#sub jack in the box

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god. 

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established. 

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention. 

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.) 

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!” 

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

 “logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within. 

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.” 

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.” 

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through. 

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.” 

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else. 

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready. 

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Seven

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.

Notes — Jack is the sweetest boy in the world, Anneliese is keeping secrets, and we have our first scene!<3

CHAPTER SEVEN

The air smelled like coffee and buttercream.

Ana held Jack’s hand as they walked up the steps of the little stone church, his other hand clutching a red plastic dinosaur. He tugged her gently to slow down, his eyes wide as they passed a cluster of colourful balloons tied to the handrails.

“So cool,” he whispered, like maybe he was expecting something much scarier.

“It is,” Ana said, squeezing his hand. “There’s gonna be lots of people, so we’ve gotta be smiley and make friends.”

He beamed, lips sticky from jam.

Inside, the room was nothing like the usual quiet, heavy space Ana knew. The circle of chairs was still there, but it was scattered with things that didn’t normally belong—blankets laid out in the corner with toy trains and puzzles, a folding table weighed down with cupcakes and juice boxes and paper plates stacked high.

Laughter, real and loose, filled the room.

There were kids curled up in their parents’ laps. Toddlers tugging on pant legs. Someone’s baby babbled near the back while an older man carefully iced a cupcake for a wide-eyed girl who called him “Granddad”.

Ana took a breath. It felt different. Lighter.

“Sit?” Jack asked, clutching the dinosaur closer.

She nodded and led him to a chair near the edge. He crawled into her lap like he used to when he was smaller, before he’d gotten too big for that kind of thing. But he did it now without a second thought, warm and wiggly and safe.

The meeting began like always—someone stood up, thanked everyone for coming, introduced the theme: new beginnings.

But the words felt different in this setting.

Like a garden instead of a grave.

People shared—some awkwardly, some openly. Stories about what brought them here, and what was keeping them going. It was notably more… child-friendly than usual, but the truth wasn’t hidden. 

There was laughter. Quiet tears. Clapping when one woman, in her sixties, celebrated being 11 months sober and announced she’d finally started taking piano lessons again. “Terribly,” she added, and everyone laughed with her.

Jack leaned up to whisper, “What does that mean?”

“Sober?” Ana asked carefully.

Jack nodded.

Ana paused. Then, softly whispered, “It means that they stopped doing something that was making them sick.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Are you sick?”

“No, little dragon,” she said. “Not anymore.”

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Good.”

She bit back the sting in her throat, hugged him a little tighter.

A man across the circle caught her eye. He was old, grey-bearded, wearing a T-shirt that said PROGRESS, NOT PERFECTION. He gave her a knowing smile. She returned it.

After a while, Jack slid off her lap and joined another kid near the toy blanket, two plastic dinosaurs clashing cheerfully as Ana leaned back, watching him. For a long moment, she just let herself feel the peace of it—the noise, the laughter, the strange beauty of kids and cupcakes and second chances.

This room, usually steeped in heaviness and unspoken grief, felt washed in light. The kind you fight for.

And maybe Jack wouldn’t remember the words people said today.

Maybe he wouldn’t understand the weight of it until years later.

But he’d remember the feeling.

She’d make sure he knew that healing didn’t have to be a hidden, shameful thing.

That broken people could laugh and play and bake too many cupcakes.

That joy could live in places people usually only whispered about.

Later, as they left with frosting on their fingers and a half-coloured dinosaur picture folded in his pocket, Jack looked up at her. “Can we come again next time?”

Ana blinked. “You want to?”

He nodded. “Yes please, ‘Nana. They were all happy!”

She smiled down at him, hand tucked tightly around his. “Yeah,” she said. “They were.”

—

The movie had ended twenty minutes ago, but neither of them had moved to start another. The room was dim, lit only by the soft spill of the kitchen light and the glow of the paused Netflix screen. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows, rhythmic and quiet. The couch creaked every so often beneath them, worn-in and familiar.

Ana sat curled in the corner, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her fists, the fabric bunched and twisted in her lap. Jules was sprawled across her legs, head resting on a pillow, one socked foot slowly swaying back and forth like a metronome.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Ana let out a sigh—sharp, restless. “I think he saw them.”

Jules turned her head, just slightly. “Who?”

“Oscar,” Ana said, eyes fixed on the untouched mug in her hands. “On FaceTime. A few nights ago. I—” She shook her head a little, like she could rattle the moment loose. “I got hot and took off my hoodie without thinking. Didn’t even realise until after the call ended.”

Jules sat up a little, the humour draining from her face. “Saw what?”

Ana didn’t answer right away. Just picked at the frayed hem of her sleeve. “My arms,” she said finally. “The old track marks. They’re not obvious unless you know what to look for, but... he definitely saw. He—I think he paused. Just for a second. You know that kind of pause? Like when someone sees something they weren’t supposed to?”

Jules nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Ana ran her thumb along the rim of the mug, pressing hard, like she could focus on the pressure instead of the rising dread. “But he didn’t say anything. Just kept talking like nothing happened. And he’s still texting me. Like everything’s fine. Like he didn’t see them. We’re still on for tomorrow. Valhalla. First Wednesday of the month, like we planned.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. Just disbelief. “Like nothing’s changed.”

“Maybe,” Jules said gently, “nothing has changed. Maybe he saw and it didn’t scare him off. Maybe he just... didn’t think anything of it.”

“Or maybe he didn’t recognise what it was,” Ana muttered. “Maybe he thought it was a scratch. Or a scar from something else. Or maybe he has figured it out, and he’s just pretending everything’s fine because he’s a good guy and he wants to end this in person tomorrow. I wouldn’t blame him.”

Jules leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Ana. Come on. You’re not—he’s not doing that. And anyway, wouldn’t he already, like… Know? I mean... after you told him who you are? Toto Wolff’s daughter? There’s no way he didn’t Google you. Right?”

Ana froze.

Her grip on the mug tightened, knuckles going pale. The lie had felt so much smaller when she’d first told it. Just a thread. Now it was a web.

She forced a tight smile, hoping Jules didn’t notice how stiff it was. “Yeah—no. You’re right. He probably knows.”

But her stomach knotted, sharp and sick.

Because no, as far as she was aware, Oscar didn’t know.

He didn’t know that her full name—Anneliese Wolf—had been synonymous with disgrace, and still sometimes was. That it still echoed in certain corners of the internet like a cautionary tale.

And she was about to walk into Valhalla—into his world—on the foundation of a lie.

Jules reached over and gave her knee a light squeeze. “I mean, if he’s still texting you like normal, and he does know... then clearly he doesn’t care. Not about that. Not about the past.”

Ana nodded, but her throat was tight, her mouth sour with guilt.

She wanted to tell her. God, she wanted to say I lied. That she hadn’t told Oscar anything. That she’d been too afraid. That the idea of being seen—really seen—made her want to crawl out of her skin.

But she couldn’t. Because if she told Jules the truth, Jules would tell Lucian. And Lucian would tell Oscar. And then everything would unravel.

Oscar would find out all of it.

And then he'd know exactly how much of her wasn't worth the effort.

Maybe it would be easier that way—maybe it would be a relief to have him come to the conclusion that she was broken in ways not even time could smooth over. At least then it wouldn’t be her choice anymore. At least then she wouldn’t have to keep pretending, and making all of the wrong choices. 

But lying to Jules... that was worse somehow.

Because Jules had seen it all. The wreckage Ana had made of herself in every conceivable way. Jules had held her her hand and helped her get rid of the very ugliest side of herself. 

She deserved the truth.

And Ana still couldn’t give it.

Because she’d already committed to the lie. Already decided she couldn’t risk losing Oscar before she even got the chance to find out what this could be. If she told Jules now, Jules would try to fix it—and in trying to fix it, she’d blow it up.

So Ana swallowed the guilt and leaned her head back against the couch cushion, blinking up at the ceiling.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered.

“You won’t,” Jules said, without hesitation. “He’s not expecting you to be this perfect, trained submissive. He knows this is your first real experience with this. That’s the point. He’s meant to teach you. Guide you. That’s what mentorship is.”

Ana exhaled slowly, eyes closing. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” Jules said, tugging a blanket up over both of them. “Not easy. But simple.”

Ana let herself settle into the warmth of it. Of Jules, and the quiet, and the safety that came from being near someone who loved her anyway.

But in the back of her mind, the lie crackled like static.

It was already getting messy.

—

Ana kept her coat on longer than she needed to. Not for modesty, but for protection. A layer of fabric between her and the truth. Between her and him.

Oscar was already there.

Standing by the front desk, chatting with one of the door monitors. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, black shirt buttoned up, collar neat. He looked calm. At home. 

And when his eyes caught hers, they softened.

She felt it like a ripple across her chest.

He didn’t hesitate. Just gave her that gentle smile—the one that never quite reached his eyes but always felt real anyway—and came toward her.

She braced herself.

For the confrontation. For the letting-down-easy. For the careful phrasing of rejection. You seem lovely, Ana, but…

For the way he’d surely figured it out by now. Who she was. What she’d been.

But instead, he stopped in front of her and said, quietly, “Hey.”

That was it.

Hey.

She blinked. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” He nodded toward the coat rack behind her. “You want to stay a minute before we go in? It’s not too busy tonight. We’ve got time.”

She hesitated. Every instinct in her wanted to say no—get this over with, pull the bandage off and accept the inevitable. But his tone was easy. There was no warning in it. No edge.

“Okay,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

They stepped into the side lounge—quiet, warm, intimate. Just a few leather chairs and a low table, a decanter of water and a bowl of mints. Oscar gestured for her to sit, then took the seat across from her, knees angled slightly toward hers.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just watched her for a moment. His gaze was never intrusive, never aggressive. But it was intentional. Like he wanted her to feel that he saw her—and that it was safe to be seen.

“You nervous?” he asked eventually, with a little lift of his brows.

She laughed under her breath. “Is it that obvious?”

He tilted his head. “You’re a little tense.”

Ana picked at the hem of her sleeve. “I just thought maybe... I don’t know.”

He waited.

She didn’t finish.

Instead, she muttered, “You FaceTimed me the other night.”

“I remember,” he said.

“And I… took my hoodie off. You might’ve seen…”

“I did.”

Her heart stopped.

His voice hadn’t changed. Not in pitch or tone or pace. Just I did.

Ana swallowed. “And you’re still—”

Oscar leaned forward.

Not suddenly. Not to startle. Just a shift. A gentle motion that brought him closer without collapsing the space entirely.

“Anneliese,” he said softly, “I won’t pretend to understand it. I don’t even know what I saw, exactly. Or why you seem so scared right now. Whether it’s about that… or just because of what tonight means.”

She stared at him.

His words felt like wind over raw skin—gentle, but so real they hurt.

“I just…” she whispered, “I don’t want you to think I’m—”

He reached out then, one hand finding her wrist, thumb brushing the bone there.

“I think you’re strong,” he said. “And complicated. And really, really beautiful.”

Her breath caught.

And then his hand moved—to her cheek. His palm cupped her jaw, thumb resting just beneath her eye. The touch was impossibly light, like he was asking permission with every inch.

Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his skin.

When she opened them again, he was still there. Still watching her like she hadn’t shattered anything. Like she wasn’t made of cracked glass and old mistakes and the weight of a past she was desperate to keep quiet.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said, quiet and certain. “Not with me.”

And then he tilted her face up—slow and reverent—as though giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

His mouth was close now. Not quite touching. Just there.

And Ana—tight-wound, panicked Ana—exhaled like she hadn’t in days.

The relief was bittersweet. Breathtaking.

Because he didn’t know. 

But somehow, in this moment, he knew enough.

And that—terrifyingly, achingly—was almost worse.

—

Valhalla’s playroom wasn’t what Ana expected.

It wasn’t red velvet and iron cages or chains on every wall. It wasn’t dark and oppressive or full of loud moaning and the clink of metal restraints.

It was quiet.

Warm-toned sconces lit the room like candlelight. Overhead dimmers turned the space into a low-simmering haze of amber and gold. The floor was padded, the furniture simple—black leather, polished wood. No spectacle. No theatrics.

Just breath. Stillness. Space.

And a hum in the air.

Ana stood near the door, her body wound too tight in a dress that suddenly felt like it didn’t belong on her skin. Black, simple, short enough to feel uncertain. Her hands twisted the hem until her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded in her throat.

She felt like she was standing in a temple with no idea how to pray.

Oscar was a few feet away, watching her. Not looming. Not leering. Just present—still and waiting.

