, you were to begin training with the Valkyries.

“Those priestesses are already a bundle of emotions when they pass you, I think resealing the spell would be wise. Amren agrees.” 

Well then, it wasn’t really up for debate. 

You cocked a brow at Helion before moving towards the table in your room. That was now adorned with breakfast, courtesy of the house of course. Helion folded his arms across his broad chest. He still wore the colours of Day, white and pristine, glittered in gold jewellery along his wrists, earrings bejewelled with sunlight themselves. Grand and beautiful, just like him. However he looked so out of place against the dark background of the Night interior. As ornate as the House of Wind was, Helion didn’t fit. 

No, he belonged among his own court, but the High Lord of day had left his court to accompany you. That in itself was such a large display of loyalty. You swallowed your guilt as you sat at the table, spreading butter across the warm toast and taking a bite. 

“But of course the decision is always yours to make y/n,” Helion spoke, his tone as warm as the butter melting upon your breakfast.

They only wanted what was best for you, you knew that. Reminded yourself in moments like these. But you couldn’t help the feelings that slipped up to the surface. Since you’d come to the Fae courts and discovered who you were—what you were. Every piece of guidance came with a weight you felt like you couldn’t refuse. 

You were the Mother’s daughter— Blessed be— you had status, respect, power— to do as you please, but that came with a responsibility that felt too heavy to bear. Every decision you made had to be considered, because it didn’t only affect you but the entire world and the peoples and creatures within it.

That meant, even if you wanted to try and push another day without the spell. See how far you could go as the spell thinned, you couldn’t risk it. As it wasn’t only you who it would endanger, but every living thing.

When Helion had found you— a shattered version of yourself— he’d spent the time piecing you back together. Perhaps out of duty to begin with, but somewhere along that journey a genuine friendship grew. However that would never negate from who you were, and what you were born to do— what your life’s duty was to be, and what he, what Amren, whatever everyone else on this island needed to do ensure you accomplished it.

“Let’s reseal the spell,” you muttered before taking another chomp of your toast, a softer look on your eyes this time. “…after breakfast.”

Helion smiled warmly, joining you at the table as he had done now every morning since he saved you.

~

The simmering of the fresh spell lingered on your skin, Helion’s magic coursing an invisible shield around you. The spell acting as a filter to the aura you were always so sensitive to.

The early days of his spells were always the nicest, at least they were nowadays. After building your tolerance back up with Helion, the first week of his spell usually lasted with minimal discomfort. He always had to be near though, his rooms were only down the hall to yours.

Sometimes your tolerance was less, or someone or some creature’s aura louder than usual that you needed him to reseal. It was why for the past year he’d essentially been attached to you at the hip, like a doting father or brother. And then there was Amren— doting wasn’t the word you would use. But she was always there too now. Out of duty of course, the way she’d collapsed down to her knees in your first encounter revealed how strongly her loyalty would lie to you.

Or lie to what you stood for.

Amren, the ancient one knew what your existence meant. Felt it in her bones, remembered the murmurings of stories and prophecies she listened to back in her own adolescent years. She knew what was coming, and knew how important it was that the Mother’s daughter had her ability under control.

So here you were, stood before Helion and Amren like a girl on her first day of school. Helion tightened one of the straps on the leathers you had been told to wear. He couldn’t attend the training class, only approved males were sanctioned so he would stay the floor below. In a waiting room. A handful of books already tucked under his arm.

“Stop fussing over the girl,” Amren snapped, her expression as hard as it always was. Despite her being utterly devoted to you and your protection, that dedication did not come with a slither of a smile.

You may have found her scary, if she didn’t remind you so much of someone you missed.

Helion gave you a knowing look before playfully winking at you. His large hands coming to squeeze your shoulders.

“How do you feel?” He asked, ignoring Amren at his side.

“The world is quiet once more,” you replied in a slightly chipper tone that garnered a smile from Helion.

He tapped the top of your head, “If we need to reseal, or something triggers it you leave right away, okay?”

You nodded in response along with a hum in agreement. This training was supposed to do the opposite of just that, however there were concerns. After the inner circle had barged their way into the Day Court a month ago, after Helion revealed who you were— a lot had changed.

Your belongings— which wasn’t very many— were packed up, along with you and Helion as you were practically shipped to the Night Court. You realised when you arrived how this had always been Helion’s intention. Why he’d taken the time to tell you the names of the Night Courts inner circle all those months ago. It was because they held significance in your journey.

The Night Court was safer, Velaris having an ancient spell that had protected it for so long. Amren was to teach you, she had knowledge that even Helion’s libraries didn’t share. There was Rhys too, with his mind and magic who was a crucial part to play in you regaining control of your power.

And now there were the Valkyries, who you were to train with.

~

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes dancing upon the still sleeping city. It was quieter now, thanks to Helion. No noise and colours probing into your mind.

It was peaceful, and yet so lonely. When you had full control of your ability, back when it felt like an extension of you. You could slip in and out of it with ease, danced with it, sung with it. Now, it felt like a headache that could only be dulled with Helion’s magic.

“It is the mind-stilling which is a priority in your training. I believe it could be key to you regaining control over your abilities. You will train with the Valkyrie’s everyday until you master it.” Amren spoke. You didn’t turn to look at her, your eyes still gazing onto the cityscape below. Your mind wandering to what the people below were up to, what they may have been dreaming of. Thinking back to a time when your life was much simpler, when the most daunting part of your week was whether one of the village boys would fancy you.

You stopped yourself there. Stopped yourself from indulging and reminiscing in the past. The continent was so far away now, as was that version of you.

“What if it doesn’t work?” You turned to Amren, concern evident in your tone. The sun kissing your face as your brows furrowed.

She was sat in the shade, back against the cool stone wall of the house, “It has to.”

A silence settled between you both. Amren was right, this had to work because Mother be damned if it didn’t.

~

Nesta cringed as she watched the priestesses fuss. She had told them to be on their best behaviour, but in the presence of a living deity the females couldn’t help themselves.

They blushed and whispered, giggled and muttered words of prayer, some even curtseying as soon as they stepped onto the rooftop. Rollings of ‘Blessed be’ harmonised from their tongues and even Gwyn’s eyes widened in the presence of you. The female looked ready to burst with excitement.

There was something about your presence that was otherworldly, not just in your beauty but in the way you moved among the earth spoke of grace. Nesta couldn’t believe her eyes when she had found out you’d grown up on the continent on a farm and then The Middle— with a witch! And yet there was a regality that existed within you that couldn’t be taught, it had just always been, you had been born with it, cauldron-born to be exact.

You stood in front of them all, your own embarrassment from the fuss evident in your averting gaze. Gently— with delicate grace— you bowed your head towards the priestesses, responding appropriately with a whispering “Blessed be,” which only seemed to elicit more noise from the females. Enough noise that it took you a beat to notice the gust of wind that blew across your face as a shadow blocked out the sun for a moment. With a thud two large Illyrian males landed in the middle of the rooftop balcony.

Helion’s spell had been working fine till now, not a whisper or a simmering of aura— till you saw him.

Felt him, scented him.

In a flurry of steps you found your back pressed against the railing on the rooftop. The very presence of someone causing your feet to stumble back, hands clutching the railing tightly in a blur of a moment. He was here. The very male you often found yourself dreaming of when your mind wasn’t caught in the past.

Azriel.

Amren had launched from her place, she had been watching you so closely that even just a tremor of difference she would notice. But it wasn’t just Amren who had stepped towards you, the Shadowsinger himself had taken several large strides since landing as if he’d also always been watching.

“Do I need to get Helion?” Amren asked with an urgency in her tone.

Your breaths were shallow, your gaze falling to your feet as you tried to focus. You had been caught off guard, in the silence of spell you hadn’t expected any noise at all. You hadn’t been affected by the lively group of priestesses, Nesta’s silver aura hadn’t been licking at your mind or even the thousands of people in the city below hadn’t affected you.

But him. He had triggered something, somehow.

Azriel looked upon you with a concern that felt heavy. Hesitant as he stood only a step behind Amren.

Had he startled you? When him and Cassian had landed? Azriel couldn’t deny he had rushed to this training session, after spending the month on a mission. Rhys had sent word that you were to begin training, and the swell in Azriel’s chest was enough to have Cassian trying to keep up to the Spymaster on their entire flight home.

Azriel’s eyes wandered over you, his shadows whispering their own concerns. They had noticed your nerves, just as he had noticed them during his first encounter with you. It was his job to notice the little things, his duty as spymaster to notice the things others couldn’t, but even he couldn’t explain why he felt so attuned to you.

The morning breeze gently blew across your face, pulling the pieces of hair that were loose from your braid. You had calmed yourself, calmed yourself enough to raise your head to the audience on the rooftop. He could see you now, fully, for the first time in a month, and Azriel forgot how to breathe.

Divine.

He thought it was his shadows that whispered it, but maybe it was his own thoughts too. You were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on— angelic and saintly.

Divine was the only word for it.

Divine, divine, divine. His shadows sang.

“No, I am fine,” you finally replied to Amren. She looked at you sceptically, a look in her face that told you if you were lying then there would be hell to pay. You repeated yourself though, stepping away from the railing you had pressed yourself against.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not after what he had just triggered, that tightness in your chest was new and overwhelming to say the least. It was different though, to the way auras usually felt that left you with confusion and questions to why the Shadowsinger felt, smelt, tasted so different to everyone else.