He wasn’t dressed for a scene the way she’d imagined dominants might be. No black leather. No button-down shirt rolled to the elbows like in the photos. Just dark jeans. A plain black t-shirt. Leather cuffs wrapped neatly around his wrists like they were always there. Like this was nothing new.

But his eyes—they were new.

New in the way they searched her face. 

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded too fast. “Yeah. I’m—fine. Just…”

She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

He didn’t make her. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. His presence warmed the space around her without invading it. “I know it’s your first time,” he said. “And I know you’re scared. That’s okay.”

His voice was like the room—soft, grounded, real.

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t expect you to know what to do,” he continued. “I don’t expect anything from you tonight except honesty. And trust.”

He looked at her like it was that simple. Like her trust would be enough to move mountains—to make this thing between them possible.

“If you can just give me that,” he said gently, “Those two things. I’ll be so, so proud of you.”

Ana’s throat tightened. The fear she’d been holding behind her ribs twisted into something messier. Something like ache. “What if I mess it up?” she asked, voice barely there.

Oscar’s mouth curved into a soft, lopsided smile. “Then you mess it up. And we laugh. Or we pause. Or we stop altogether.” He stepped closer again. “I’d be relieved, actually.”

She blinked. “Relieved?”

“Yes. Because that would mean that you trusted me enough to speak up.”

God, she could cry. And that terrified her more than anything. Instead, she whispered, “What happens now?”

“Now I ask for your safe-word,” he said, “and we agree on limits. And if you’re still sure, I help you let go—for a little while.”

She stared at him like the ground might shift. “How do I choose one? A safe-word?”

“Anything you’ll remember if you’re scared or flustered. Something that means stop. Not maybe. Not wait. Stop.”

Her mind flailed. “Uh… Scuderia?”

His grin widened. “Fitting.” He stepped a little closer, his voice low. “So, if you say Scuderia, I stop everything. Immediately. I step back, I listen, and I wait for you to tell me what you need from me. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

“And the colour system. You know it?”

“I—kind of. Maybe.”

Oscar looked vaguely amused. “Green is good. Yellow means slow down, check in. Red is a hard stop. Use any of them whenever you need to. Understand?”

“Yes. Okay. Understand.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Any hard limits today?”

Ana swallowed. “I… don’t know yet.”

“That’s okay.” His brow furrowed, like he was already adjusting the whole night in his head. “We’ll start slow. Really slow.”

Then he offered her his hand. Not like a command. Not like a test.

Just a quiet, open palm.

Ana stared at it for a heartbeat too long before she reached out.

His fingers closed around hers—warm, solid, grounding.

He led her to the padded bench against the far wall. No cuffs. No straps. Just a bench. She could stop anytime. She could walk away.

Oscar turned to face her, his eyes searching hers again. “Do you trust me?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

It was ridiculous. She barely knew him. They’d shared a handful of conversations and—and they hadn’t even kissed, yet. And now she was offering him her body, her mind, her fear—all of it—on some invisible platter.

And yet—

“I think so.”

“Good.” He stepped closer, brushed her hair behind her ear.

She hadn’t realised she was shaking until his hands found her waist and steadied her.

They moved carefully. Together.

Oscar talked her through everything. “I’m going to guide your hands here. — Let me know if this hurts. — Is this stance okay?”

He had her kneel on a small, red cushion.

His hand settled gently in her hair. Not pulling. Not controlling. Just… holding. 

His thumb brushed her temple when her breath started to falter. “Breathe, Anneliese,” he murmured.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, voice hitched.

“I know.” His forehead dropped to hers. His breath was warm. “You’re doing so well.”

Her eyes burned.

His hand left her hair and slid down her back, slow and reassuring.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

She nodded instinctively.

“Words, Anneliese.”

“Yes,” she rasped. “Yes, you can touch me.”

“Colour?”

She froze—just for a second—before the memory returned. “Green,” she whispered. “Green.”

He coaxed her to stand. Turned her with care until her hands rested against the bench.

“Good. Just like that,” he said. “Can I lift your skirt? I won’t touch you where your panties are. Not unless you ask.”

She jerked her head.

His hand landed on her inner thigh and squeezed—not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make her gasp.

“Words, Anneliese. When I ask you a question, I expect to be able to hear your answer.”

“Yes. Yes. Green! Yes. You can. Please—”

She stopped herself. She didn’t know why the desperation surprised her.

“Oscar—”

“Sir. Master. Or just Oscar, if that’s what you want.” His voice was soft but precise. It didn’t sound like a man asserting power. It sounded like a man reminding her she had all the choice in the world.

It should’ve made her feel embarrassed.

It didn’t, though. 

Then his fingers brushed the back of her thighs—barely there. A whisper. Reverent.

She flinched when his touch moved higher.

He hesitated. “Colour?”

“Green.” She said it fast.

He waited another beat anyway. Then his palm smoothed up over her hip. Pressed lightly against the small of her back.

“You’re safe with me, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice thick with something she couldn’t name. “You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You’re doing so well.”

And something in her broke open at the sound of that.

The voice.

The praise.

The safety.

It hit her like a wave, and she let it. Her head dropped. Her breath came out in a shudder.

His hand never moved. Just stayed there, firm and grounding.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said.

Ana squeezed her eyes shut.

“But I do,” she whispered. “I do.”

Oscar stilled behind her. The weight of her words hit the air like a dropped glass, soft and shattering. And in the silence that followed, Ana could feel it—the part of herself that always spoke too quietly to be heard now echoing through the warm, amber-lit space.

Oscar’s hand left her hip. For a terrifying second, she thought that maybe this would be it. He was walking away. She’d ruined it. Said too much. 

But then—

He knelt behind her.

Not in front. Not towering above. But behind her, grounded, steady, level with her body—her insecurities, her confession.

His hands came to her thighs again. Not moving up this time. Not teasing. Just resting. Warm. Present.

She felt his breath against the back of her thigh as he said, gently, “Who told you that?”

She shook her head. “No one. I—I just—Everyone expects it.”

“Everyone?”

“The world. Me.” The words spilled out, bitter and hot and quiet. “If I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. Just… another useless girl who had all of this potential and did nothing with it.”

Oscar exhaled, low and steady. She felt the hum of it more than she heard the sound.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, his lips brushing the skin of her outer thigh as he spoke. The touch sent goosebumps racing over her skin—her arms, her legs, everywhere. “That sounds like something someone told you. Something that was said out of anger, or cruelty, or something close to it. And you’ve been holding it so tightly, for so long, you started to believe that it was true.”

Ana’s jaw clenched. Her throat burned. “My—my mother,” she said quietly, and she couldn’t believe she was confessing it. Saying it out loud. “She used to say that. Every time I messed up—even a little—then I didn’t deserve good things. That I had to be perfect, or… or everything would fall apart.”

Oscar’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “And you believed her.”

She nodded—barely. “Yeah… yes. I believed her.”

There was a pause.

Then she felt him.

His arms wrapped around her thighs, his forehead pressing gently to her hip. Not sexual. Not dominant. Just still. Steady. A silent kind of holding. Like he was building space around her body where none had ever existed before.

“Give it to me,” he murmured. “The hurt. The fear. Those words she left in you.”

Ana’s breath cracked in her chest on an inhale.

“I’m right here, Anneliese. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to hold onto that for a second longer.”

The sob came before she could stop it—sharp, raw, splitting open somewhere deep inside.

His arms tightened, just enough to anchor her.

“That’s it. Let it out, baby,” he said, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to be brave with me. You don’t have to put on any kind of performance.”

And somehow—impossibly—she let go. 

Her body shook. The tears came hot and fast, not neat. No restraint. No quiet. Ugly sobs, the kind that clawed their way out. The kind she’d been trained to bury. But here, with him—kneeling behind her like she was something sacred, like her pain wasn’t too much for him to handle—she let it happen.

In that moment, she didn’t care how it sounded. How she looked.

Oscar didn’t rush her. He didn’t fill the space with noise. He just held her—solid as breath, patient as time.

Eventually, the sobs began to quieten. Her shoulders stopped trembling. Her breathing levelled into something close to human.

She reached back, blindly.

And found his hand waiting.

Their fingers laced together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Oscar stood slowly, giving her time to turn. She did—and her knees gave out. But he caught her, effortlessly, like he’d known she would fall. Like he’d been waiting for it.

“Don’t apologise,” he said, voice low but steady, like bedrock.

His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. Warm. Certain.

“I didn’t come here to fall apart,” Ana said, her voice breaking. “I—I’m sorry. I ruined it. I definitely ruined it, didn’t I?”

Oscar’s eyes softened—not with pity, but something stronger. Something sure.

“No,” he murmured. “No, baby. You didn’t ruin anything.” He cupped her face, firm and tender. “You did exactly what I wanted—you listened. You trusted me. And you were so brave.”

Then he leaned in—not kissing her, not yet. Just close enough to let the question hang in the space between them—“Can I kiss you?”

Ana’s breath caught. Her eyes went wide, like she couldn’t quite believe he was asking. Like she didn’t know how to say anything but—

“Yes. Please.”

His hand stayed at her cheek, anchoring her as he bent forward. He kissed her forehead first—then the tip of her nose, her left cheek, then the right, then each closed eyelid. She barely breathed. Her insides pulled tight, not with fear—but with something old and aching and yearning.

And then—finally—his lips met hers. Soft. Sure. Gentle.

A kiss like shelter. A kiss like stillness.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Let’s start again.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Start again,” he said, softer now. “Draw a line in the sand. You know now—I don’t need you to be perfect. Yeah?”

Ana exhaled, a long, trembling breath like something ancient inside her was finally loosening its grip.

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Start again.”

Oscar smiled, small and proud. “Good girl.”

The praise didn’t sting—it soothed. It landed low in her chest, warm and deep. Her spine tingled. Her shoulders dropped. A breath she hadn’t realised she was holding escaped her lungs.

Oscar stepped back, eyes never leaving hers. “Are you okay to keep going?”

She looked down. Her hands were no longer clenched in the hem of her dress. She let them fall, trembling—not from fear.

From trust. From anticipation.

From the strange, weightless hum of being seen.

Her chin lifted. “Yes,” she said, voice clear. “Green.”

His expression shifted, darkening—not with hunger, but with focus. With reverence. “Good,” he said. “Stay just like that. Don’t move unless I tell you to, Anneliese.”

He didn’t reach for her.

He circled her.

Slow. Intentional.

His fingertips skimmed her skin like he was reading a language only she could teach him—down the slope of her shoulder, across the hollow of her collarbone, along the curve of her spine.

Her breath hitched. Her lashes fluttered.

“You’re already floating a little, aren’t you?” he murmured, a reverent smile in his voice.

Ana couldn’t answer. Her mouth parted, but no words came. Her body was light, her mind quiet. Her heart loud.

And he was still there.

His touch stayed featherlight. Barely there. He moved down the lines of her shoulder blades, brushed the nape of her neck, traced the dip of her waist.

Never too much. Never too fast.

Just enough.

Enough to remind her she was still—alive.

Enough to remind her she was taken care of.

“Stay with me, pretty girl,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’m going to study you. Every inch. Every tiny, perfect reaction.”

His palm drifted over her ribs. Her belly. The back of her knee. She shivered—not from cold, but from being the blatant intimacy. 

“Breathe for me, Anneliese.”

And she did. A breath that reached down into her stomach. Deeper than she’d taken in days. Maybe longer.

Tears filled her eyes again. Not from pain.

From the relief of not feeling invisible for the first time in a long, long time.

Oscar didn’t rush. He watched her, listened to every flicker in her breath, every twitch beneath his fingers. He catalogued her. Revered her. When her breath caught near her navel, he didn’t push—he softened. When her pulse quickened under his touch, he soothed it with a quiet, “That’s it. Just like that.”

He knelt, slowly, carefully. 

“Can you speak?” he asked gently.

Ana looked down at him, lips parted. Her voice barely a breath. “I—I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “That’s okay. You’re doing so well.”

He rose again, slowly, brushing her hair back from her face.

And with every careful pass of his fingers, every word shaped by patience and presence, Ana slipped deeper. Into softness. Into quiet.

Into the space between surrender and safety.

Into him.

NEXT CHAPTER

[itsthestutterforme]

Terrible Liar (Jack Reacher Drabble)

Summary: You were sparing with a coworker when he got a little rough, leaving you with a bruised cheek. You avoided Reacher for as long as you could but it didn’t last very long.

Warnings/Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, protective Reacher, soft!Reacher, and a little sub!Reacher 👀, sexual themes (riding, p in v penetration), MINORS DNI

Prompt credit @writing-with-emy : “Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“He’s wound up tight again. This is our second missed bust and he’s starting to get a little angsty.” Neagley explains to you over the phone.

“He’ll catch on if we keep doing this, Neagley.” You tell her.

“Or maybe he already knows and doesn’t mind seeing your pretty face.” She jests and you grimace, staring at your reflection through the glass in your cubicle

“What just happened?” She asks. “What are you talking about, Corporal?” You fire back.

“You just made a face,” “And the how did you- I’m not going to ask. I was sparring with Tiago the other day and his elbow clipped my cheek.”

“Shit,”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. You’re not proud of it, but you’ve been avoiding Reacher for this very reason.

It doesn’t matter if you said it was an accident or not. If it was a man who did it, he would hold him responsible. Everything was black and white with him.

Your relationship with Reacher teeters between friends and.. something else.

Neither of you or him decided to put a label on it. But two things are known to everyone with eyes.

You don’t mess with the special investigators.

And if you touch Y/N, you’ll end up with a broken jaw.

“Well if anyone can keep him relaxed, it’s you.” “Come on, please.” She adds when you hesitate and you let out a groan of frustration.

“Fine,”

**

No one could miss the way Reacher’s shoulders relaxed when he walked back to his desk to find you sitting in his chair sipping on your milkshake.

Neagley and David found it particularly fascinating to see the hard, mountain of a man turn to mush at the mere sight of you.

“Isn’t it my favorite mountain man,” you tease, sliding the to go box from his favorite soul joint across the desk.

You place a brown bag on top of the to go container and a smile threatens to spread on Reacher’s face.

“Are those..?” He starts.

“Of course,” you take another sip of your milkshake and he digs into the bag, popping a hush puppy in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Is this to distract me from the fact that you’ve been avoiding me?” He starts, reaching back into the bag.

“I have not been avoiding you, Reacher.” “No?” “No,”

He stares at you for a moment and when you realize what he was doing, you set your milkshake down. Standing from the chair, you crossed your arms as you neared him.

Neagley and David watch the entire interaction like it’s their favorite sitcom. Which it is.

“You’re not trying to intimidating me like I’m one of your soldiers, are you Reacher?”

“Not at all,” he examines your features, his gaze falling to your bruising cheek that you covered with make up this morning.

“Please tell me you’re a better liar than this when you’re on missions,” you retort.

“I’m a better liar than you. That’s for sure.” “Do you really want to talk about who’s better?”

He reached back into the bag but you snatched the hush puppy out of his hands and took a bite out of it. He was shocked but not entirely surprised at the betrayal.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the reason why you’re avoiding me has something to do with the make up on your face. Am I right?”

You finished the hush puppy and reached for your milkshake. “It’s just a scratch,” he finally pried out of you.

“From?” “Sparring with a friend,”

As amazing as the food smelled, it was long forgotten at his point. “Which friend?”

“Reacher,” “Answer the question,” he crosses his arms. “It was an accident,”

“No, the person was irresponsible when they weren’t practicing self control. It’s sparring, not boxing.” He seethes.

“He didn’t mean to. He apologized.”

His face hardens when you mention a him, although he suspected it was a man.

“I don’t care. I bet it was his idea, wasn’t it? To spar with you.” “Yes, but-” “Because he found you attractive and wanted an excuse to touch you,” he said matter of factly.

You were about to object but then you pondered about the past interactions you’ve had with Tiago.

You guess you could say that he’s been testing the waters with lingering touches and you subtly created distance between you.

You didn’t see Tiago as anything else besides a coworker honestly.

“You think so?”

“One hundred percent. In their eyes, you’re attractive and single so you’re considered free game.” He clarifies, clenching his jaw.

“That would be their mistake, wouldn’t it?” You state, causing him to look at you. He didn’t miss how your eyes drifted to his lips before returning to his eyes.

**

“Fuck, keep doing that.” He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as you bounced on his cock. His body twitched when you clenched around him hard.

Throwing your head back when the tip of his cock thrums over a gspot deep inside of you. His hands slide from your hips and wraps his arms around your chest to hold you in place when he drills into you from below.

You bounced quicker on him and a breath gets caught in his throat when he cums into the condom.

Your legs started to tremble when you slow your movements and rest your hands on his thick chest as you both tried to control your breathing.

Leaning up, he cupped the back of your head and pressed a messy kiss on your lips.

You lift your hips a bit and he slides out of you, not breaking the kiss just yet. He finally pulls away from you and takes off the condom before tossing it in your trash can in the bathroom.

“Well that was..” “Long overdue?” You finish and he chuckled before adding, “Definitely over due,”

You rolled on your back when you felt a cold air blowing from the vents. You snuggled deeper into the sheets but goosebumps still littered your skin.

“Cold already?” He states when he comes back into the bedroom to see you shivering under the covers.

“Don’t patronize me, mountain man.” You retort and he shakes his head at your antics.

He slides under the covers and wraps an arm over your frame to effortlessly pull you into his side.

You sigh when he rubs his warm hands over your smooth, bronze skin all the way to your ass.

“You’re really good at that you know,” “Mm, I know.” You smiled, relishing the moment his eyes rolled back when you first sank onto him.

“You’re really pretty when you do it too,” he brushes his nose against yours against yours.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Reacher.” You say against his lips, not wanting to kiss him just yet.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll gladly finish it.” He kisses you slow and passionately, his tongue smoothing over yours.

He cups your cheeks and you wince when his thumb grazes over the sensitive skin on your cheek.

“Sorry,” he apologizes when he pulls away from your face.

“It’s okay,” “No it’s not. Tell me who did this to you.”

“I’ll find out either way, Y/N.” He adds when you hesitate. “I’ll only tell you if you let me handle it first.”

“Fine,” “It was Tiago,” “That fucking prick,” he says lowly, gripping your thigh harshly.

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” He attempts to negotiate. “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“Reacher,” you scold.

[ruinix]

❀Drabble Masterlist ❀

Can you believe it? A masterlist for this lil blog 🫨🙂‍↕️

#ruinix drabbles - i wrote because i was asked

Before sending things over. I have rules: Inbox Rules; Request Format; Filtering Tags Guide

Requests: OPEN

Writing energy comes and goes, depending on how active my two braincells work. I write for my faves in my nav (except for my children, i simply can't). All works shall be considered 18+ (MDNI), even with fluff. Fics are arranged from oldest to newest per section. [Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst]

Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

Quinn Hughes

Everything Else | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Size Kink, Mild choking, Unprotected sex]

Treat | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Kisses and Oral (fem receiving)]

One. Two. Three. | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut or smut(ish), Sloppy kisses and (kiss)Marking, Slightest bit of choking]

Perfectly Divine | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex, Oral (fem receiving), Face-sitting, Cum eating.]

Trouble | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Masturbation, a dash of Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Brief Choking, Use of ‘hubby’]

Payback | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Oral sex (m receiving) / Blowjob, Hair tugging, Choking (on dick) / gagging, slight Overstimulation (m)]

Fifteen | Q x Fem!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Handjob with spitting, Hair tugging, Overstimulation (both), Oral sex , slight Choking, slight Dominance] | Part 2 of Payback [A part of a whole or A standalone]

Forbidden Feelings | Male Stripper!Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Stripping, Love Confession, Dry Humping, Unprotected Sex, Mild Choking, Quinn falls first and falls harder]

Blues and Ease | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), Hurt/Comfort, showering together, a dash of separation anxiety Quinn]

Popcorn and Sweets | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), Slight brat behavior, very slight suggestive tone]

Breakfast & Tattoos | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Unprotected sex, Tattoo healing inaccuracy]

Beers and Dares | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Alcohol Consumption (just Quinn shotgunning lmao), A bit suggestive]

Beers and Kisses | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Alcohol Consumption (heavy on this), Unprotected Sex, Drunk sex, Semi-Public sex, Praise Kink] | Part 2 of Beers and Dares

Stay with me | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff (hugs and kisses)]

Broken Promise, Broken Cards | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Spanking and pussy slapping, Edging, Unprotected sex, Squirting]

Spoken Gestures | Q x Deaf-and-F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Slight description of a past injury (blood and stitches), Choking, Oral sex (fem receiving), Unprotected Sex]

Cramped Space | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Semi-Public Sex (car sex), Unprotected Sex]

Burning Touches | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Body worship (m!receving), Teasing, Unprotected Sex, Overstimulation (m)]

His Little Princess | dad!Q x Pregnant/mom!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff, a bit suggestive tones. Pregnancy and birthing (mentions of cravings, pain during labor, epidural)]

Fairylights and Wildflowers | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Exploration of Hobbies (shopping, crocheting, puzzles), lots of Kisses, Semi-Public sex / Pool sex , Unprotected sex]

Outfits & Evasions | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff, lots of kisses, Tiktok Challenge: Think fast, I'm a random girl. Slight suggestive tones]

Lines plus Chances | Q x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content (omitted / only kisses), Suggestive tones, Mentions of blind boxes]

Jack Hughes

Caught | Jack x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Masturbation (usage of toy), Dom-Sub dynamics (dom!Jack), Cockwarming as punishment, Degradation then Praises, Unprotected sex, Aftercare]

Luke Hughes

Cookies, Coffee, and Milk | Lukey x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), Slight Overthinking Luke]

Sundresses and Summer Dates | Lukey x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fluff, Slight Oral Sex (f receiving), Unprotected sex, Lukey being horny, Slight car sex detail (in Bonus)]

Nico Hischier

In His Arms | Nico x F!Reader | [Warnings: 18+, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddles and Kisses, Crying, Protective Nico]

© 2025 ruinix. All rights reserved. I do not authorize all and any of my works to be used, copied, plagiarized, reposted, and/or modified on any platform. Do not claim my content and/or do not use it in AI.

[erwinsvow]

dad’s best friend reader did a sub-i at the hospital in like ob or peds pretty convinced that’s what she wanted to do & went to see jack in the emergency room at the end of her shift to say hi. it’s kind of cute watching them from afar catching up (you’re thinking how he was always your dad's cute friend when you were younger but now he’s so much cuter and he’s thinking. well we all know what he’s thinking) just talking quietly and the awkward yet sweet hug because you usually hug him all the times you’ve seen him outside of the hospital but it somehow feels weird to do it. he’s asking you about how your shift was and you’re elated—it was great, saw lots of things and did lots of procedures and you really love the program upstairs so maybe he’ll be seeing more of you! cue some kind of crazy trauma and he walks away but it seems like they need an extra set of hands and you're still in your scrubs so you just gown up to help out. follow around jack and try to help where you can. you haven't done emergency yet so you're out of your element but he talks you through what he's doing and why he's doing it. a hundred split second decisions in the span of a few minutes. and you, to your surprise, find it incredible. that your hands move faster than your brain does, that you answer some of jack's questions before he can even finish asking them. that you just saved lives by staying an extra hour. the adrenaline runs through you at eight-thirty, and jack recognizes it in you, that feeling like how could you go back to another field after this? he makes you sit down and brings you a juice box and a granola bar because he doesn't want you to crash out before you get home and he knows you've been here all day too. but you don't want to leave, insisting that you can keep helping, and he urges you to go home and that it was just a weird fluke of incomings all at once (though it happens pretty regularly, he doesn't think you need to know that). you drink the juice and eat under his watchful eye and he sends you home and tells you say hi to your dad for me. a week later you show up for an audition rotation (the charge nurse asks him if that's the girl he was hugging last week) and a little bit later, you show up as a first year intern (the same nurse, alongside another, ask him if he's excited you're here about three times in the first hour. they already know the answer.)

[mynameismisty]

HANDS DOWN, I'M TOO PROUD FOR LOVE . -

request: begging for some bill x fem reader nsfw where they both get high together eeeeee love these incel men <3

from the song Little Bit by Lykke Li

i love these incel men too, anon. but unfortunately... i wouldn't let any of them hit even if i was high💔 (but about epilogue jerry though...)

warnings: bill dickey🥀🥀🥀, premature ejaculation, smoking (dont do drugs kids....), groping, name calling, uhhh whining, sorta kinda edging?, swearing, sub-ish bill

s/n: ok finally my whole trip is done i am finally finally at home and i will produce fics like im jacking off multiple fictional men👅👅👅

Only god knows how you got roped into this mess. Breathing out a streams of smoke from your lips. And sitting right next to your proclaimed worst enemy.