You were grateful for the male beside him who decided to speak. “Sorry we probably startled you, just dropping from the sky like that— we tend to do that sometimes.” It was Cassian who had spoken, a warmness in his tone that reminded you of Helion. There was a twinkle in his eye of light-heartedness that seemed to dissipate the unease that had settled among the group.

You offered him a soft smile that only seemed to spur him on. His tone bellowing as he outstretched his arms in introduction, “I’m Cassian, and this is—“

“Azriel,” you finished his sentence for him. Not being able to stop yourself from saying his name out loud. Not being able to stop yourself from finally looking at him.

“Right, Azriel. You’ve already met,” Cassian replied, a look in his eye as he glanced between his brother and you.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair how much lovelier he was than in your dreams— which you didn’t think could be possible. The handsome lines of his tanned face, the dark hair that fell in loose curls and those large wings that were tucked behind his back. Your eyes dragged across him, finally landing on his own gaze. How it brought you back to that first moment you met him—how he had trapped you in his gaze back in the courtyard of Day.

“And I’m Gwyn,” the words had practically burst from the red-headed female. Her deciding now was clearly the right time to introduce herself, not that you minded. In fact if she hadn’t you may have just stared at the Shadowsinger all day, “…and I think I can speak on behalf of us all, but it is truly an honour that you wish to train with us.”

There were some murmurings from the priestesses then, as if in agreement and even Cassian tipped his head in bow towards you.

There it was again, that weight you held. Crushing and terrifying, they put you an a pedestal, showered you with adoration you weren’t too sure you deserved. With subtle strain you forced a gentle smile onto your lips.

“The honour is all mine Gwyn,” and you meant it. The people on this balcony had earned that praise more than you ever had.

“She just said my name,” Gwyn whispered in disbelief to her friends, her cheeks going rosy at the recognition. Nesta simply rolled their eyes, Emery teasingly nudged Gwyn with her elbow.

But it was a sentiment Azriel was still stuck on too. You had said his name, knew his name— knew him. His name on your lips was like a song, a melody you serenaded him with. His shadows had felt it too, your recognition of their master causing a stir that had them wanting to reach out—which they would have if Azriel didn’t have them on such a tight leash. Azriel only tore his gaze from you when Amren spoke up.

“Enough about honour and names,” Amren snapped, her eyes not landing on you but the the two males who had just arrived. They understand her stare, her tone, the waft of her had as she strode back to her spot in the shade.

“Right let’s start ladies, find a space and we’ll begin with stretches,” Cassian commanded, his tone authoritative that had the females moving into motion. Even Azriel snapped himself from his thoughts, collecting himself as he stalked towards one side of the balcony.

You followed suit, following the motion of the other females and finding yourself in amongst the group to begin. You noticed though how Nesta had come to your left, Emery flanking your right, and Gwyn directly behind you. As if creating their own shield. Perhaps a statement to the swooning priestesses— regardless, you were appreciative.

Stretching began, and you copied Cassian’s movements in front of you. In sync with the other females around you. Moving your muscles in a way you hadn’t for a while, stretching the aches you didn’t know were there. Cassian stood in front of the group, bellowing whenever the stretch would change.

The movement was welcome though. You’d always had an active life. Growing up on a farm, tending to the crops and harvests had been your way. You weren’t new to the ache of a hard days work. Then you’d spent your time in The Middle, with Cressida who had an unrelenting method of training you.

“I’ve heard you’re not a novice?” Nesta asked you as the group was split in two. One side had been pulled to practice mind-stilling, the other, your group, had been given wooden staffs to practice more physical exercises.

You took the staff in your hand, curling your fingers around the rod. Nesta wasn’t referencing your past though. She was asking about your time in Day, you hummed in response with a nod. “I trained with Helion’s sentries for a few months,” it helped…for a while. Your progress had soon dropped off though, plateaued, which was why you were here. To see if the Valkyrie way of training would help in any way.

Nesta nodded in response, before tapping your staff twice with hers. “Show me then,” she moved into a defensive stance and your brow quirked.

It was a challenge, she had been the only one who had dared, the only person to treat you with some semblance or normalcy— and it made you smile.

a/n: well here is part 2, I’m sorry this has quite literally taken months to get this instalment live, so I really appreciate any of you who might still be around to read this! I do think this has the potential to be a slightly bigger series than I first anticipated, but I guess that’s my fault for giving our mc the coolest back story ever 😅 anyway enjoy my loves 🤍 - Lottie xx

[sterpernie]

Probably no one will read this, but I hope someone will. To my fellow Americans, it is absolutely fair to cut people off for beliefs you disagree with and may one day lead to you suffering harm, but if you have someone you love with these beliefs that you are thinking about cutting out of your life, please consider a few things first.

1. We are living in echo chambers, repeating our beliefs back at us. If we don't interact with people who believe differently, how are they ever going to hear a different perspective that is not completely twisted by the media they consume?

2. They often don't understand what they are asking for. There is a sizeable minority (1/3 of Americans per the NYT) that do not know Obamacare and the Affordable Care Act (ACA) are the same thing. They want to repeal Obamacare but keep the ACA. People want tariffs not realizing that they aren't the same as sanctions. They don't realize that China is not going to be paying the tariffs, they will. China is not going to eat the costs of the taxes (tariffs) levied against them for exporting to the US, China will just raise the prices of their goods and probably levy tariffs against US exports to China in retaliation like they did during Trump's last term, resulting in everything getting more expensive. It it pretty striking to look at the education demographics of who voted what party.

3. They don't get the whole story. There was an immigration bill that would give the Republicans basically everything they wanted in regard to the border. Trump killed it because he wanted immigration to remain an issue for him to run on. My dad, who listens exclusively to right wing media, heard nothing about it. He was shocked it didn't pass when he was told. When he hears about Palestinians, he only hears about them referred to as terrorists and Hamas, attacking Israel unprovoked. He has never heard about the Nakbas or about how terrible the conditions were in Gaza even prior to October 7th.

4. A scary amount of Americans have no damn clue how the US government works. They think, abortion protections were repealed under democrats, so it's their fault despite the extensive groundwork laid by Republicans ever since Roe v Wade was initially decided in the 1970s culminating in a Republican supermajority on the Supreme court that actually overturned the ruling. They think, why am I paying taxes to forgive someone else's student debt when I didn't go to college/payed off my college loans/worked my butt off for scholarships/made sacrifices so I could afford college/etc, not realizing that the debt forgiveness is really just making sure the programs that were already in place are actually implemented instead of allowing the loan servicers to continue milking these people for cash long after their debt should have been forgiven. They think the economy and how good/bad it's doing is solely up to the President despite the fact that the purse strings are held by Congress and the Federal Reserve, which controls interest rates, is an independent body not controlled by the President.

5. For the immigrants, they don't realize that all immigrants are persona non grata, not just people who came to the US illegally. My immigrant mother told me she votes for Trump because he's "gonna stop all the immigrants who are coming to take our jobs", not realizing that despite her naturalized citizenship, she will always be seen as one of those immigrants she talks about. She doesn't realize when he talks about chain migration, he's talking about the system she took advantage of to bring multiple members of her family to the US and allowed them much better quality of life than the relatives still in her home country. She thinks, because she lives in a large urban coastal area, that all parts of the US are just as accepting.

If you have a loved one with whom your only problem is politics (not abuse of any kind, but someone you love and care for), please consider staying in their lives. I am not saying make friends with people to try and change their beliefs, I am saying give your loved one a face to put to the "radical libs".

when people are like “oh so you’re just gonna judge someone for their political beliefs?” yes actually. I think someone’s values and opinions is a pretty reasonable thing to judge them for.

[kurooh]

★ 02. MORNING ROUTINE !

☆ after filming your first scene and talking it over with your agent, you’re off to your second . . in a maid costume!? once filming is over, you’re roped into an interesting conversation regarding a few other stars.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, everyone is over 21, oral (f receiving), cum eating, maids, awkwardness, creampie, unprotected sex. | 4.9K words

xoxo, juno. SHES BACKKKKK! comment & rb if you enjoyed! thank u to wolfy anon for proofreading ily ♡

SHOWTIME MLIST.

“hey, good morning,” shinsou rushes up to you at the doors, lightly grabbing onto your shoulder before you can walk into the studio. “how’d yesterday’s shoot go for you?”

“good morning!” you reply happily, lighting up as you turn to face your agent. “let’s get some coffee from the place across the street, and i can tell you while we walk?”

“sounds good,” he exhales, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. “it’s definitely getting colder, god. i could seriously use some coffee.”

“ah, it is. anyway, filming wasn’t too bad. i had director iida, i believe? yeah, he was pretty alright.” you and shinsou walk side by side, stopping to hit the button and waiting for the lights to change.

shinsou gives a small smile, crossing the street with you. “how’d it go with your co-star? i figured he’d be a good introduction for you.”

“shōto was nice,” you say, warmth rising to your cheeks. the memory of being pressed against him and fucking is a little blurry, but just thinking about it has your pussy clenching around nothing. the faint feeling of his touch ghosts across your skin, and you clear your throat awkwardly. “um . . i think we ended up doing well together.”

shinsou’s not surprised. after all, he pulled the strings behind the scenes to get you with him.