William Alan Dickey. Bill. Why his nickname was Bill, you have no idea.

"Isn't this going to smell in your room, dumbass?" A soft grunt leaves your lips, slapping his arm harshly as he blows a cloud right in front of your face. "Hey, not in my fucking face!"

You expected a witty retort to come your way, but Bill looked like he ascended to heaven. Both of you were on the floor of his dingy bedroom, your knees stuck to your chest and a good amount of space between you and the dork.

"Uh-huh, yeah, sorry." He groans, head falling down as he rubbed his red eyes. His tongue ran over his chapped lips with shaky hands. "Just- Just shut up."

"Fuck you." You snort, running your hand through your hair as you bring the blunt to your lips again. "You could've at least cleaned up before inviting me."

"I- I didn't know you'd even come."

Maybe you were here out of pity— after you learned what happened at Joe's. And what happened to the club. You never hung out with them, never really liked them but it still made you feel sorry seeing their faces as they walked the streets alone. Without each other.

After that, it seemed like your life was affected too, your boyfriend breaking up with you, arguments, falling outs. Some families moving away because of 'arsonists being in the town'.

And Bill had no idea why he even tried to comfort you too. He found you hunched up behind the dimly lit alleyway of the theater, bawling your puffy eyes out with a beat up lunch box filled with blunts next to you.

He didn't say anything, just sat down next to you with an inaudible grunt, not minding the dirty concrete water that stained the back of his jeans.

He knew you. He saw you. Even watched you. For fucks sake, you lived right next to him. But unfortunately, for the both of you, it was far from the You Belong With Me music video. Incredibly far.

Bill wouldn't want to admit it, but he was miserable. Not because he missed his friends, obviously. Just because he didn't have anyone to try and torment or hang out or even talk to anyone anymore about comics. Sometimes you could see him alome and muttering about people not understanding him.

Back to the present, it was obvious that it was his first time ever getting high. Which made you wonder if he was still the limp dicked virgin you knew he (and his sad little club) was.

“First time?”

He let out a shaky breath as he brought the blunt to his lips again. He takes a look at you.

“Yeah. Don't- Don't take it the wrong way. That only, uh, applied to smoking. I’m- I'm not a virgin or whatever the fuck you're thinking.”

You're not sure what compelled you. 

What made you smash your lips against his desperately, pushing him down on the floor.

His chapped lips almost made you sober up. But you digress, as Bill tried to gain some sort of dominance by grasping your collar, pulling you in further. You scoff against his dry lips, slapping his shoulder.

Yeah, sure, your mind was hazy from the weed but you could still make sense of things.

“Bitch! What's wrong with you?” He coughed, eyes red, slight smoke coming from his mouth. Despite the venom, he was limp in your arms at least, too lazy to do anything except grope your curves.

“Shut the fuck up, I'm doing you a favor.” You mutter, leaning back to palm his cock through his worn out denim.

He let out a whine.

“I'm just trying to fuck you!” He barks, head falling back as you rubbed against his hardening cock. "Why is that so fucking hard for you femoids—"

“Just stop complaining, what is it with you and your fragile fucking masculinity?” You lean down, hissing as you press your lips against him again, this time your tongue running over his lips as your teeth sunk down a bit. 

He hissed in pain but made no move to try and slap you away. But his hands go to paw at your tits, squeezing and groping anything he could to have a mind of some sort of control (even if he had zero to none).

“Seriously, do you really need to be acting like an asshole when I'm trying to give you the biggest favor of your sad life?”

“Sh- shit, fuck, no one asked you to, whore!”

“Oh, fuck you—” You scoff, your heavily clothed pussy on his dick. You were wearing pants too, how was he getting excited to this? He could barely feel you. 

“Let's be real, a woman wouldn't even go anywhere near your dick if her life depended on it, you pathetic fucking excuse for a human being—”

And that's when you feel it.

A wet, damp stain on his pants, you immediately move forward, turning your hips to look at the sorry stain. You touch it, and bring it to your lips.

It tasted like battery acid, and somehow it was exactly just like Bill.

You look back at him, already heaving with strands of his brown hair stuck to his forehead as he panted.

“That was pathetic.” You snort, getting on your feet again and fixing up the lunchbox you had tagged along with you before shoving it down your backpack.

“Hey- where- where the fuck are you going?”

“You finished already. And I know you can't ever possibly fucking makes me cum.” Hissing with every word, you sling the bag over your shoulder. “I'm sticking to my fingers tonight.”

“And besides, you watch me through my window anyway.”

[hobicakess]

PLAYING DANGEROUS | (one)

summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.

warnings: warnings: no thoroughly edited, EW Ai , character death (nothing to cry about), black/plus sized coded reader, talks of murder, talks of torture, corporate evilness, violence, Mc reads hobi to filth, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), one maknae introduction, maknae helping cause chaos, cigarettes, Yoonie is an angry kitty this chapter, bratty mc, mc is kinda a bitch (a bad one at that), unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday) SMUT— nothing too crazy , choking, sub mc , missionary, mating press , man handling (yummy)

a/n: HEYYY omg this took me so long to write and it's just a little over 2k words... LMAO I suck i know, but we're getting there I pinkie promise. I really hope you all enjoy this and constructive criticism is welcome!!

TAGLIST: @sumzysworld @bbgniecyy @paramedicnerd004 @heartsbr0ken @grltwin @superbbananananana @secfir @darkuni63 @thisladysperspective @p34rluv @secfir @sarcastic-cookie @coffeedepressionsoup @ot7nem @italiekim @cynicalbitch666 @jalexd @whenthebeatdrop-beatdrop

2 MONTHS BEFORE JACKS ESCAPE

Kim multimedia station.

The place of business was always busy and there was never not anything to be done, Endless reports and stories in need of being written, the podcast teams always chattering about the hottest topics.

KMMs was a journalist's dream — your dream.

You were a known face around the company both online and in person. A pretty foreigner who was damn good at her job and that made you favored by the late CEO Kim. You were always hand picked by him to attend press conferences in his favor. He treated you kindly, allowing you into a large world of business pulling strings to get you the best stories helping you— a once broke freshly graduated English major climbing up in the world of reporting.

It's only been three months since CEO Kim passed away and the company was changing fast. You were grateful that you weren't a part of the many that were fired and replaced by new faces and AI, and you were now noticing how low the viewers were on podcasts, social media and blogs.

KMM was dying out very slowly and that meant you might go away with it. You were dedicated to your work, and the company that helped you become the person you were today.

And you were willing to do anything to not be forgotten.

Sleeping was not on the agenda right now.

A quick double tap to a cell phone showed an awfully bright screen reading 4:40 am. You had been lying in your bed mind racing while staring at your wall for the past hour and a half.

Jack in the box.

Rolling out the tangled bedsheets and arms you pull on a large T-shirt that'd been discarded a long with the other items of clothing on the floor shuffling towards the desk in the corner of your room. Laptop already open from your previous research when you pull out a pack of cigarettes from your drawer before plunging deep into the web. Your mouse clicks every site as your pen moved furiously taking in all the information you can about said serial killer.

“On May 14th, 2018 Serial Killer Jack In The Box was finally caught after a murdering spree in Seoul. The killings of ordinary outgoing individuals taken with a quick swipe of a knife and a long torture method.”

"Before his kills Jack likes to taunt his victim. He ironically sends them a Jack in the box to let them know they're next. The next few days said victim lives in constant fear, looking over their shoulder, leading the mostly known outgoing victim to slowly isolate themselves from loved ones in fear of them being hurt, eventually this leads to insomnia and in some cases hallucinations and histera. Then Jack disappears for a while making them think they're finally okay and he's gone until he wasn't."

The scoff that left your lips echoed through the quiet room, breathing out the nicotine smoke from your Cancer stick.

So Jack was an antisocial loser and took out his lack of social skills on people who could.

"No one knows of Jack's real identity. Police have reported that the man has lived many lives and has owned many faces for the past 11 years. Reporters have tried their hardest for the past 4 years to get a one on one interview with the man but unfortunately he refuses to talk only resorting to violence."

A reporter says he went for a handshake and left with two missing fingers.

Another says he watched the man bang his head on the wall hard enough to bleed when he asked the murderer's real name.

A broken arm??

“Fuck” you huff flicking the ash at the butt of your cigarette. You stare at the mugshot photos supplied at the end of the article. Dark wide eyes, shaggy black hair falling over his forehead, the piercings sticking from the bridge of his nose eyebrow and top lip.

The look definitely screams psycho but…. he was kinda hot. It took everything in you not to go and click the endless fanfiction that you stumbled upon.

A pair of warm lips press onto your shoulder causing you to jump. Turning to look over your shoulder at the shirtless sight of Kim Namjoon.

“We have to be up in four hours, baby, come back to bed.”

You hum into his embrace with a pout stubbing out the cigarette into the pink ashtray beside your computer. “Did you know Jack went through eight lawyers? Until one day he randomly called Kim Seokjin. That high profile guy from the law firm we're partnered with? they must know each other”

Though Namjoons attention was not on the words that were leaving your mouth. Hands wander all over your body while placing kisses on your neck, and cheeks.

“He literally bit the finger of the last reporter clean off. Like do you know how much force you have to put into that? I think he reads too much gothic liter—”

Cutting you off with a quick grab of your jaw turning your head to connect his plump lips to own. Pulling away with a cheeky dimpled smirk, “I’m not sure how I feel about you talking about another man.”

“Well you shouldn't feel any type of way because you aren't MY man.”

You squeal when you're lifted up from your chair and throw over a broad shoulder. He huffs when he throws you onto the memory foam comforter, your (his) shirt lifting up your thighs exposing your bare cunt. Immediately his big body was hovering over you as he slightly pressed his body weight onto you.

“Get off you dick” pushing and smacking his tan shoulders but that did nothing for you at this moment. “Well I'm trying to put it in you.”

He bullies your legs up over his shoulders as he taps his hard piece against the wetness between your thighs. “If something happens to me during this case I swear” choking on your words as he slowly but surely presses his thick head into your cunt.

“Fuck — may the man himself strike me down.”

Hand reaching to grip your throat smashing your lips together. Luckily your mind left the thoughts of the serial killer , the only thing on your mind right now was Namjoon and his ridiculously large cockm

It wasn't weird for you to obsess over your assignments to the point where it was all you thought about. Everyone does that.

Though this one you couldn't seem to finesse your way out of. Without the help of the late Kim you'd have to pull your own strings to get what you wanted and now that Namjoon was in charge he loved making your life harder.

“Y/n.”

Your head snaps up from your laptop hand stalling from moving on your notepad face to face with gorgeously pale Detective Min Yoongi.

“Yoonie” you smile, motioning for him to sit in front of you. He looked different from when you last saw him all the months ago, more tired and cat- like you guessed it was from the heavy responsibilities that came with the position as Chief of Seouls police department

“Did you just call to look at me?”

“Sorry it's just been . . a while” you push the large Iced Americano towards him as a peace offering. He gladly accepted it with an amused raise of an eyebrow, “You know I just wait for your call.”

“The phone works both ways” you internally wince , you sounded like an estranged father talking to his child.

“What do you want?” A frown spread across your face and lips, shutting your laptop. “I can't call an old friend for a friendly coffee date.”

You waited for his answer as he took his time generously drinking from his plastic cup. With a smack of his lips he sat the cup down leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You only call me ‘Yoonie’ when you want something” eyes scanning over the scatter of papers and notes taking up your side of the table.

“This must be serious”

Hands going to clasp under your chin you sigh, cutting the bullshit. “Three years ago you were the lead investigator on the Jack in the box case which brought you from rookie detective to Chief of police.”

“I was wondering if you could help old friend out tell me what you know about-”

“No.” He cuts you off with little to no thought.

“No? Why not? This isn't our first rodeo Min”

There were plenty of times Yoongi helped you with stories without a second thought. He'd give you case files, witnesses, and anything you needed but why not now?

“Anybody but him”

You scoffed at him, irritation rising in your body. “I need this story not anyone else.”

“Well I can't help you, princess.”

“That's bullshit!” Your voice raises causing a couple people around you to turn their attention towards the two of you. He stood up, chair scraping the floor, slamming a few dollars on the table. “Call me if you need anything else.”

Turning on his heel he leaves you sitting there in your slowly growing rage. You quickly hopped from your seat chasing after him, managing to catch up with his long strides. “Yoongi slow down dammit”

He twirls around grabbing onto you by your arm, “Who gave you this story.