“that’s good! i’ve been meaning to ask you about what you’re interested to do today,” shinsou holds the door of the coffee shop open for you and follows you inside. “i’ll get you up to speed after we order, alright? and don���t worry, i’ll just cover your drink.”

“oh,” you’re in the middle of unzipping your purse, “you really don’t have to, shinsou! i’ve got it.”

“i insist, it’s my treat.” he leaves no room for you to fight him any further, and you place the order together once it’s your turn.

“what were you saying about filming today?” you draw his attention back to the aforementioned topic as you sit down at a table together to wait for your drinks.

“oh, that’s right. you’ve been booked by a lot of different people, so you’ve gotta choose who you want to film with today. personally, i think you’ve got some decent options.”

“is that so?” you exhale, wondering if anyone else could possibly top your experience with shōto. but of course, you’re employed at a pornography studio, where dreams become reality and anything is possible.

shinsou’s voice drops to a low whisper, his words meant for your ears only. “well, there’s this . . maid thing, or some kind of bdsm shoot.”

“those are not good options,” you groan, closing your eyes briefly in disgust. “who’re the people booking? anyone important?”

“obviously, the maid film is from denki kaminari. the bdsm is—��

you’ve seen denki kaminari’s videos before. he seems to be energetic and also a little pervy, but he’s good looking and you’re not in the mood to be tied up in ropes or chains.

“i’ll go with the maid film. is he offering a lot?”

“kaminari’s a bit . . eccentric,” shinsou offers, waving his hand dismissively. “he doesn’t usually book with a set amount in mind like everyone else does. he prefers to shoot the film and then pay based off of what it makes.”

so, there are a few financial risks when it comes to choosing denki kaminari, but you sigh and bite the bullet. “that’s not ideal, but i’ll take it. when’s it scheduled?”

shinsou looks over at a mounted clock behind you, “if you’re going for this, you’re supposed to be over there in an hour.”

the barista calls out shinsou’s name, and you pick up the coffees while he sends a confirmation email to kaminari’s agent.

your arrival to shinsou’s office is met with an assistant of some kind dropping off a garment bag. through the fabric, you can see big frills and bows that most definitely will be itchy when you’re going around in it.

shinsou takes the bag with a sigh, and the assistant presses a yellow sticky note to the side of it before scurrying off quickly. you pick up the yellow paper and read the messy writing scrawled onto it.

hey! please change into this before arriving to set, director’s orders. we hope the dress is comfortable, even though it doesn’t look like it.

“i assume this is from kaminari?” you say flatly, tugging the sticky note off the bag.

“of course it is,” shinsou replies, holding the door open for you, “you can change in here before you head over. by the way, you’re heading to the fourth floor and turning to the left.”

“thanks, shinsou.”

unzipping the garment bag yields a frilly black and white dress decked out with bows and all kinds of lace. tucked in neatly beside the dress is a folded set of thigh high socks and a prop duster that looks as though it’s never been used. you pull off your clothes and change into the provided ones with little excitement. at the very least, you’ll get paid well and then end up filming something better, hopefully again with shōto.

shinsou nearly drops his phone when you step out of his office in that ridiculous dress—it looks so good on you, accentuating your chest and complimenting your figure beautifully. you fiddle with the bow necktie, fingers tangling in the black fabric. his mouth goes dry when you look up at him shyly, gesturing toward the necktie as best you can.

“could you help me tie this, shinsou?”

“of course,” he nods politely, snapping out of his daze. his nimble fingers undo the knots you’ve created and he ties it easily for you, pulling it into a snug bow. “you look great, by the way.” immediately after the words leave his mouth, he regrets having added that bit, but you smile at him and give him a spin, letting your skirt fan out.

“thanks. wish me luck?”

“good luck,” shinsou laughs dryly, turning away quickly before you can notice the redness blooming on his cheeks. “remember, fourth floor and to the left. there’ll be a sign or something on the door.”

you wave, thanking him again, and you both go your separate ways. the elevator comes quickly, and you go upwards silently, until the elevator stops a floor too early.

“there’s my pretty co-star!” an energetic voice exclaims, and the owner of it steps onto the elevator, practically buzzing with excitement. “come on, we can head up together!”

you recognize him easily; denki kaminari’s signature blond hair has a streak of black through it, and he’s got a winning smile playing on his lips, showcasing his nice teeth.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering a hand in his direction. his energy isn’t off putting, just a little . . much for the first film of the day. kaminari instead wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you a warm hug as though you’re a long lost friend of his.

the elevator’s chugging upwards slowly, and kaminari’s still wrapped around you. well, okay. this is slightly weird; you’re going to be all over each other in less than twenty minutes and he’s already this friendly? something about him already has you on edge, necktie suddenly feeling like a noose.

you cough, pulling away and practically skittering into the corner of the elevator. he looks at you weirdly, confusion written all over his face, but you straighten and smooth out the ruffles on your dress.

“i’m sorry, it’s—we just met,” you utter, at a loss for words. maybe this is just how he is, but now you’re starting to worry if you’ve jeopardized your dynamic on set with him.

kaminari’s features soften with embarrassment, cheeks growing pink. then he very obviously panics internally, voice frantic and high as he tries to explain himself.

“oh my god! you’re right, i’m so sorry!” he stumbles over his words, and you wonder if the elevator is stuck with how long it’s taking. “i’m sorry, i really . . i’ve wanted to meet you for the longest time, and now you must think i’m a dumbass—ah, sorry!”

at last, the elevator finally comes to a halt. its doors open and you dash out, kaminari following with his head hanging. before you can open the door, he stops you with a sigh.

“wait, i—i want to redo our first meeting.”

you turn, gracing him with your attention and patience. “and how exactly do you plan to redo it?”

“with a proper introduction and handshake. no hugs, i promise.” he seems genuine, and your shoulders start to relax. kaminari extends his hand, a truce, and envelops yours once you reach out too.

“well, you already know me. just call me denki, though, okay? no kaminari or anything.”

“understood, denki.”

the door is thrown open and director yaoyorozu pops her head out, looking left and right.

“there you two are! goodness, i was about to send out a search party.”

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand and stepping inside behind her. “in the email, you didn’t have any kind of script . . is this some kind of freestyle thing?”

“i am so glad you asked,” she sighs, pulling the sharpened pencil from behind her ear. “i’ve got a simple idea to go off of, but the rest of it is up to you.”

“up to us?” denki chokes out, sounding shocked.

“um, yes?” the director sniffs, confused. “remember, you came to me with all of this.”

“director yaomomo, i thought you’d come up with a script!” he whines lamely, and she only rolls her eyes.

“kaminari, please. next time you’re booking a set, director, and supplies last minute, make sure you’ve got something for them to work with besides a generic concept.”

“director, the pancakes are finished and the set is ready.” a member of the film crew flashes her a double thumbs up and a smile.

“great, thanks so much,” yaoyorozu gushes before turning back toward you and denki. “so, the theme here is maids, of course. in this film, she’ll be waiting on you and waking you up with breakfast while you’re fake sleeping. obviously, you’re aware of what takes place next.”

“so, minimal dialogue?” you ask, folding your arms as you listen closely.

“the scene may have as much dialogue as you want it to. i’ll let you two head off and prep before we get started, okay?”

director yaoyorozu’s dark ponytail swings behind her as she saunters off toward the set to make a few more adjustments. denki waves at you, then heads off toward the changing area while you sigh.

—

“is everyone entirely ready and in position?”

a few stage crew members adjust the lighting and some microphones before giving yaoyorozu confirmation through raised thumbs. she nods toward you, just as someone places a hefty tray into your hands. the silver platter carries a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes, drizzled in syrup, and a tall glass of orange juice beside it. matching silverware sits neatly beside the plate, atop a folded napkin.

yaoyorozu crosses her legs in her director’s chair, while you try not to shake with the heavy breakfast platter in your hands. orange juice lurches from side to side in the glass, threatening to spill over if you don’t remain steady.

“action!”

you smile when you step through the doorway, sweat beading along your forehead as you try to mask the nervousness. denki’s shirtless and on his stomach in the bed, a mess of sheets and blankets covering his lower half. trembling, you finally set the breakfast platter down on the bedside table, taking a seat on the bed.

denki’s getting hard just from feeling the shift of your weight on the mattress. the director might have to end filming early with the way his breath hitches at the touch of your palm to his back. slowly, you rub his skin in small circles, encouraging him to wake up. is it possible to be aroused from an almost entirely innocent gesture coming from someone you don’t know?

he stirs with a groan, turning over with a yawn. denki looks up at you through hooded eyes, his lower half still tangled in the bedsheets.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you sigh, a lot less nervous now that you’re no longer holding onto that damn tray. “i made you breakfast and cleaned around the house. gently dusted your figure collection too.”

“t-thank you,” denki smiles, sitting up. “uh, what’s for breakfast?”

“blueberry pancakes and OJ,” you say automatically, cutting a piece off the sticky pastries with the fork. “i think you’ll love it.”

there’s something too intimate about the way you feed him the piece of the pancake, your eyes on his as he swallows it.