“Namjoon he-” you whine as his grip tightens on your arm as his eyes slit. The angry red scar on his face makes his angry stare look even more intimidating. “You don't understand how dangerous Jack is. Just because he's behind bars doesn't mean he won't have people on the outside that will whack you for being a nosy reporter.”

He softens his hold, lifting his hand to rub your cold cheek. “If something happens to you. . .” He shakes his head letting you go.

“Sit this one out Y/N I don't want to see you in our precinct mortuary.” with that he walks away disappearing into the crowd.

You sniff doing the walk of shame back to the Café sitting back in your seat with your head in your hands

Detective Min Yoongi.

“Excuse me Ma’am” the blonde barista came over holding a box of blueberry doughnuts which happened to be your favorite. “It's on the house.. everyone saw your fight with your boyfriend, manager said this might help cheer you up.”

“Oh! Thank you but he wasn't my boyfriend, just a work colleague.” You tried to defend yourself but the sympathy in his eyes only grew so you accepted the treat with another thank you. “What is your name? I've never seen you here before.”

A soft brightens his pretty face, eyes scrunching slightly adding to the prettiness of his face. “Park Jimin, Ma’am.”

MEANWHILE

The buzz of the electrically wired door opening didn't alert the man that stayed deep in the corner of his cell. “Long time no see.”

“Why now?” the visitor asks, “After all this time you choose now.”

He giggled, the haunting sound bouncing off the walls. “Did you bring what I asked for”

The visitor threw the pictures and the box of cigarettes into the cell. “Answer my question.”

“It's been three longgg years.” He finally answered, moving from his corner to pick up the photos. “Tell me is she this gorgeous in person?”

“Just for her?”

“And I need to stretch my legs” he laughs louder this time the high pitched sound echoed even through the thick steel door that kept him locked in tight.

Jack was ready to play more games

©hobicakesss , please don't repost or steal my work. don't be a loser

[siremasterlawrence]

Magic Delivery Service: The Kit

The magical Kit appears on my front door step when a knock pounds on my door hard waking me up from a deep sleep and my feet dragging across the floor. Opening the door the package is wrapped up like a gift picking it up and walking inside of the building and place it on the table as I unwrap it. The box burst open with enough energy to lite a room up surging like magic it fills the room with an electric current and inside of the package is a tiny box.

The box says magic kit to my surprise I felt like rolling my eyes but I was left intrigued more so and ripped it open and only to find instructions. I read it carefully informing me on how this musts be done precisely and with all of the utmost care in him and I quickly retrieve the vial of magic mix. Uncorking the top I take a whiff of the concoction alerting me to how dangerous this is and I begin to plan how I will build him and I mean the perfect sub just for me.

What I did not expect when I poured the man contents in the box in to a pot of boiling water as they mix and become one a power of energy. The nectar worthy of a God likemyself after it comes to a thick body and sweet smell the contents are pouring in tothe bottle and shaken well before I gulp every last drop down. Everything in is glowing about the room before I faint it all goes black I have no memory with everything or anything else when I wake up.

“Woah! What happened?”

“Welcome! It’s a store for you “

“For me?”

“Just for you “

“I don’t understand “

“Build a submissive “

“Huh?”

“Everything is free “

“Whats the catch?”

“Nothing! Pick and choose”

“Make a man out of all your faves “

“Right! This is highly unusual “

“No more than usual “

“Here we go! Let’s start here”

“I get ten guys to mix and match “

“Just drop the dolls of them in to the pot”

“Then mix well! Have fun”

“Whatever! Colton Haynes “

“Oh! Robbie Amell”

“This is beyond freaky”

The story is a gigantic revolving door that is surrounding me like a damn maze covering me up like it is swallowing me up and I can not believe it when I see a Tyler Hoechlin like Installment. I crack up a bit watching this cut out poster as it only hits to the twisted reality of it all transcending the wonderful outcome to come and I sigh for a bit grabbing Tyler figure from the stall.I can’t imagine what a concoction I could piece together with all these moving parts within it and quickly moving fast on to the next installation and I could not believe my eyes at what I saw.

Sebastian Stan is next on the list when Istop to see those magnetic eyes reachingfor the doll to land in the palm of my handsand I grasp it tightly and throw it in to the pot. The chemical serum exploding ever high flushing down the sides of the pot asit ever flows growing more and changing colorful patterns one after another to myamazement. The reality of my situation ishitting me like a ton of bricks shaking me to my core and he fell to the floor patterns lighting up under me and they become one as expected.

“Can I help you Sir?”

“Who are you?”

“Your concierge to the store”

“Anything you want”

“Henry Cavill”

“Excellent choice!”

“You don’t need to say it”

“I mean it sir “

“Do you?”

“Hmmmm”

“Yes”

“May I drop him in?”

“Of course! “

“Who else?”

“Brandon Routh?”

“Sexy pick”

“Naturally! I know my stuff “

“Will you marry this man?”

“Hell no!”

“Then what?”

“He is a slave “

“A puppet”

“A property”

“Do you love me?”

“YES!”

“It’s bubbling”

“Wooohooo!”

“He will be yours”

“You will be his man”

“Sir Yes Sir”

Walking further to the back of the store I find myself a bit lost until I see the conveyor belt rolling on and I pour layers of the mixed serum and watch it pool together spreading till covers everything. It consumes the whole sanction racing in to the melding section of the room and the molding pieces begin to press together forming a mold of particular muscular titan. Yes! It is him the man, myth and the legend we know as Jack Reacher on Amazons Reacher AKA Alan Ritchson my major crush now and soon to be the flesh and the skeleton of my slaves body.

A laugh a bit right now watching the process happen happily with multiple layers of the serum washing over him and forming a newskin but it’s atom Hardy’s skin tone and his face mixing well. He is such a fine specimen I won’t to jump his bones right now but I truly know I can’t obviously do it and imagine I am laying my body on his and fucking him ever so raw to he is hard as blue in his face right now. The mold is completely in process with the steam filling up the area drawing in air from the room and strolling past his body and he is fully forming a new man my ideal mold forever.

Hugh Jackman’s entire musical catalog play and films are playing over the speaker loudwith such precision recalibrating his voice and given him a strong Australian accent that mimics Hugh Jackman’s perfectly for me. All of a sudden as the puppet begins to play on mimic his singing voice perfectly giving me everything I desire and want inhim he is also playful, sexy, sexy, a great dresser and my body is growing so hardnow. “Keep up the good work in training that voice! This is so fucking amazing Icannot believe this really. What luck!”I shout at the roof tops at my latest victory and the conquest.

“The skin is sprayed”

“So tan”

“So luscious “

“So beautiful “

“My new pet”

“What a object”

“My goodness”

“You are the world “

“You are my world”

“Give him a new finish”

“Heavy influence “

“What kind?”

“Ian Bohen “

“He is hot”

“Ian Bohen “

“Yes the wax”

“What’s it created with?”

“Sweat “

“My slave “

“My property”

“My life “

“Master! I am at your service”

“Hurry up! Get your ass over “

“Sir Yes Sir”

The end

[bhaalsbabe]

Hcs about Gortash inventing a fucking machine for you

Pairing: Enver Gortash x gn!Reader (can be both Tav & Durge)

Genre: smut

Warnings/Summary: MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, aftercare (receiving), fucking machine (receiving), bondage (receiving) , voyeurism (@ Reader)

-Gortash is a busy man, but he loves his lover (you!) dearly.

-So, in all his brilliance, he invents a fucking machine for you, so you can have fun while he's gone.

-And he can have fun too, having the remote control with him at all times, though you have access to an emergency controller that stops the machine and prevents him from turning it on until it gets manually reset.

-He'd set up a scrying eye in the room with the fucking machine so he can watch you get railed by it.

-When he has a few extra minutes of free time, he shamelessly jacks off to the imaginery of you, with your legs spread and tied up as the fake cock keeps entering and leaving your hole, but it's never as good as the real thing.

-When he has meetings with patriars and other important figures, you know when he gets annoyed by them because then the speed of the fucking machine increases, a lot.

-Sometimes he almost feels sorry for you when he sees the state you're in when he checks on the scrying eye feed after such meeting, all messy and fucked out, thighs shaking and eyes red from tears.

-When you rile him up in the morning and he doesn't have time to fuck you himself, this handy device comes in.

-And he will be punishing you for making him go around his subordinates with stiff cock in his pants.

-He can be very ruthless but if he feels like it's too much for you and not in a good way, he will stop the machine and let you rest.

-He always brings you a thoughtful gift when your fucking machine shenanigans end for the day.

-He also makes his personal cook prepare your favourite meal for you.

-He's so gentle with you, he always cleans you thoroughly, checks up on you, kisses the places where the ropes were and puts healing salves on them if they've become too sore and scratched, and he's basically ready to give you anything you'd ask of him.

-Want to be held for the rest of the day? Done, you're being pulled into his arms immediately. Want him to be the one to fuck you? He's already pulling his pants down eagerly. Want to use the fucking machine on him? He thought you'd never ask. Want him to marry you? Oh, he's actually getting on his knees and pulling up a small box with a ring-

[oneforthemunny]

star girl |dom!eddie munson x sub!reader|

prompt: eddie doesn't decorate. you gift him a small tree to try and get him into the christmas spirit. he decides he'll decorate it, with his own personal decorations. thank you @wheels-of-despair for this iconic idea

apart of the twelve days of christmas with dom!eddie series that you can read here!

contains: smut minors dni 18+. dom/sub themes. dirty photos. oral fem receiving. male masturbation (eddie jacks off). cum play-ish???? taking nudes and dirty pictures lol (on a polaroid).

“You know,” You purr, pushing up on your forearms, the worn comforter slipping over your naked frame. 

Eddie’s eyes lingered momentarily on your chest, half-lidded blinks through the smoky, hazy air, one arm behind his head to prop himself up while he smoked the joint. A soft grunt rumbling out of his chest, offering you the burning joint between his fingers. 

You shook your head, holding the comforter to your chest, sitting back on your knees. “I think,” You twisted your lips gently, looking around the familiar room of the trailer- the same as it always was through every season. “That a little teeny tiny tree in here would really make the place festive.” 

Eddie huffed, eyes rolling into his head in annoyance. He felt blindly for the ashtray on his bedside, bumming the joint and flicking it into the pile for later. “No. How many times do I gotta say it?” He muttered. “You got every other room in the house.” 

“It won’t be a lot.” You countered, eyes rounding sweetly towards him. “I swear, just a tree. Please? Let me just put up a tree. A small one, like this big.” You held your hands up, motioning at the smallness of the tree- one you may have already bought. That may be in your trunk. 

“Why does it matter?” Eddie huffed in annoyance. 

“Because I want it.” You pouted, bottom lip puckered in just the right way to have him flushing. “And you love me, and want me to have what I want.”

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head, but you didn’t miss the blush rising up on his chest. “Right. If it’s what you want, then you should get it, right?” He snided sarcastically. 

You ignored it, hand slipping off your chest, letting the comforter slide with it, down the slopes of your breasts. Eddie’s eyes followed, like clockwork, as the blanket fell further and further. “You can decorate it however you want.” You thrummed seductively, low and gravelly, lashes batting his way. “I’ll help you if you want.” The blanket fell, sliding down your sternum, nipples hardening at the cool air of the room. 

Eddie blinked, eyes going vacant, mindless with your tits sitting in front of him. You weren’t playing fair, you knew exactly what you were doing. Eddie had half a mind to tell you that, maybe bust out the clamps and use them on you for trying to manipulate him this way. 

Instead, he let you ride him, boobs bouncing with every gallop of your hips, his hands grabbing and squeezing them, hard enough to have you squealing. 

The next day, the tiny tree had taken up residence on his dresser. Pushed to a corner, one he begrudgingly cleared, bare and smushed from storage. Eddie glared at it while he smoked, the way it mocked him just sitting there. A reminder of the most wonderful time of the year, or whatever the fuck it was. 

“I have extra ornaments, if you want to decorate it with them.” You had offered, but Eddie refused. He wouldn’t decorate it, not unless he got a really good idea- unless he could decorate it his way. 

The idea came when he was jacking off. 

Palming himself on the couch, watching MTV, Eddie’s cock was twitching, creeping to life with arousal with every twirl Paula Abdul gave on the screen. He was glad you weren’t here, you’d smack him and scream at him for staring. Eddie paused for a moment, pulling his hand out of his pants and walking to his bedroom, snagging the bottle of Jergens out of the bathroom.