“well?” you breathe expectantly, lifting his chin and tilting it toward you when he shyly averts his eyes. the simple gesture startles him, sends his heart into quite the flurry, and denki finds himself fighting to get a grip. really, he’s never been this awkward on set in all his years as a pornstar—in fact, a film like this would be the easiest for him . . so why’s it so difficult?

a few sparks fly between you when denki grabs your chin in return, tugging you into a kiss. you gasp, startled, and he licks into your mouth, letting you taste the sweetness of the pancakes for yourself. seriously, whoever made them deserves head; they’re sweet and fruity, but maybe they just taste better on denki’s tongue.

he moans deeply against your lips, and you swallow the low sound with one of your own. beneath all the frills and lacy ruffles, sticky arousal begins to pool in your panties, soaking through the fabric far too easily. meanwhile, denki’s trepidation melts away fully; he grows more absorbed in the kiss, until he regretfully pulls away for breath.

you look at him through your lashes, nodding blissfully when he looks toward your skirt. denki slowly slips a hand beneath all the fabric and groans loudly, his fingers swiping at your damp panties before moving past the fabric to stroke your slick folds.

before you can move into another kiss, the director lets out a peeved sigh and shakes her head, “cut!”

denki pushes a finger inside of you, savoring the gasp you let out like a piece of specialty candy. “listen to yaomomo for both of us, ‘kay?”

“b-but they’re not rolling,” you protest in a whisper shout, although your hips jerk toward him when he sinks in all the way to his knuckle.

“no rules against it, baby.” the once anxious denki you met thirty minutes ago is gone, replaced with the confident pornstar you’ve come to know through years of watching UA’s videos.

yaoyorozu claps her hands together, facing you and denki but not noticing anything going on beneath the umbrella-like cover of your skirt.

“you’re both doing well so far, but when i said the amount of dialogue was up to you, i didn’t mean no talking at all.”

“do we have to reshoot what we’ve done so far?” you gasp out when denki curls his finger right against your g-spot, sending shockwaves of heat throughout your entire body.

nobody seems to notice the inflection in your voice, and the director offers a small smile.

“no, it’s alright, we’ll just edit everything together before it goes out. you’re both doing great, by the way!” her praise is reassuring, and she hops up onto her chair again, then gestures for the crew members to position the cameras.

“action.”

denki’s lips find yours in a bruising kiss, tongue swiping against your lower lip impatiently. he’s quick to pull you on top of him too, wet fingers tugging up your skirt to give the camera a full view of your soaked panties and ass.

“what about the pancakes?” you ask, remembering the director’s tip about the dialogue. if she were to call cut again, the interruption would surely drive you insane.

“what pancakes?”

“the ones i made for you,” you breathe against his lips, eyes flicking to the bedside table. “over there, with the—”

he takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his face into your neck, taking in the smell of your perfume and the softness of your skin. low and quiet, he whispers into your ear, “fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this—for you.”

you whine as he kicks the bedsheets off his body, firmly placing you atop his hard cock. through your panties and his boxers, you can feel the ridges of his tip and the heat of his body.

“how do you want it?” denki purrs, hands settled on your hips. “from the back . . bent over?”

the options he gives you only ignite the arousal burning in your core further; you move off of him, settling on all fours. the wild look you toss him from over your shoulder makes him groan, and he yanks his underwear and pajama pants off as quickly as he can, hurling them into a corner of the set.

“fuckin’ soaked, baby,” he coos, flipping up your skirt and slipping a few fingers beneath the crotch of your panties. your cunt flutters around nothing as he pulls the underwear off, with enough force for the microphones to pick up the ripping sound that follows. “is this all for me?”

he flings the torn garment off the bed carelessly, and it silently lands somewhere on the carpet.

“o-only for you.”

denki chuckles, and guides his cock toward your entrance, but doesn’t push it in just yet. instead, he strokes the tip up and down, gathering your wetness to provide extra lubrication. the tease has your toes curling and your eyes rolling back; denki gifts your ass with a slap, letting out a low whistle.

“you’ll get what you want soon enough, baby. i just . . feel like something’s missing.”

you look over your shoulder when the bed creaks, your co star’s weight leaving the mattress. he grabs at the drawer of the bedside table, and the glass of orange juice rattles against the silver platter from the movement. even director yaoyorozu looks a little lost for words, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

the drawer slams shut and denki returns to the bed behind you in a flash, a miniature black and white vibrator between his fingers. yaoyorozu settles back into her chair with a contented expression, signaling for the cameraman to zoom in between your bodies.

the soft, rubbery head of the vibrator nudges against your clit and you gasp. denki slants his body over yours, pushing his cock inside of you shallowly.

“i—i don’t think i can t-take all of it,” you swallow nervously, inhaling sharply when he bucks his hips forward and plunges inside you, bottoming out easily.

“that’s fuckin’ nonsense,” he groans, pushing a hand through his blond hair to get it away from his eyes. then it wraps loosely around your throat before you can protest any further. “‘course my girl can take it.”

my girl?

denki startles even himself. but this is the magic of being a pornstar and filming around the clock. he’s built up a persona for himself that he always seems to slip into no matter how he’s feeling. he’s thankful for this; otherwise, he’d be a bumbling fool who’d accidentally fuck your thighs, too caught up with excitement to get it together.

his teeth sink into his lower lip hard, scraping against the skin rather roughly as the words burst from his lips uncontrollably.

“g-god, you’ve got no idea how damn long i’ve been waiting to fuck this pretty pussy,” the vibrator turns on and presses flush against your clit, already at the highest setting. “ngh, you’re so tight, baby—got me all worked up with the little maid dress, heh. you look beautiful in it, i swear.”

his babbling soon falls on deaf ears, and you unintentionally tune him out, unable to hear him clearly over your ragged moans and cries. denki’s hips set a somewhat even pace, skin smacking into skin while the vibrator seems to only get more intense.

“c’mon, babe, arch a lil more for me,” he huffs, his palm nudging against the middle of your back.

with a whine, you do as he instructs, burying your face in the sheets.

“aw, i still wanna hear you clearly.” denki clicks his tongue, his fingers leaving the sides of your throat and instead tugging on your necktie. he turns it backwards and pulls your head back so you’re not muffled any longer.

“f-fuck, you’re so deep,” you sob, his strokes growing faster and rougher. the bed creaks beneath you, shaking loudly, and despite his panting, denki’s determined to give you the best sex you’ll ever have at UA studios.

“yeah, babe? feel my cock right here in your tummy?” denki’s voice is strained, his free hand wandering to the plush skin above your pelvis. he presses down experimentally, and he swears you get tighter.

it’s only a little pressure, but it sends shockwaves of something intense throughout your body and knocks the breath from your lungs.

“ooh, you’re squeezin’ me real tight,” denki comments breathily, “i want you to cum for me, got that?”

“‘m so close,” you sob, tossing your ass back onto his cock. “wanna—wanna cum on your cock!”

this is it. this is the big moment where he makes you cum twice on camera and shows all his friends who can fuck you the best. his mouth feels dry and he’s unable to say much of anything to spur you on, talk you through it.

the noisy metal bedframe squeaks louder, the mattress sliding side to side from all the movement. denki doesn’t let up, biting down on his lip so hard he draws some blood while he fucks you through the exhaustion and pain in his sides.

at last, highly anticipated euphoria courses through your bodies at the same time, and his cock begins to twitch against your cervix. a whiny moan tears from his lips as he spills deep inside you, trembling hands grabbing at your waist for purchase. the vibrator maintains its high setting, not letting up even once—in the moment, it’s amazing to ride the waves as you cum, but as you’re coming down, you begin to shudder away from it.

“hah—ah, shit,” you cry, voice pitching. denki pulls out of you, eyes widening in delight as he looks over your sloppy cunt, drooling with a mixture of your cum and his own. glossy strings of white leak from your hole, sticking to your thighs every time you jerk away from the vibrator. “i-it’s too much.”

“oh, ‘m sorry babe,” the words roll off his tongue, each syllable oozing with faux sympathy. lucky for you, denki clicks the vibrator off and tosses it somewhere in the sheets. you don’t notice him moving to lay on his stomach, too busy trying to catch your breath. “she’s looking messy down there, hm?”

denki’s breath now fans over your wet pussy, his words low and sultry. you look over your shoulder in confusion, sweat shining on your forehead, bitten lips parting to ask a question, but he interrupts.

“i can clean her up for you.”

with that final statement, denki’s tongue presses flat against your slit and he moans, tasting the evidence of what seems to be his best porno yet. he slurps up the mess eagerly, holding you in place by your hips whenever you try to squirm away.

it’s bittersweet, slick pouring down his chin and making his skin shine while his own cum colors his lips white. you can’t do anything but whimper, looking back at him through hooded eyes that well with tears of overstimulation.

“i know, i know,” he mumbles into you when your body jolts, and you suck in a sharp breath. “i jus’ want to make sure you can’t move after this.”

a thorough pussy pounding and now this? there’s no way you’ll be able to stop shaking.

nimble fingers find your swollen clit and give it a light pinch, then gently stroke over it; he thinks the reaction it elicits from you is absolutely delicious—your expression crumbles and you rock your hips back against his face, dragging your cunt all over him.

he’s drunk on your scent and taste, taking as much of you in as he can. director yaoyorozu looks pleased as she whispers something to a member of the film crew, but you don’t even notice her through the sweltering haze of arousal. denki pushes the skirt further up your body, and the resounding sob that leaves your lips has him smiling against your cunt.

against your slit, his silky tongue paints peculiar patterns that your dizzy brain manages to register as the letters of his name. “fuck, ‘m gonna c-cum, ‘s coming—” your fingers tangle in his blonde hair, yanking him into your cunt as the high hits you, toes curling and teeth chattering together.

denki’s eyes roll back as you cum on his face, but then you’re trembling and moving away when the sensitivity finally sets in. your pussy is puffy and twitching, entirely spent for the day.

“woah,” he catches you with an arm when you drop flat on the bed, shuddering with the aftershocks of it all. “you good, baby?”

his lips press into your temple and you nod, huffing as you try to catch your breath. unconsciously, you start to cuddle into him, arms wrapping shakily around his torso.

it’s hard to remember where you are, stars swirling in your vision, but the sight of the microphone a few meters away snaps you back into professional mode. god, you haven’t been this dazed since your early days at shiketsu, where you’d been booking with some of the biggest men at the studio.

“i-i wish i didn’t have to, but,” you huff quietly, slowly raising from the bed to smooth out your dress and then look for your panties. you make a big show of bending over, giving the camera a great view of your quivering, dripping cunt. you swipe the underwear from the carpet with a relieved sigh, turning to face denki, who’s nibbling at his lower lip, already hard again. “i’m not finished cleaning the house yet. maybe i can make you some lunch later, when i’m done?”

the cheeky suggestion has an unintentional effect, denki’s cheeks darkening perfectly for the scene. he nods slowly, caught in a stupor. you blow a kiss toward him, stepping through the fake doorway and off the set.

after a beat of silence, director yaoyorozu calls for a cut. she hops off her tall chair and claps excitedly, while crew members rush to strip the bed and clean up the set. on jelly-like legs, you wobble over to her, standing beside denki with a small smile.

“excellent, the two of you,” she praises, ponytail swishing as she nods. “i’ll update both of your agents once we get this to the editors. hehe, my intuition tells me this’ll do very well.”

you thank her together, before parting your separate ways toward the dressing areas—at least you try to, but denki trails behind you quietly, cheeks still blazing pink.

“kaminari, is everything alright?” you step behind the shoji screen, the makeshift dressing room. without needing to be asked, his fingers find the zipper at your back and he loosens the maid dress for you.

“denki,” he corrects you with an embarrassed laugh, leaning his body against the shoji in an attempt to come across as relaxed. “i wanted to ask you about—”

the shoji screen topples over the moment his weight rests against it, smashing to the floor with a loud bang! you shriek, gathering the dress up around your chest as your co-star rushes to pick it up before anyone can look over. he is unsuccessful, much to your chagrin.

“oh my fucking—i’m so sorry, shit.”

“what is it you wanted to ask, denki?” you ask, embarrassed. it’s like you’re back to square one again, as if you weren’t just doing the nastiest things together less than ten minutes ago. he throws a hand behind his neck, awkwardly scratching the skin as he tries to calm his nerves.

“okay, look. me and a few friends of mine—UA stars—” he adds in that bit in case you need some extra convincing, “are hosting a little get together. i’m thinking maybe you can come and hang out for a little while? i can pick you up, if you—”

“that’s very nice of you.”

the interruption makes his heart drop straight into his ass, and he immediately looks down at his bare feet. but then you speak up, and he feels a spark of hope in his chest. after all, he did promise his friends that he’d introduce you to them.

“i live nearby, i moved apartments to be closer to the studio,” you admit, fingers loosening on the dress. “what time is it? i’d be willing to meet some other stars, get acquainted with everyone.”

denki looks at you, joy written all over his face. he flashes you a bright smile, nodding as he collects his thoughts. “everything starts at eight. i can just pick you up, ‘kay? here, i’ve gotta give you my number.”

you laugh, pushing him back. “i’ve gotta change first, the dress is really itchy. we’ll work it out when i’m done, sound good?”

he steps out from behind the shoji screen after nodding, gold eyes shining. before he can walk away toward his own makeshift dressing room, you stop him, smiling in a way that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“hey, denki? by the way, i’m really looking forward to tonight.”

[kimuzostar]

YOU CAN'T HIDE

ᝰ bountyhunter!terry x black fem reader ᝰ warnings: 18+, smut, degradation kink, mask kink, headlock, blackmail if you squint, and more ᝰ a/n: thank you to Epiphany for the tips and tricks! it's still bad tho

divider by @cafekitsune

“Springville Police are looking for a black female suspect regarding the committing of an armed robbery that occurred last Wednesday night.”

“The sheriff’s office is offering $50,000 for the capture or information leading to the capture of the suspect.”

“The suspect is said to have last been seen somewhere ne-“

You turned off the tv, tired of seeing and hearing yourself be talked about. Looking around your 5th cheap,shabby motel room, you sighed. 

You had yet to be identified, but your picture was plastered on every local news channel. And considering the small town, anyone could recognize you.

“Time to move again.”, you say to yourself. 

Grabbing your bag, you scan around, making sure you’re not leaving a trace of yourself. You leave through a back window, being wary of those who could be hanging out front. You were aware of the bounty hunters wanting to take you in for their prize. 

You glanced at your watch. 

6:19pm

You needed to find another motel. You did not want to be out after dark and you did not want to sleep outside. It is never that serious. 

Looking around the backlot, you take in your surroundings: trees, trash, a truck and who you assume is its owner leaning on against it. 

The man was tall and burly. You couldn’t see his features from this distance but you could see he was looking directly at you. 

Thinking he was just being weird, you brush it off. Pulling your hood over your head, you turn and begin your journey. You head west, following the sunset.

……..not noticing the man get in his truck to begin following you.

-

8:27pm

After two hours of walking, you finally found a suitable motel to hide out in. It’s secluded with the nearest building being a mile and a half back. 

Majority of the building was dark and there were only two cars: a van and another truck, eerily similar to the one you saw earlier. 

The front desk clerk was hardly interested in you, not even looking at you as you handed him your cash. Too focused on whatever was on the tv. 

Good. He didn’t see what you looked like. 

Entering your room, your turn on the dusty lap that’s set on the bedside table.  It looks better than the last few so called “best getaways”. You kick off your shoes and unzip your jacket, throwing it on the corner chair. Plopping down on the bed, you sigh with relief. 

“Hopefully I can get a few days of peace," you say. 

You get up to run a bath, needing to soak the stench of the day away. It’s summer time in Louisiana and you couldn’t hate it anymore. 

After bathing, you put on a pink camisole and a pair of shorts to match. As you climb into bed, you throw the comforter on the floor, keeping only the sheets. It’s too hot for all that. 

You wrap your curls into a bun and reach over to the lamp to turn it off. 

Finally being able to relax, you eventually found sleep. 

-

You’re jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door. Looking at the bedside clock, you see the time. 

3:14am

Who the fuck could that be at this hour? 

There’s no peephole nor a window so you can’t look to see who’s outside. You slowly walk to the door, putting your ear to the cold metal. 

Feeling a bit uneasy, you call out. 

“Who’s there?”, you say. 

“I’m Terry from the front office. Housekeeping forgot to stock towels so I brought you some fresh ones.”, a man replies. 

Why couldn’t he just bring them in the morning? Curious of his arrival, you unlock the door. 

Before you could turn the handle, the door suddenly pushes open. You fall back on the floor, hard, knocking the wind out of you.

“Hey, what the fu-,”

The man forcefully grabs you by your hair, causing you to cry out. As he pulls you up, you meet his gaze. He’s wearing a mask, only his eyes being visible to you. His irises were a mix of brown, green and gray. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?”, you ask. 

“You’re what’s wrong with me.,” he replies. “You doin’ all this runnin’ and can’t even hide properly. Did you not see that bounty on yo head? What kinda criminal are you?”

You thought back to where you went wrong. You always covered your face. You only paid in cash. You made your voice deeper. You never walked along the streets. How did he find you?

Then it hit you: that fucking truck. 

He releases his grip on your hair, dropping you to the ground. He quickly flips you over, cuffing your hands behind your back. 

He lifts you up with one arm, throwing you onto the bed. 

“If you want the money, you can have it. Just lea-,”

“Oh, I don’t want the money.”, he says, cutting you off.

You felt his deep voice directly in your core. 

You watch his eyes as they scan you. Your hair cascaded around your face, as his previous grip undid your bun. Your camisole had slid off your shoulder and your shorts were now bundled up around the top of your thighs. 

You were exposed and at his bidding. 

His big, tall body loomed over you, his chest heaving. He was wearing a skintight, gray shirt that accentuated every ridge of his muscles. He moves forward, closing the gap between you. You rub your legs together absentmindedly. 

“What do you want?”

”I think you know what I want,” he says while running his fingers along your shoulder. “I’ve been chasin’ yo ass all over Louisiana. Ima teach you a lesson.”

Aware of his intentions, you cringed at the excitement you felt. 

-

“Look at me.”, Terry demands. 

You looked up, teary and wide eyes

You were, cuffed, sitting on the end of the bed, throat stuffed with dick. Your camisole was ripped and your shorts were thrown somewhere in the corner. 

Terry’s hands were tangled in your curls as he fucked your face. He pulls back, leaving behind strings of saliva. Your chins and breasts are covered in spit. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he demands. He adjusts his hands in your hair, making two ponytails with his fists. 