“Where the fuck did I- ah!” Eddie grinned, pushing through his clothes hanging in the closet for his Rebok shoe box, old and torn at the corners but it held his prized possessions. “There you are.” Eddie muttered, flipping the cardboard lid open easily. 

Inside, dozens of polaroids scattered inside, all of you. You tied up, cum shots of your face or your ass or your pussy, all the things you’d tried- clamps, plugs, paddle marks, wax, the gag. Eddie laid them out carefully, his own little collection of naughty photos all for him. 

Eddie crawled the length of the bed, reaching for his favorite, a teary eyed photo of you on your knees, tongue out for Eddie’s cock, a faint peek of your red ass sticking out behind you.

Sweatpants shimmied off his waist, kicked with his boxers to the far side of the room, Eddie propped himself against the headboard, hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself slowly. 

He could remember the day he took the photo, after a concert at the Hideout. You had worn a leather corset, teased Eddie all day with it until he couldn’t take it any longer. He’d gotten you home, really played with you until you were sobbing, begging him to fuck you. 

His hand jerked his length faster and faster, a low groan caught in his throat, head tipping back. He could hear you, hear your whiny, little voice begging him to fuck you. “Please, I’ll be so good. So good, Eddie, please. I need it. Need you.” 

“Fuck, I know you will.” Eddie groaned into the quiet of the room, a straggled whimper creeping out. He tried to imagine it was you making him feel this good, not his own hand. He had never missed you more. 

Eddie knew his own orgasm was close, belly tightening with that feverish heat coursing through his body, his hand pumping himself faster and faster. A half lidded gaze cast on the photo of you, memories playing behind his eyes like his favorite film, hips jerking, small grunts and whines of pleasure until he was spilling over himself. 

Eddie’s chest heaved, hot and clammy, his release on his hand, some spilled on the base of himself. Vision blurred lightly, focusing gently back to normal from that post-orgasm haze. His eyes landed on it. The tree, perched right in front of him, bristling him with annoyance, killing his post-bliss euphoric feeling. 

A tattooed hand snatched his underwear, discarded on the floor, wiping himself off half-heartedly. He made sure to put his soiled underwear in the hamper- knowing you’d huff at him if he didn’t- snatching his sweatpants back off the ground. The Polaroid of you slightly creased in the corner from his grasp, he opened the box, setting it neatly inside until an idea crashed over him. 

The idea. 

Call it post-orgasm clarity, Eddie would call it genius, but his lips curled, a positively smug grin that felt like The Grinch’s snarly smile from the cartoon. 

Eddie grabbed the box, lying it out on the kitchen table, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips while he worked. Hot glue gun dripping onto the already scratched wood, tiny ornament hooks, and ribbons. Eddie knew exactly how he wanted to decorate. 

“What is this?” 

Eddie smirked, the quip in your tone, a ghosting of a scoff; he knew you saw it. His creation. 

“What, baby?” Eddie hummed coyly, slipping into the bedroom behind you. You stood in front of the dresser, carefully looking at each of the ‘ornaments’ he added to the tree, your face flushing with each one you saw. 

You turned, a brow furrowed at him, nodding towards the tree. “Oh, I decorated.” Eddie said simply, a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “Thought that was what you wanted.” 

“You decorated.” You blinked. “With… these?” Your fingers brushed over one of the Polaroids that captured your legs spread, cunt dripping with his release onto the sheets below you. 

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie shrugged so nonchalantly cool it made you shiver. His arms circled your waist, nose nuzzling into the soft skin of your flushed cheek. “You said I could decorate it however I want, and if it’s gotta be in my room, I want it covered with my favorite things.” He muttered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss against it. 

“Hm,” You hum, leaning into his touch. His groin rubbed against your ass, sporting a semi that had you snorting lightly. “Well, as long as you like it, I like it. Very festive, baby.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” Eddie purred, lips ghosting over your cheek, sliding down to your jaw. “Need one more though. Somethin’ special for the star.” 

“Oh?” You squeaked, a shuddering breath caught in your throat. Eddie’s lips kissed down your jawline, teeth grazing over the spot under your ear that had your knees buckling. 

“Mm-hmm, want it to be a good one.” Eddie rasped, hands sliding down your hips, up your tummy towards your breasts. “Think we can take one? One good one for the star?” 

Your eyes fluttered open, whining behind closed lips. Eddie’s hands squeezing your boobs through your shirt, lips pressing sloppy kisses down your neck. You found the camera on the dresser easily, propped on the edge and ready for use. 

“What kinda picture?” You pressed, hips wiggling back against his groin, head tilting for better access, his lips trailing down your neck. 

Eddie’s hand grip at the small of your waist, walking you back towards the bed. Hands fumbling over each other, brushing touches and shoving of your clothes, tearing them off the other until they were a pile beneath you. 

“How do you want me?” You asked, a raspy whisper that had Eddie’s cock lurching, tip leaking with his own excitement. Your hand grabbing at his arms, his shoulders, his back, pulling him closer and closer to you 

“Get on all fours for me, baby.” Eddie growled, a sharp squeeze to your ass that had you squealing, scrambling to the disheveled bed, crawling until you were in a table top position. 

Eddie grinned, swiping the camera off the bed, checking the film. “Look back at me. Yeah, fuuuck yes, baby just like that.” He groaned, holding the camera to his eye, looking at you through the tiny hole. Your chin hooked over your shoulder, ass high in the air, arched and presented so he could see every single inch of you. 

The flash stunned you, blinking even though you were expecting it. “That’s the star?” You asked, brow lifted in question. “Thought you’d want something better than that.” 

“Oh, that’s not the star.” Eddie smirked, shaking the Polaroid. “This one’s just for me, sweetheart. You just look pretty. Wanted it all for myself.” 

You blush, heat spreading from the tip of your ears, to the tingling euphoric rush in your toes. “Ed,” You huffed. “Please, can you- can you hurry up?” 

Eddie’s brow raised, challenging- warning. “I said please,” You pout, that nasally pinch to your tone reserved just for him at times like this. His weakness. 

“I heard you.” Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing the camera beside him, grabbing you by the small of your waist, yanking you back towards him. “Stick that ass out f’me. You know how I want you.” A sharp smack to your ass had you squealing, Eddie’s jaw flexing at the sound, silencing the groan that threatened to spill from his throat. 

Your back arched, sinking your lower half down so your ass raised higher, cheek pressed to the mattress. Eddie stroked himself, eyes trained on your puffy lips. “You ready for me?” Eddie rasped, calloused hands gripping the fatty flesh of your ass, spreading your open wide. 

“Mmhmm,” You squirmed, hands gripping the sheets, arching further and further. 

Eddie’s right hand left your ass, fingers swiping over your sopping folds. The gasp you gave was music to his ears, a heavenly sound, light and airy- it made his heart race, cheeks flushed with rushing excited heat. It wasn’t what you expected, not in this position anyways. 

“You excited, hm?” Eddie grinned, voice rising to that taunting tone that had you clenching around his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you. “You like the idea of me takin’ photos of you like this, don’t you? Dirty girl.” 

“Yeah,” You breathed lightly, eyes pinching closed in pleasure. “That feels good, Ed.” 

“Does it?” Eddie hummed, pulling his fingers out slowly. You raised, a breathy whine of protest filling the room, Eddie’s hand on your spine pressing you down before you could continue. 

His hand found his shaft again, sinking to his knees on the mattress behind you, spreading your arousal easily over his length, tongue sliding over his bottom lip then it was on you. Tongue flattening, licking a long strip from the very top of your cunt, gliding through your folds, stopping to circle over your sopping hole. 

You gasped, a sharp breath of a grunt, hips bucking out of place at the feeling. You were expecting Eddie’s cock, for him to rail you, pin your arms to the small of your back and fuck you into the mattress. 

Eddie’s nose traced over your drenched entrance, lips curling and suckling around your clit, his free hand jacking himself. His hand would brush over your skin with every hard stroke, leaving you shuddering in its wake. 

“Ed,” You panted, face pressed into the mattress to try and keep your pathetic whines and cries in. “Please, whatever you’re doing just- ohmyfuckin’god- don’t stop.” 

Eddie groaned, vibrations sending shock waves straight to your core, hips rocking back towards his face as best as you could in the awkwardly bent position, folded in two practically so he could devour you. He stroked himself harder, faster with every whimper and whine that fell from your lips. 

He knew that you were close, the way your toes curled, hips jolting with every hollowed cheek suckle of his lips on your clit. He could feel his own high coming, slowing his strokes to time his release. Eddie wanted you to cum first- wanted that dazed, glassy eyed tinge in your eyes, when you looked positively picture perfect. 

And he got his money shot. That tree topping, perfect picture, better than what he could have imagined. Your cheeks glowing, teary eyes rounded, looking up perfectly at him with your tongue out, collecting every drop of his release while Eddie grunted out babbling praises that left you flushing with heat. 

“That’s the one.” Eddie grinned, chest still shining with a sheen of sweat, a pink flush down his tattooed torso. He flicked the Polaroid in his hand a few more times, grinning proudly at the photo, his own masterpiece. 

“That’s it?” You hummed, head rushing with that post-orgasm gooey feeling that had your heart swelling, cheek pressed to Eddie’s pillow. It smelled like him- citrusy Gain detergent, faint spicy cologne that was muted in the second hand transfer to the cotton, and his tea tree shampoo. You pressed your face further into the cotton, hands sneaking under the pillow, peeking out at Eddie from your place on the bed. 

“This is the one, babe.” Eddie nodded, rummaging through the small box of ornaments for what he was looking for, a cheap, plastic star. “This is a star worthy photo.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” You giggle. “Glad I could make your vision come true.” 

Eddie smirked, adjusting the star so it sat perched on top of the tree, the Polaroid taped to it. He stepped back, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork. You sitting back on your thighs, love drunk look in your eyes, tongue out showing off his release proudly, a tiny sliver of his tip in the bottom corner of the shot. 

His picture perfect star. The only thing he wanted on top of his tree. 

[neiveel3llson]

Not Big Enough (ficlet)

Warnings: Afab! Reader, Dacryphilia, one-shot, 'imagine fucking Vox w his own dick', ramble/ficlet, Sub! Vox, Dommy Mommy, use of 'mommy', smut

In the words of @bigfatbimbo, the power struggle with this man is real. Your first Christmas as an actual couple, he gifted you a replica of his own dick to feed his own ego and to impress people he wants recognition from.

He whispered shit into your ear like 'Can't wait to fuck you tonight', almost like he knew he was gonna be squealing 'mommy' and ruining his voice box. And that's what happened.

He was sat on the bed, the mattress soaked with spit and lube, dick impossibly hard and waterfalling milky precum against his stomach as he cried and rocked his ass against the dildo. Against his own dick.

"Awwe, is it too small, baby?~" You cooed in a sickly sweet voice, which he sobbed at, gently holding the bottom of his screen, feeling his pink saliva and tears run down your hand. It never took much to beat him down, to destroy his ego until he was sobbing and whimpering like a child who lost their toy. He'd come at a touch of your fingers on his aching dick, which is why you kept your hands on his screen.

"Momm- mmnz- mommy, need- need you- hic.." He glitched and sobbed, rocking desperately on the dick he made for you, the dick that wasn't even good enough for him.

"Selfish slut. You expect me to help you get off? How am I meant to get pleasure from that when even you can't?" You asked harshly, a complete 180 from your previous sickly sweet tone, grasping his neck with a strong grip, hearing him gargle slightly before sobbing again. You were right, you always were.

"'M sorry, mommy, I- hnzz- I'll be better next- hic- time- please, please, mommy, please-" He sobbed out desperately, throwing his head back from the grip on his neck, scrunching your shirt tightly in his clawed hands, which had already clawed up the sheets. "It's not big- gghz- enough-"

He whispers airily, slowing his rocking as he pleads for you, pleads for you to let him cum.

"Well, you asked for it.." You mumbled, reaching your hand down and quickly beginning to jack him off, moving your fists up and down at a fast pace, eating up the wet Noises almost outruling his keening. This carried on for the rest of the night, until not only the lights shut off, but he did to..

. . • ° ° • . . • ° ° •. . • ° ° •. . • ° ° •. . • ° ° • . .