You oblige, opening your mouth wide for him, tongue hanging out.

He starts to rub his tip against it, using your hair to help you meet his thrusts. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mocks. 

He continues to rub his tip before putting his dick back in your mouth. He thrusts a bit more before holding your head steady at his base. You see him throw his head back as his cums down your throat. The sudden intrusion catches you off guard and you gag a bit. 

Terry pulls out of your mouth and you take a deep breath. You look at him again, wondering what he will do next. 

Terry pushes you on your back. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

His rough hands travels up your body, rubbing against your hips, stomach, and all the way to your breasts. He begins to fondle them, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You let out a low moan. 

“You’re so soft,” he coos. 

Terry lifts one of your legs on his shoulder, gripping your thigh to keep it stable. He starts to rub the underside of his dick on your clit. You whimper at the contact. 

“You like that, don’t you, slut?”, he says. 

You nod vigorously. “Yes, please give it to me!”

Terry pushes into you. His dick was so big, it felt like you were being split in half. 

“Oh, fuck!”, you moan out. 

Giving you no time to adjust, Terry begins to pump in and out of you. He put his hand on your lower stomach, applying a bit of force . 

You felt every vein of his dick. It curved left, hitting that spot you like. 

“That feels so fucking good,” you say. 

You felt so full. The feeling is a bit too much. You couldn’t push him away as your hands were still cuffed beneath you.You back began to arch off the bed. 

“You’re such a good slut, maybe I won’t turn you in after all,” he says. 

You ignored him, only focusing on the orgasm you so desperately needed. If you were going out, you were going out with a bang. 

Terry drops your leg. He lays down, putting his full body weight on you. 

He begins to roll his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head. That and the pressure of him laying on you was sending you over the edge. You’d never had dick like this before.

He grabs your cheeks, making you look in his eyes. 

“You got some good pussy on you. You gonna cum on this dick?,” he growls. 

“Yes it feels so good daddy, I’m gonna cum,”you cried out. 

Terry starts pounding you harder, his balls slapping against your ass. His hand was still on your face, making you watch him as he fucked you through the mattress. 

Your toes curled. Just a few more strokes before you felt your release. 

Terry suddenly stops, pulling out of you. He stands up, looking down at you. You can see the smile in his eyes. The sensation of your orgasm leaving you. 

“No!”, you groaned. 

Terry laughs. 

“I can’t let you do that just yet.”, he chuckles. 

He grabs you by your hips and flips you over. Tugging at your cuffs, he pulls you back, making you arch. 

Without warning, he enters you again. Thrusting into you like he wanted to break you. 

You tried to scoot forward but his grip and the cuffs kept you in place. 

“Nah, ain’t no running. Stay right there and take this dick like a good slut.”, he growls. 

“I can’t, it’s too much,” you cry. 

He pulls you up by your cuffs, bringing your back to his chest. He rubs his mask against your face. 

“You’re a big girl, you’ll be alright.”

Terry wraps his arms around your head and neck, putting you in a headlock. He slows down his thrusts. Pulling out just enough to leave the tip, then slowly pushing back in. You felt his dick kissing your cervix. 

The knot in your stomach started up again. He was fucking you so good, you couldn’t speak. You begin to fuck him back, doing you best to catch what he was heaving.

Terry’s breathing became louder in your ear and his thrusts became faster. He reaches down to rub your clit, the rough pad of his finger going in circles. The sensation send you over the edge.  

“I’m cumming!”, you cry out. 

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your vision went blurry and you saw colors you’ve never seen before. 

Terry tenses up, releasing him cum inside of you. You felt every rope as he continued to fuck you through your own orgasm. 

You both take a moment to catch your breaths. You fall forward, too weak to continue sitting up. He pulls out of you, watching himself leak out. He reaches over, unlocking your cuffs, freeing you. Before leaving, he leans down to your face once more. 

“Time to move again,” he says. 

PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @skvrpion @avoidthings @jimmybutlrr @persethegawd @nayaesworld @mymindisneverhere @theereina @thabiddie23 @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

[piracytheorist]

Something that's been haunting me for a while in regards to Twilight telling Yor that she is a great mother to Anya due to her experience in raising Yuri is that he says that, and he means that... but he also knows how Yuri ended up. He knows things about Yuri that Yor doesn't, particularly how he's been indoctrinated into a nationalistic attitude to the point where he tortures people at the orders of the SSS. I'm pretty sure he doesn't consider that as a standard people should aspire to (regardless of whether that makes them his enemies or not), and Yuri's secret coming out could potentially be something that will break Yor's heart, more than any other identity being revealed could.

And yet Twilight doesn't judge Yor for that. What he sees is that Yuri loves her, that Yuri as a young child, orphaned by the war and living in poverty, had someone who fought like hell and sacrificed herself for his happiness. Practically, Yor was to Yuri what Twilight had desperately hoped he'd had as a child. So Twilight recognizes that Yor did the best she could with what she could offer at the time and more, regardless of the person that Yuri ended up becoming.

And idk I just find that so important, you know?

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[ciceroprofacto]

Few additions as someone who struggled with this in undergrad because I was disorganized:

Yes, start with your bibliography. if you see a good source and wanna jump right into it- either because you're already focused or you're not sure if you'll use it and don't wanna waste time, it's enough to get the author's name or a key word of the title down. Just slap it at the end in parenthesis and highlight it to fix later. You don't need to do a perfect citation on the first draft, but you need something that will trigger your memory to where you found it.

In academia, you need a source for every idea, even if you had it on your own. Even if it seems really obvious. (I know- this one got me too). Think about it this way- sources aren't just a demonstration of where you found info, they're also a demonstration that the info is coming from multiple reputable places. It's either "I got this from here" or "these people think so too". Never these are my thoughts. That's not a thing. Your thesis might be the one thing you claim, and even then, it shouldn't seem like it's coming from you. It should be the conclusion your reader draws from the arguments you're presenting. If you're doing it right, you might not even have to say it. Erase the idea of 'State your thesis' and think about it as 'Argue your thesis' because you're not saying what you think, you're presenting evidence of why you think it.

ALWAYS always always make it as easy as possible to find your sources even if you think you're done using them. Use bookmarks and folders in your browser or download and drop them somewhere contained on your desktop as soon as you find them. If you can afford a writing software like Scrivner, those can be used to organize your schoolwork too. Different software have different advantages and disadvantages, but some of these programs even let you highlight and write on pdfs now.

It's always better to fuck up your format than it is to not cite something. If you end up in a time crunch and aren't able to make your citations perfect, STILL DO THEM. An academic review board that's checking for plagiarism is going to regard an attempt to cite with incorrect formatting a lot more kindly than no attempt at all.

in re plagiarism and citation and people not knowing how to do it

in the capstone class of my MASTER's degree, I had to do a group paper with fellow students who had all done 6+ years of collegiate study to get there

we shared drafts of our portions and they had no citations and i was like???? and they were like "it's a draft i'll put the citations in at the end" and i was like ???????

because by the time you're done writing the thing you're not going to remember what you got where and whether you synthesized information together! this is how "i thought i thought of it" plagiarism cases occur!!!!

anyway i told them at the bare minimum any time they referenced a numerical figure they needed to cite it, and since it was a paper on accounting fraud that mostly worked out. but i could tell they were citing stuff simply because i'd told them to cite where numbers came from, because they didn't bother to cite some non-numerical things that definitely needed it.

anyway this is why when you have classes that have multiple assignments for a paper to teach you how to write it, annotated bibliography comes before drafting. because you're supposed to have your sources and know what's in them when you start writing.

to current college students: PLEASE put the citations in as you're writing not as you're editing. i know it seems like a pita especially if you don't know the formatting well, but that's what tools like Purdue Owl are for. Tell it what citation format you're supposed to use, what kind of source you have, fill in the fields and it will format the citation for you.

[dcxdpdabbles]

KENDRICK DROP ANOTHER DISS TRACK( why ten?) AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSS!!!

"Are you my son?"

Damian nearly throws himself out the window when he hears his father's voice. It is finally the night for dinner with the Waynes and Clockworks/Fentons. He has been going insane trying to prepare everything for the night, starting from the early hours of four a.m. Now that it is nearly seven p.m., it feels like everything is still out of sorts. He disputes the fact that he has been helping Alfred clean and cook nonstop.

Severant's work. Daniel Fenton has reduced him to doing servant work, and Damian isn't upset. What has he become?

He had been texting Daniel almost all day after their date last night- and wasn't it a shock to find out that he had been at the start of the courtship with his first school friend?- but it did nothing to ease the fear boiling in the pit of his stomach. If anything, the little dig from his phone only made him want tonight to be perfect.

Then, Father had been called away to a Justice League emergency and came back with a concussion. Again.

"No sir, I'm Danny Fenton. Damian's boyfriend." Daniel says in that perfect melodic voice. There is an easy smile on his lips, the same one he wears around the school, like he's laughing at a joke no one else is worthy enough to hear.

Damian is so busy admiring Daniel's confidence that it takes a moment for his words to catch up to him.

"Boyfriend!?" he shouts into his hands, turning away from his friend- boyfriend!?- so he does not see Damian shaking hands and excitedly silently babbling in the air.

He knew that the night before had turned out to be a date, but he never hoped that it would turn out so well. I mean, Damian was less than graceful. Water came out of his nose, he ran into a door, and at one point, he stabbed his gums with his fork because Daniel had smiled at him like he was a piece of cake he wanted to eat instead of the dessert the waiter had brought them.

Damian had been in tears as Daniel helped him hold a napkin to his bleeding mouth.

How Daniel walked away from that, thinking Damian was even remotely attractive, was a miracle in and of itself.

That's why today had to be perfect. Alfred had thankfully been with Damian when he answered the door, whisking away the glaring Mr.Clockwork before the man could intimidate the young Wayne. The butler had led the man into the room where dinner would be served, chatting about his time in the royal army.

Mr. Clockwork's face was without emotion, but Damian sensed he was captivated by the tales nonetheless.

If only the butler had waited a few more seconds, he could have taken Father with them. Instead, the man who dressed up like a bat in his twenties and made that everyone else's problem had stumbled upon the two teenagers as Daniel leaned into Damian's space, his head slightly tilted and his eyes half-lid.

He wasn't sure what the other planned on doing, but Damian just knew it would have changed his whole life had Father not spoken.

Father stumbles his way towards them without any of his usual grace. He must have taken quite the hit. Honestly, it's surprising that Alfred hasn't tried to put him in a medical bed in the Batcave. "Are you sure you're not my son? I should have nine, and I only counted eight up there."

Daniel makes a point to look around the seemingly empty grand hall. Damian is too busy trying to stop his heart from escaping his rib cage to worry about all of Father's brood hiding in the ceiling rafts.

They were making a poor attempt to say hidden, at least for anyone with proper training.

Daniel likely couldn't see them, but Father could despite his injury.

"I'm sure, sir?" Daniel says with a tightness in his voice. Damian glances at his friend and realizes he's regarding his father like one would a man screaming in the street about the world ending. "I'm not your son."

Father squints quickly as a wip throws out a hand and grips Damian's suit jacket. Yes, he wore a suit. He wanted to look nice for Daniel, and nothing looked better than a well-done suit. It didn't matter what Frake or Brown thought.

" What are you-" His words are cut off by the expensive fabric covering his father's chest as the man smoothers him in an embrace.

Right. In. Front. Of. His. Boyfriend.

Damian's face turns a quick red shade that would generally be hard to notice on his tan skin, but that embarrasses him even more. He hates it when he blushes, especially this hard because he looks utterly ridiculous with how quickly it spreads down his neck and to the tip of his ears.

"Father!"

"You're my baby," the man mutters, ignoring his youngest's attempts to get away. He hears a smother of chuckles from the rafts. My little itty baby with his little itty boyfriend. Wait, are you allowed to date? You're so small. You still need a booster seat in the car."

Daniel cackles, and Damian feels like he's dying. "I do not need a booster seat! I know how to drive!"

"I can see where you get your humor from, Beloved." Daniel chuckles, and everyone in the room gasps, including the unwanted audience.

"What did you- am I-did you?!" Damian tries to string a sentence together while pushing against his father's chest. The man's arms were like iron; why was he so strong!" "Me? I'm Beloved!?"

"Yeah, remember, you said that your mom called your dad that, and you wanted to one day have the same nickname when you got into a relationship," Daniel chirps from where he is waiting for the hug to end. "Is that....okay?"

He sounded uncertain, and for some reason, knowing Daniel was just as nervous as him about their new relationship helped Damian be at ease. "Of course! I am honored you even remember that conversation ."

"Bruce!" Richard yells from the grand stairway, having jumped out of his hiding place and pretending to have come from upstairs. "I'm so glad I found you! I need you to let Dami go now and help me with something. Come on!"

"But-"

"Now, Bruce."

In a whirlwind that Richard Grayson can only do, his father was escorted out of the room. The soft thumps of his other siblings leaving went with them, leaving Damian with his Beloved.

Good heavens, Damian had a Beloved.

"I—" Damian starts, only to choke on his spit. Daniel springs forward to pat his back, laughing like an imp, and really, this is the worst. "I apologize this is-"

Soft lips pressed against his. The world came to a standstill, where Damian could focus on nothing but the gentle press against his mouth, the smell of a rainstorm, and the warm hand on his back.

When Daniel pulls back, his lovely skin has turned red, far darker than Damian's, and he isn't looking him in the eye.

Bashfully, his Beloved confesses, "I've never kissed anyone before....was that okay?"

"I do not have a reference to compare it to...." Damian breathes. "But it was the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

In return, he gets a gorgeous smile, and Damian knows he is in deep trouble.

[schoenpepper]

Hi teh needing some all time comfort so can I request for Trey, Jade and Floyd where their S/O got injured? Like sprained their ankle or something. Or broke their toe nail from taekwando because they had a miscalculation kick🙂

(Totally did not happen to me haha)

It Hurts, Doesn't It?

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, trey's is suggestive kyahhh idk what i wrote for him

A/N: Sige beh para sayo <3 HAHAHAHAAHAHA unahin ko req mo kasi kawawa ka naman pagbibigyan na kita. My phone died and it ain't charging on any cable so I'm gonna cry haha goodnight good morning good afterevening

Masterlist

Trey's hands are warm and gentle, massaging your ankle with practiced motions. "You uh, do this often?" you wince when he rolls it a bit too much to the left.

"Too much. Children are clumsy."

"I'm not a child."

He shoots you an unimpressed look over the top of his glasses, his fingers slowly pressing on the spots that make you hiss and thrash under his touch. "Stay still or it won't get any better."

"Okay," you pout, "big brother."

There's something dangerous in his honey dipped eyes that makes you attempt to pull back, but there's just no escaping him when he gently tugs on your leg and makes you lose your balance. "You aren't my sibling," he whispers, "and I am not your brother." You get it, you really do. You nod your head and try to pull back again, but suddenly, his lips are on your skin, pressing light kisses over the painful parts.

"What are you—?!"

"I wouldn't do this for my siblings," Trey's kisses slowly continue to climb up your leg, "so don't call me that again."

Floyd thinks the situation is funny, so he pokes and prods at the reddened skin on your ankle while laughing. "Shrimpy, how'd you manage to do that? Did you trip over yourself?" You know better than to regale him of your sad tale, so you purse your lips and pull your leg away from his restless hands.

"Floyd, it hurts. Cut it out please."

He frowns and leans in closer. You lean back against the bench, trying not to move your foot too quickly when he's closing in the distance without leaving you any chance to breathe. "But you promised to spend today with me. You can't back out on your promises."

You shake your head. "Nothing I can do, Floydie. I can't play with you when I can barely even walk."

"You can't walk, shrimpy?" you're suddenly hoisted up into his arms, "I'll carry ya'."

"Floyd! Put me down, please!"

He shakes his head and runs off, forcing you to wrap your arms around him for support.

"Nah, don't feel like it. Let's go play in Azul's office!"

Jade regards your ankle with his typical smile that betrays nothing of his true thoughts, slowly rubbing the area in a rhythm that almost lulls you to sleep. His gloves are tucked on your lap, his hat sloping down on your head almost covering your eyes. "Still," he speaks in a soft, low tone, "it is rather impressive you could injure yourself in such a situation."

Translation: That was dumb. How the fuck did you get hurt like that?

You give him a sheepish smile, pulling up the brim of the hat so that your view of his pretty face, all tense with the slightest tinge of worry, is unimpeded. "Thank you for helping, Jade."

"Of course. It's not as if I'm doing it for free."

Well, you should have expected it already. Octavinelle's brand of benevolence is often expensive. Your hands subconsciously fiddle with the satin of his gloves. "Of course, what do you want?"

His smile turns a little more genuine.

"And I could ask anything of you?"

You grimace. "Within reason."

"Then perhaps," his tone is a bit breathier when he gets closer to you, "a kiss for your knight in shining armor?"

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[magpies-gold]

I have both eyes and they're both technically functional but I still relate to a lot of this because I also have monocular vision. In my case, the problem is with my brain, actually. It can only process images from one eye at a time because of a defect when I was born that required surgical intervention. Even after the fix, my brain just never learned that I still had two eyes, so it has no capacity to combine the image data like normal people do. As a result, I have no depth perception and I have a dominant eye that I use 90% of the time.