AHHHSNXJWKDNFNSISJ

[centrally-unplanned]

Let's see if I have one more election take in me:

I am deeply sympathetic to Sam Kriss's rage against the Democratic corpo-political shibboleth, and not just because we are both deeply enmeshed in the grand tradition of dissident Oxbridge-style cantankerous internet rants. He is right that Kamala was a weak candidate, for one. But more importantly, I still feel what he feels deep down. I remember the starry idealism of my halcyon youth, of believing that conviction, that vision, that the zeal only a platform birthed from authentic principles, tempered by struggle and sweat, would carry the day over crass, paint-by-polling-numbers incrementalism. When he describes Harris thusly:

"She’s a machine politician. She wants power, but not for any particular reason. It’s just that life is a game, and the point is to reach the highest level."

I see my own reaction to her when she first stepped into the 2020 limelight, and low-key hating her for it. I feel his heart, for it is my heart.

But it is not my brain. Because I am not a teenager anymore, and his critique is fucking bullshit.

He says all this stuff like:

The reason Kamala Harris lost is the same as the reason she was the candidate to begin with: the Democratic Party is allergic to democracy.

And how the electorate is seen as but ants from inside the towers of the Machine, like the Dems just invented "not running a primary" this time as a lark. As opposed to neither party in America ever having primaries against incumbent presidents! Because they are normally popular, and it would be a waste of everyone's time to do that! Could you imagine, launching a real primary against Obama in 2012? And possibly sabotaging his brand a bit for absolutely nothing? It is a reasonable policy, particularly when incumbents used to have an advantage for being so. Now they clearly don't, Biden was unpopular and too old, and the Dems took too long to realize it. A costly mistake, but it is a purely strategic error. Big orgs have inertia, and the Dems fucked up. It has nothing to do with an "allergy to democracy".

And Kriss can go off summarizing how the Harris campaign was offering voters nothing:

But for some unaccountable reason, among the general public, ‘Kamala: You Already Like Her!’ was not the brilliant pitch it seemed to be. [...] Another option would be to actually offer something to the voters.

Which sounds neat, but he made it up! I remember Kamala's actual campaign speeches, ads, and platforms, which she repeated so monotonically in her tightly-scripted campaign appearances: protect abortion rights, expand the welfare state, provide better child care support, lower the cost of housing. And most importantly, she ran on Biden's record of a strong economy and promised to deliver more of it. What does even mean for this to not be a real platform? Beyond not having some synthesized, totalizing "Critique" of modernity that packages it all into a beautiful, systematizing little box.

Because I promise you, voters synthesize jack shit. None of this is why Harris lost - voters have made that pretty clear:

You can find other data ofc, this or that point varies, but the story is not opaque. They didn't like Biden! They didn't like his inflation. They didn't like immigration, or they didn't like his liberalism, and they thought Kamala was too similar. She had too much policy baggage. And she wasn't charismatic enough to dig herself out of that hole - no disagreement from me on that front.

Though even then, by that we mean she lost an election by ~3-4% margins after getting subbed in at the 4th quarter while down by ~8% in the polls. That ain't bad!

None of the voters who matter share Kriss's sensibilities, and he cannot hide his disappointment in that. So he pretends that Donald Trump, the guy who promised 20% tariffs on everything to fight inflation, is giving them a real vision:

That’s what Trump did: he offered an enemy to blame and the prospect of doing violence to them

I don't know man, I think swing voters just don't like the last four years and think 2019 was better. I don't think the promises of orgastic violence against democrats are why Trump won! Actually a bit of an unforced error on his part.

But since Kriss presumes to value democracy, that thesis can't hold - so the lack of reality delivering on what his vision for democracy should be is displaced onto Harris's mistakes. The voters can never fail you. You can only fail to elevate them with the right candidate. Which, tactically? Sure, why not. But you can leave the moralism at the classroom door.

This ties into our dreaded media discourse debate, so it is time to bring in another explainer, by Michael Tomasky:

The line-by-line isn't interesting here; instead I want to focus on this quote:

Weren’t they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didn’t his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldn’t they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldn’t do anything weird as president? The answer is obviously no—not enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, “I give up.”

To which the immediate reply is: my dude, what are you talking about??

A 56 percent majority of Americans say Trump is probably guilty of a criminal conspiracy to overturn the 2020 election results through false claims of voter fraud, including 40 percent who believe he is “definitely guilty.” Republicans are less united than Democrats. Nearly 9 in 10 Democrats believe Trump is guilty, while nearly 7 in 10 Republicans think he is innocent. Among independents, nearly twice as many think Trump is guilty as think he is innocent.

You know how when you ~13 years old, and you have that friend who is just old enough to start taking Dungeons & Dragons books filled with splash art of succubi into the bathroom with him, but not yet old enough to get that "talking to girls" is an acquired skill? And they are blatantly, openly salivating over the first chick in the 7th grade class who discovered what power the combination of a camisole and a push-up bra holds over the male gaze? And she just completely ignores his faltering attempts at ~casual conversation~, so his brain script-cycles through its backlog of tween sitcom plots until it lands on, "Hey, what if I confess to her? Then she will know about my feelings!"

And you have to pull him aside and gently explain that, bro. She knows. That is not your problem.

Kriss is too intelligent a thinker to not understand this, but our dear Tomasky - and so many like him - has stuck his 14-year-old head in the sand over this. Swing voters know Trump is a scumbag! They know he lost the election, they know he raped a few women in his day, they know he is a serial fraudster. Even a bunch of those Republicans who, in polls, go "oh it's all a Dem conspiracy"? They know too; they just have the decency to lie about it. How could they not? Every media outlet in the country has been repeating it for a fucking decade! I might think voters are morons but even I won't stoop this low; they have eyes and ears, they aren't illiterate.

They just don't care.

Not enough at least, not enough to make it the only thing they consider. And here is the rub, here is the grand mistake Kriss & Tomasky are making - they are at least somewhat right to not care. The height of the Democratic privilege is that they get to play this card because they don't have to deal with it being turned against them. Kamala is a political chameleon but she is a decent person. She would never take a bribe from a foreign government, she would never assault a coworker, she would never, ever, deny a free and fair election.

Which means you don't have to choose between voting for a rapist and voting for someone who is going to shove a bullshit interpretation of the 14th amendment down your throat via a stacked court to ban abortion nationwide, forever. Pro-life people think abortion is genocide against babies! Why are you surprised they aren't voting for the pro-baby-genocide person because she is nice? How sure are you that you would do the same when that is reversed? I guess those boycott-Harris-because-of-Gaza people got some cred, but I think we all agreed they were dumb, right?

This is the rub of why outsiders always have so much difficulty understanding how people like Berlusconi, Trump, Le Pen, etc, get so much vote share - they have no stake in the political struggle beyond the vague idea of democratic norms. It is easy to say "Italy, choose a non-crook!" when you don't have to live with the policy programme of the other guy. From the inside the price of those principles is far, far harder. It isn't shocking that most choose not to pay it.

This isn't to give voters like a moral pass - Trump's conduct is truly disqualifying, I would vote Republican if the shoe was on the other foot in this case. My point instead is that they generally won't as a simple fact of life, and blaming them is futile. If you have wound up in a situation where the political system has taken its pool of hundreds of millions of potential candidates and narrowed it down to two for the voters, and one of them has "launched a coup but will say go to hell to the inflation guy" as a bundled package, someone fucked up and it isn't the voters.

You need political elites to do their part in the system - Republicans never should have let Trump be their candidate in 2016. Open primaries with no organizational thumbs on the scale are a mistake, actually, allowing arbitrary minorities to generate subpar candidates. The decision to let Biden run again was, fundamentally, born from the same impulse - the Democratic Party had no leadership capable of telling him no, because they outsourced that job to "primaries". The Dems are not "allergic" to democracy; democracy is allergic to too much of itself.

But the cat is out of the bag now! These changes happened for a reason after all. Which I won't dig into here - I will keep my point as focused as something as sprawling as this can be. Voters will not save you, and you should not be disappointed when they don't. It was never their job.

[bonesandthebees]

im confused sorry but why is everyone celebrating tommy, jack, and phil talking about dream that way?? im seeing a lot of mixed sides on them talking about this so im so sorry if you cant answer

oh boy anon uh. this is a bit like opening pandora's box ngl.

I don't know how much context to give but basically a very very pared down version is: back when the dsmp was in its heyday with cctommy being, yknow, 16 years old, there were some instances of interactions he and dream had that seemed off in certain ways, but given that us fans only saw the public thing + general fandom opinion of dream being very different at that time we generally tended to believe that the interactions were joking and friendly on all sides

over the years, as we've come to learn more about the person dream really is a lot of fans have looked back on these somewhat strange interactions with a more critical eye. specifically with the podcast clip I reblogged, tommy, jack, and phil were referring to a twitter interaction dream and tommy had back in 2021. tommy had made a dumb joke about dream, dream replied basically saying he made tommy's career and that tommy owed his success to him and even posted graphs of sub counts and stuff to prove his point?? I don't remember exactly what the reply was but it was along those lines and was strangely aggressive for an obvious joke tommy was making. so phil replied to dream with his own tweet basically saying "imagine taking credit for another creator's success because you helped guide them a bit" which was such an eloquent and simple takedown that the tweet has achieved somewhat legendary status in the fanbase lol

so yeah, in the podcast tommy, jack, and phil were talking about the behind the scenes of that whole thing basically revealing what most of us figured: tommy was joking and dream took it way too seriously and got aggressive publicly on twitter with someone who was ostensibly his friend, who he could've just dmed to clear things up. the reason phil jumped in is because tommy had dmed him at the time asking phil to help because he wasn't sure if dream was trying to joke as well or if he was genuinely pissed at him.

also on this podcast (which is a bonus episode only technically available on their paid patreon) tommy, jack, and phil all talked pretty openly about their true feelings regarding dream during that time and also now. basically, what phil and jack were both saying was there were a lot of red flags with dream's behavior back then with the way he treated the people around him. it's basically very cathartic for a lot of the fanbase to hear about this because we've all suspected for a long time there was a lot more animosity between cc's behind the scenes, especially after that spilled over to dream's public behavior on twitter.

sorry if that's not exactly coherent I am tired but I hope that explains things a bit

[the-gimmick-archive]

Pinned post. (Will update.)

This is a shared blog made to archive important things that happen in the gimmickverse.

The current mods are: @justazebra (admin), @i-dont-know-how-to-name-this.

If we make a mistake, please tell us.

Please @ us if you see an important event happen, especially wars.

Send us an ask if you want to know about a certain event, we’ll do our best to find it.

If you have the link to something important that we didn't archive yet (especially if it happened before this blog started existing), please send it to us.

Shadowban Survival Guide

(scroll down on the guide)

List of arcs and events:

The color war:

Earliest point in the arc we could find. The purple revolution begins. Green joins the revolution.

That time when figuratively everyone got possessed:

Earliest point in the arc we could find.

The UwU revolution:

Earliest point in the arc we could find.

Sealand dying and being revived:

Death. Revival. Death again, but this time they become death's assistant.

IKEA-Party City War:

Earliest point in the arc.

Goose god vs. Waste management war:

Earliest point. Waste management also declaring war. Goose god and waste management making an alliance to stop @/france-unofficial from attacking bean and making Bean sad.

New Zealand vs. Australia war:

Earliest point. New Zealand changing targets to England instead.

Bean getting kidnapped:

Earliest point.

Bean getting kidnapped again (by gimmick nose thief this time.):

Earliest point. Waste management selling their soul so they can see bean again. Molossia scratching and paralyzing Sealand. Sealand getting their souls stolen by gimmick nose thief.