I also have visual snow that's especially noticeable when I close my eyes and at night in the dark, but as there isn't a lot of research on visual snow, I'm not sure if that's related or coincidental. In case people want to know a bit more about life as a person with monocular vision in a two-eyeballs kind of situation: I have a weird trick that I can do that seems to astound folks with binocular vision: I can consciously switch eyes. It's like flexing a muscle and I can decide to use the left one or the right in the same way that I can choose to wave my left or right hand. Trying to use both at the same time just doesn't work, though. If I really try, there's just this pressure feeling in my head, like I'm trying to imagine a colour that doesn't exist, but I can't make the two work together at all. This is likely just a me thing but my non-dominant eye is much worse than my dominant eye, and its been getting worse over the course of my life. It's still useful, but extremely near-sighted, so much so that it alone is legally blind and makes my optometrist and all their staff wince. But I can read very, very tiny close-up writing with it, so it comes in handy when I'm doing things like reading. My dominant eye is a little near sighted but not much. It's pretty stable. Also probably just a me thing: I have one lazy eye, but it relates to the monocular vision. It's my dominant one. If I use the non-dominant eye, you can actually tell when I've switched to it because my dominant eye "switches off" and rolls a little bit up and out. It was worse when I was a kid (my mom saying "Meghan, are you looking at me?" was a common thing) but it still happens nowadays. My non-dominant eye isn't lazy, so when I'm looking around normally with my dominant eye you can't tell that there's anything different about me than your average Joe. It's a mostly invisible disability for me (and I still feel strange calling it a disability because it's just how I've always seen, and yet here I am making a list of complexities regarding my vision, so....) A final possibly-just-me thing is that I hold my pencil like a space alien and always have. The reasoning I've given since I was a kid was because of which eye I use, I wouldn't be able to see what the end of my pencil was doing if I were holding it "correctly", so I draw and write like this:

(Video here, if you want to see the rest of that: https://www.tumblr.com/magpies-gold/699322866172346368?source=share) Can confirm from the above that head-tilt is a thing when one has monocular vision, even with two eyes. Because of the head tilt, I also get people startling me on my non-dominant side a lot, possibly because with my "blind" side tilted back and away from what I'm looking at, they think I'll see them sooner since that eye is closer to looking behind me. Therefore they don't think they're sneaking up on me. That is, right up until they appear, as if by magic, in my field of vision and I go AAAA!

Depth perception problems that I personally encounter: I don't drive so I don't have a lot to add there except that trying to learn scared me too much to proceed. I was not comfortable with how much slower my reaction time was on my left side or how I couldn't accurately judge where exactly objects in front of me were, so I gave it up in my teenage years in favour of a good pair of sneakers and a transit pass. But I will loudly say that going down stairs sucks. I am very opinionated on how much I love and appreciate when stairs have the bright yellow stripe at the edge, or some other marker to aim for. If stairs are all one uniform colour I am hesitant as hell putting my feet down because I can't tell how far a drop it is. I'm slow on descents on unfamiliar stairs and I desperately need the railing to hold on to. Going up stairs isn't bad because I have other visual cues to help me, and I'm much faster there. I also don't do well on really uneven terrain, like the rocky shores we have on beaches here. Watching my fiancé go hopping and skipping over rocks like a mountain goat gives me light wistful despair because I know if I tried that I would miscalculate almost immediately and break all my bones. My tactic is to get low and go slow if I have to cross anything where distances get tricky to guesstimate. I become a crab. I also have friends who know to slow down and will also let me hold their hand (bless). I do have peripheral vision ghosts on the non-dominant side even with two eyes. The most common thing I see is ghost cats. I'll see my cat jump up on a counter in my peripheral vision only to turn and find nothing there. Sometimes my brain will also suggest there might be a person walking in my peripheral vision. It's just overcompensating for what it has to fill in the blanks on. I can't catch things that are thrown at me except by sheer luck. Sports like baseball and badminton were brutal in high school and I got into many a verbal confrontation with my teacher while trying to explain that I had a very good reason to be afraid of the projectile coming for my face. I told him more than once to go close one eye and try it for himself and see what it's like. No peeking! I can't peek. Similarly, I can't fly a drone. I learned that very quickly when I accidentally flew Tim's full tilt into a wall. Oops. >> Drone was okay. I, on the other hand, was absolutely boggled by how I just could not tell where it was in space until boom, I'd crashed it. And that's because another thing is that I was personally born the way that I am, so I'm fully acclimated to it. I know nothing else, and I don't notice all the micro calculations that I do to translate my 2D view into 3D space so that I can move around in it. At least, I don't until I have a situation where the object I'm working with suddenly has no context, like a drone in mid-air, and then I suddenly notice my limitations. 3D movies largely don't work for me. They're basically just regular 2D movies involving stupid glasses. -shrug- Finally, video games with a lot of icons around the edges of the screen are a nightmare for me because I can't see all of my monitor at once. Again: slow as balls reaction time because I have to re-calibrate and turn my head a lot. The concept of a wide-screen monitors makes me go "Jesus, why?"

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

Caitlyn:

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you. She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong. She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it. She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

[spxdyr]

im going to try to be nice because bucktommy's are going to inevitably see this and im not trying to start shit.

i'm seeing a lot of confused bucktommy's about the breakup. claiming it was a last minute decision, it was because lou didn't want to keep dealing with it (wtv that means), that it makes no since because of 8x05, and a lot of other spiraling bs.

i even saw someone say that buddie is never going to happen because oliver said eddie is straight...

i'm going to break this down as clearly as i can, because i've historically had issues with bt's and comprehension skills.

1. the bucktommy breakup was inevitable from the moment they got together. if for no other reason than tommy himself. from the beginning of their relationship, tommy has decided if buck was ready. not buck. tommy left buck standing on the side of the road aftet their first date because tommy decided he wasn't ready. because buck was nervous to come out to his best friend in public. tommy decided that buck would break his heart and that he wouldn't be buck's last. tommy came into that relationship assuming it would end. not buck, and not the audience. we were just picking up on what tommy was telling us. especially, given the fact that buck was fully ready and able to move past the abby clark of it all. tommy was a bad partner to buck, that's why they broke up.

2. i said this after 8x05, it wouldn't have made since to give us an on screen breakup if the only thing we saw of tommy was the thirty second birthday scene in 8x01. 9-1-1 loves a three ep arc and buck's side of whatever realization he might have started on 8x05. we needed to see more of tommy so it made sense when he broke up with buck. throughout all of 8x05, we saw the seeds of doubt being sowed in tommy. from the hospital scene after denny, to the closing one, tommy realized he didn't fit or at least wouldn't for long. because he never got that built-in family. he doesn't trust/believe that anyone would have his back like that. and he made that choice all on his own.

3. lfj is fine. he's a mulit-million dollar nepo baby. one whose been callled out for negative past behaviors and some people consider that bullying. lfj knew how long he was going to be on the show when he signed the contract to come back. the networks choice not to renew that contract had nothing to do with buddie stans. his storyline was over.

4. i can't even be confident that he's gone. there was a lot of stuff left unsaid or moved past too quickly. now 9-1-1 has a history of bad writing in that regard but they also have a habit of dropping things to only come back to them episodes or even seasons later. if he's really gone well thank god, but if he's not im not totally shocked.

5. i don't know how many times i have to say this. if eddie is gay or bi or demi or wtv, the cast wouldn't be able to say so because it would be a MAJOR spoiler. does no one remember andrew garfield and tom holland lying their asses off about spiderman ffh??? actors are liars, its like the whole bit. buck was straight until he wasn't. let's stop being dense and accept that maybe they aren't telling us everything because that would the defeat the purpose of the show.

look at this point im not just in this for buddie. im in this for an eddie that gets to be unapologetically himself. and im going to emphasize one more time how dangerous and disrespectful it is to force eddie back into the proverbial closet because it doesn't fit your ship.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

For anyone in need of context.

Image ID below the cut.

User unclefather:

me wearing a dog collar and leash looking up at my manfriend in his trench coat and fedora: let's go out in public where you can walk me like I'm a dog in front of people who are visibly uncomfortable

User thecybersmith:

IT'S NOT A FLIPPING FEDORA, IT'S A BOWLER HAT

User an-average-sized-person:

Keeo goobin' goober. A fedora is a fedora is a fedora.

User thecybersmith:

Anyway, with regards to the original post, what would actually be wrong with that? There's no mention of public nudity, nor of treating the human pet in a way that would be considered strange for a dog.

Should people be obliged to modify their behaviour so that the irrationally prejudicial do not experience discomfort?

User an-average-sized-person:

"Irrationally prejudiced" motherfucker admit you have a petplay fetish, there's no shame in it on this website.

User thecybersmith:

Okay... just please consider the following scenario.

It's five to ten years from now. You're sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a lovely meal, when I walk in, accompanied by my wife, my children, and my human pet (whose genitals are covered as it enters on all fours and is wearing underpants).

If my family and I then make an order of our own at the table next to you, in what way have we infringed upon your freedom? What rational basis do you have to demand that we leave or beloved pet at home?

H*ck it all, let's consider a more extreme scenario. It's five to ten years from now. You're sitting in al restaurant, enjoying a lovely meal, when I walk in, without my wife and children (for whatever reason, they haven't accompanied me), with my surgically modified human pet (wearing a collar) being lead in by it's leash.

My pet has been spayed/neutered (though you can't tell because its genitals -along with its boobies if its a female- have been covered up), it has no vocal chords, and it walks on all fours not by choice, but because its toes have been removed, along with the tendons in its ankles being severed (it may also have had its thumbs and the last two segments of each finger amputated, making it easier to care for -nо fingernails to trim-). Perhaps I've even (humanely) removed its eyes, making it less independent.

Even in this scenario, I haven't infringed upon your liberties.

"Irrationally prejudiced" is precisely what you are.

so ur at the party right and there’s this girl in the corner with another girl on a leash with the puppy ears on standard stuff and u start talking to her and she introduces the girl on the leash and says “this is my little puppy, Emily. say hi Emily” and the leash girl does a little bark at u and u say “oh that’s nice” and ur looking for a way to avoid the awkward silence during a 4 second period that feels like a half hour so u ask “does she know any tricks?” so the girl says “come on girl, show ‘em” and the puppy girl gets up pulls out a skateboard and starts doing the sickest kick flips u ever saw