List of gimmick blogs (copied from @/gimmick-simp, @/antarcitica-official, and @/celestial-same-picverse, and then added some missing ones):

@totally-official-gmail @totally-amazon @pizza-hut-official @spotify-official @truly-jcjenson

@bigbasket-notreally @discorddotcum-official @homedepot @im-pandora-i-promise @femboy-totally-bing

@kahoot-official @100percent-shell-oil @assistant-to-the-shell @truly-bath-and-body-works @definitely-tiktok-trust

@unofficially-joann-fabric @its-sanrio-official @the-real-gmail @apple-unofficial @jack-in-the-box-official

@official-arbys @officialtinder @realgoogleslides @reallytimhortons @officially-ikea

@claires-unofficial @barnes-and-noble-official @realgoogleclassroom @real-sephora @pizza-hut-unofficial

@google-news-official @totally-official-gmail @bingle-official @basically-bumble @def-bjs-guys

@official-opera-gx @official-firefox-nightly @the-mcdonalds @realgoogledocs @mcdonalds-official

@totally-bing @operagxreal @official-fedex @firehouse-subs-fr @k-f-c-official

@the-real-google @totally-ikea @taco-bell-unofficial @spotify-kids-real @the-real-victorias-secret

@subway-official @big-mayo-official @/realsafari @incognito-mode-official @burgerking-official

@definitely-wikipedia @the-one-and-only-pornhub @the-one-and-only-duckduckgo @its-target-official @yes-im-youtube-kids

@walmart-the-official @duothelingo @firefox-official @femboy-hooters-real @fedex-official

@yamaha-official @youtubefr @actually-x @reality-official

@femboy-google-news-official @50percent-shell-oil @yahooo-official @totally-airbus @the-official-spirit-airlines

@100percent-chipotle @unofficialvine

@totally-brazil @totally-italy @very-real-australia @the-province-of-nova-scotia-real @official-new-zealand

@russia-totallyofficial @quebec-official @india-official @india-reblogs @telangana-official

@denmark-official @pakistan-official @definitely-brasil @non-tyrannical-usa @antarcitica-official

@spain-unofficial @definitely-canada @france-unofficial @the-state-of-georgia-official @official-denmark

@denmark-forreal @official-ireland @texas-real @massachusetts-official @new-york-for-real

@definitelytherepublicofireland @true-blue-straya @totally-germany @official-the-united-states @totally-france

@forever-scotland @germany-official @sovereign-state-of-alaska @guatemala-official @republic-of-molossia

@actually-alberta @the-principality-of-sealand @totally-oregon @yugoslavia-official

@the-chill-planet-uranus @the-serene-moon-luna @earth-fan @deimos-moon-of-terror @officially-capricorn

@the-radiant-sun @the-ringed-planet-saturn @the-red-planet-mars @the-real-uranus @celestial-same-picverse

@officially-taurus @the-lovely-planet-earth @posts-with-10000-notes-in-spirit @/i-hesitantly-say-ok

@i-say-not-ok @i-say-ok @the-us-navy-offical

@woo-in-different-lengths @official-garlic-bread @shakespeare-official-reblogs @gimmick-thief @hold-my-dr-pepper

@oscar-wilde-official-account @the-real-illinois @i-say-grape @the-kingdom-of-norway @denmarklandia-official

@i-say-bean @sweden-official @antarcitica-official @gimmick-nose-thief @gimmick-thief-thief

@tamil-nadu-official @tamilnadu-official @anti-totally-bing @antiquitian-empire @rocks-anon

@tagswoman @actual-aspec-military @pansexual-spaceforce @the-aplatonic-cavalry @the-pointing-anon

@bi-poly-space-station @bisexual-airforce @aro-sp-ace-force @nonbinary-coastguard @demi-demolitions

@queer-military-authorities @queer-military-treasury @the-missiles-guy @the-official-goose-god @the-official-gemini

@actual-transgender-navy @genderfluid-marine-corp @real-australian-army @real-hottopic

@same-pic-of-venus-everyday @same-pic-of-the-earth-everyday @same-pic-of-the-moon-everyday @same-pic-of-mars-everyday @same-pic-of-jupiter-everyday

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[impishjesters]

Jax-in-a-box Part 2

warning(s): suggestive/implied sexual content/language, potential out-of-character Jax (look you're just so big and it's distracting okay... let him be distracted and have thoughts), bratty(?) Jax note(s): I swear this wasn't intending to go down this route of horny rabbit man, but I was feeling some dom/sub vibe and it just happened I'm so sorry, I don't know why I'm like this. A/N: I wanted Jax to feel teeny so the reader is at least 9 ft/274 cm minimum. Man, Pomni must look like a step stool next to the reader... Also, this would take place at some point in the dating stage. Also, this is the same original requester of the Jack in the box reader, thank you for requesting more this was really fun to write~ request: I’m just requesting a little story if your up to continuing that request. So what l’m thinking is just a little scenario of the reader completely coming out of their box for the first time (well the first time they were caught) Mabye the scenario has Jax coming into reader’s room unexpectedly and seeing reader chilling outside their box? Though of course you can do/write anything you’d like for this. I’d like it if you made the reader even taller, since they are actually standing this time instead of being in their box.

While being inside your box brought a level of comfort your bedroom couldn’t provide, that didn’t mean you didn’t use it. No, the privacy of your bedroom was used to stretch your legs—something the others, specifically Jax, hadn’t known about. Not that it was a secret, you just loved seeing it wrack his brain as to what lay beneath.

The box sat abandoned, lid wide open as you lay in the provided bed just a few feet too small for you. It’s not like Caine had expected someone as tall as you after all, you aren’t even sure if Caine is aware you can even exit the box, but you made do and got yourself nice and comfy to relax.

You plucked up an interesting-looking book earlier from Caine’s weird collection of provided reading material. Nothing risque sadly, but you can’t help but feel like Caine has never even read any of these and merely plucked them from whatever and just willed them into existence.

The next hour easily passed, nose buried into the book, so much so that you didn’t even hear the jingling of your locked door being forced open. Hell, you didn’t even notice until he said something.

The first thing Jax saw was your box, empty, his eyes shifting to the bed to see long legs dangling off the bed before he realized who it was. Well, of course, it was you, it was your room and it was locked.

“You have fucking legs?!”

You snorted and finally looked up from the book, Jax looked completely flabbergasted, and fuck, if only you had a camera. “Just normal legs, but they could do that too.”

Jax didn’t even have it in him to retort to that little comment, no he was far too focused on the fact you had fucking legs. He’d been entirely convinced that you didn’t have anything below the waist, it’s like that box had this weird black fog that looked like a void you were just coming out of. There are so many questions he wants to ask…

How the fuck do you fit in the box with legs that long? Do you sit with your legs crossed or on your knees? Do they just vanish into that weird black void? Have you been just weirdly seat-jumping around this whole time?

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t even process that you moved to sit at the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. It’s not until you clear your throat that he realizes how close he’s gotten and wow, you’re just sitting and you’re able to look him straight in the eye. Is this awakening something in him? God, he hopes not.

“What can I do for you, my little cotton tail?”

You loved the dumb little pet name, he claimed to hate it and it stuck. If he was gonna call you all sorts of dumb pet names he was going to get at least one of his own.

Jax cringed at the name and rubbed his face as if that would get rid of the growing blush. “Stop it with the name would ya?”

“Then stop calling me Jack.”

He waved his hand before snorting out a “Nah”.

“Fine, at least stop calling me Boxxie.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s cute.”

It was your turn to cringe, he only called you that because he was convinced you were a box when you first showed up. A sentient box, how fun. “Was there a reason you came lock-picking into my room?”

“Tsk tsk tsk, I’m not a heathen to stoop so low as to lock pick.” he held up one of the many keys in his possession. “I used a key.”

A chuckle left you, accompanied by an eye roll. “Yeah okay, that I didn’t say you could have but it’s you so I’ll let it slip. Now spill cotton tail.”

Jax’s face scrunched up at the name again before moving closer, forcing your ankles to unlock so he could stand between your legs. “I wanted to see if you’d give me the honors of helping in a little mischief. But after seeing your legs I’m not sure if I wanna go cause mischief or stay and admire them in their spread-out glory.”

“The only legs getting spread are yours, cotton tail.” Reaching out you placed a hand on his hip, your fingers easily wrapping around him, your thumb meeting your middle finger on his other hip. “Who do you want to bully now? It better not be Pomni again, that poor girl doesn’t need another scare so soon.”

He swallowed hard, eyes glued to his waist and the way your hand just completely wrapped around him. You’ve done it before but in a setting like this, it just hit differently. “It’s not bullying, she’ll be fiiine.”

Jax cleared his throat and used the arm closest to him as his own armrest, you easily supported his weight as he crossed one foot over the other. He was trying hard to play this whole situation off, he was supposed to be in charge and you’ve gone and taken the upper hand without even trying. “So uh, h-how tall are you now? Ya know, without the box.”

That was a good question.

You gestured for Jax to step back and he did so hesitantly before you pulled yourself up, grumbling at the way your knees hurt from getting off the already low-ass bed. Truly a downside to being taller than the furniture here, something you didn’t experience until you started taking breaks outside the box.

Jax let out a string of unintelligible words as you stood to your full height. He knew you were big before but you were a lot taller than he thought you’d be, god his neck already hurt. Is this how Pomni felt standing next to him? God, you could just, break him…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You tried not to look so smug, but god damn if it wasn’t satisfying to see such a thirsty yet bewildered expression on the usually smug rabbit’s face. Truthfully you weren’t too sure just how tiny Jax would be at your full height, he’d already seemed small before but now you could just toss him like a Javelin spear.

“I take that back, sit your ass down.”

“Make me.” You crossed your arms with a grin and simply watched him curiously.

“Don’t think I won’t climb your raggedy ass and—”

“And what cotton tail?” He flinched when you bent down to get in his face. “Can’t knock me down if you climb me, not that you could on the ground either.”

Jax chuckled nervously but didn’t back down. “Oh yeah? Wanna try?”

Looks like causing mischief would be put on hold for an hour or two.

[dxrkxess]

.｡.:* ☆ intro post! ☆.｡.:*

«--- i hope that this helps in knowing me a bit more!! ---»

☆.｡.:* about me ☆.｡.:*

«--- hey hey! my name is shela -- i'm 22 years old (bday is 9/27 ♎) -- black + native american -- pronouns are she/they, though i don't really care for gender labels, i just exist lmao -- i'm bisexual + demiromantic, also single (painfully) -- also a person of faith, but my queerness and faith walk hand in hand with each other ---»

«--- i'm an avid fanfiction writer & reader (never a day w/o ao3) -- semi-retired video editor of 8+ years -- photo editor (sometimes) -- playlist maker -- binge watcher of mostly pro wrestling & other media (will be listed below) ---»

«--- i do have undiagnosed adhd, and possibly autism -- i love talking and rambling if you let me, most often through voice messages and discord calls (sorry not sorry) -- also absolutely love cats! rip in cat heaven to my cat kitty 💔 (10/7/24) ---»

☆.｡.:* interests .｡.:*☆

«--- pro wrestling (as it is the main interest here) -- wwe fan from july 2012 - april 2025; full time aew fan since april 2025 (locked in properly this year!) -- my faves (from both) are: 'hangman' adam page, swerve strickland, will ospreay, kyle fletcher, toni storm, mercedes moné, willow nightingale, seth rollins, drew mcintyre, tony d'angelo, ricky saints, tatum paxley, lyra valkyria, johnny gargano (nxt era), tommaso ciampa (nxt era) ---»

«--- tv shows / web series / animes / movies -- interview with the vampire (iwtv), gotham, supernatural (spn), dead boy detectives (dbd), 9-1-1 (well... it's complicated. iykyk.), it's always sunny in philadelphia (iasip), conclave (2024), wicked (2024), sonic the hedgehog (movies), sonic prime, knives out (movies), mcu (specifically deadpool & loki), arcane, jojo's bizarre adventure, 91 days, jujutsu kaisen, blue exorcist, don't hug me i'm scared, sanders sides (and more) ---»

«--- games -- cookie run: kingdom, mortal kombat, undertale, undertale yellow, deltarune (GO CHECK OUT CHAPTERS 3 + 4 NOW), hades, persona 5, ace attorney (wrightworth canon.), geometry dash, the sims, castlevania, sonic the hedgehog, detroit: become human (and more) ---»

«--- music / artists / osts -- note: i do listen to a lot of things, these are just some my faves! -- hamilton (i have a poster, the physical cds, AND can remember the whole soundtrack from start to finish.), the greatest showman, will wood, mitski, jack stauber, prince, the neighbourhood, kendrick lamar, david kushner, toby fox (undertale/deltarune osts), capcom (castlevania/ace attorney osts), sega (sonic the hedgehog osts), & just rnb/old school music in general!! ---»

«--- separate section for: wrestling themes!! -- black hat ('hangman' adam page), elevated (will ospreay), big pressure (swerve strickland), ceo (mercedes moné), diamonds up (kyle fletcher), into the rico-verse (ricochet), strictly business (tony d'angelo), no one will survive (tommaso ciampa) -- i have more but that's just a taste haha ---»

☆.｡.:* other things of note .｡.:*☆

«--- please dni/unfollow if you are: racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, a pedophile, etc. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS SPACE. ---»

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«--- s/o to my friends/moots: @punk-o-ween @c-will @orangepunched @bestboutmachines @pinkwillow @peachyomega @priyalively @thisbarbieisdefyinggravity @peppsta @glitterkairi @lghockey @st4rry4pples ---»