#that's always a real hit with the audience

[girl4music]

“So why does She-Ra’s power of love ending work? The simplest way to put it is that She-Ra is a show about love (among other things), so rather than seeming forced and incongruous, making love the heart of the show’s climax makes perfect sense.”

Simply put. As you said.

Because the entire show as an emotional resonance for the audience that is watching is a complex love story.

“Is Power of Love stronger than the Love of Power?”

Nailed it!

And yes. The fact that it is a queer love story between 2 lead female characters adds on to the Power of Love theme because there is more challenges in queer love.

It’s not as easy as straight love and it should be depicted that way. She-Ra pulls no punches on it.

The ending in the theme of Power of Love hits and lands because they really make it something to work towards as a victory by employing how hard and scary it is to love and be loved as a queer person throughout the entirety of the TV show. It’s a real triumph as a culmination of so much difficultly and hardship both lead characters have dealt with - and kids show or not - are honest with. Indy knew this was the RIGHT ending.

The Power of Love is a theme or trope that’s exploited in TV so much that I always just groan and roll my eyes whenever I see it used as a “conclusion” because in essence, it’s just not used in the RIGHT way in that it’s not taken seriously as the very complex theme that it is and it’s why I can’t stand watching pure romance TV shows/films or just romance storytelling in general. The stakes are never high enough so it all just falls very flat.

She-Ra takes the Power of Love theme and trope as a serious conclusion and it resonates so very strongly and powerfully emotionally, narratively, thematically, sonically… Characteristically…

It just works because the show itself is all about love and the power that it can have on an individual life.

It’s the right ending for She-Ra - for the lead characters especially - because it concludes their individual arcs.

Adora learns that she can have love and she doesn’t have to throw away her destiny or duty to have it. That it doesn’t have to be either one or the other. It can be both and that she deserves to have both as a person.

Catra learns that love has always been at the forefront of what she wanted, most desired, she just needed to be brave enough to reach out for it and grab it and hold it and it will be what replaces that dark empty unsafe void that abuse and trauma and hardship has put there.

What they’re saying isn’t just that love wins (that’s obvious), but love heals too. Love is what heals pain.

Whether it be romantic love, maternal love, familial love,… it doesn’t matter. The Power of Love is the point.

The fact a kids show can do that and so many adult shows struggle like hell really just goes to show that people do really believe that love is weak and finite.

I pity those people so much. I know why I’m not like that and it’s because of another TV show where the Power of Love - redemptive love in particular - is present and done so well that I am grounded in its lessons and it will always be what I believe in most.

And She-Ra very much reminds me of that TV show. A children’s animated version of ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’.

@boopblep

@sevenlascaras

@itsaboringname

This is the final post of my not-quite-thesis on why Catradora is the greatest love story in the history of kids TV and arguably the greatest love story in TV history, period. In the first installment, I covered how Catra and Adora’s character arcs compliment each other and how they come apart and together over the course of the series. In the second, I covered how the ambiguities and conflicts of their relationship deepen their story and, by making their relationship conflict the central conflict in the story, make the relationship itself the center of the story. In the third I talked about how important Catra and Adora’s (intense) desire for each other is both in the show’s plot and in its themes. If you want to read these, I’ve linked them below. To tie these together and wrap everything up, I’m going to talk about what these elements add up to on the screen: She-Ra is the rare show that actually pulls off a Power of Love ending. More than pulling it off, She-Ra makes the power of love one of the most inspiring and stirring and exciting themes I could imagine. And I hate power of love endings. So how did they do it?

First, let’s talk about the power of love as a trope in the conclusion of action/adventure fantasy or sci-fi stories. So to clarify, when I say ‘the Power of Love’ I mean the use of love as an explicitly or implicitly magical source of power (or, in more realistic stories, inspiration) that allows a hero to overcome their final challenge and triumph. It’s common, perhaps particularly common in kids media. I suspect one plus it offers to writers is that it gives a romance sideplot more narrative significance, thus tying it into the main plot, plus it’s inspiring and warm and fuzzy and optimistic. But it’s deployed so often that it’s essentially a cliche, and if we look at how it’s used I think we can see why. Here are several ways in which The Power of Love doesn’t work. Most of these involve it not fitting with the rest of the story, or seeming contrived, IE a Deus Ex Machina, but the different reasons for this are important:

Most mundanely, the Power of Love couldn’t have any place in the story’s world. Introducing love as a powerful force at the conclusion of your story when you haven’t mentioned it beforehand can feel like a worldbuilding Deus Ex machina as you change the rules to suit narrative convenience.

More deeply, sometimes The Power of Love doesn’t fit thematically or tonally with the rest of the story. If a story is emotionally realistic and fraught, with lots of shades of gray, pain, and even atrocities, and doesn’t include notes of hope or humanism, throwing in ‘and then he was saved by the power of love’ at the end is practically a Deus Ex Machina, thematically. If you’ve created a cynical world, a gushingly optimistic ending is jarring. It may outright contradict a lot of the show’s other themes. A milder example are shows that are optimistic but not particularly concerned with love, thematically, and how these may do a disservice to their other themes by placing so much emphasis on love (particularly romantic love) in their conclusion. Ideally, a story’s ending should wrap up the themes its concerned itself with - it should provide the audience something to take away. This doesn’t have to be a decisive or triumphant conclusion, it could be an open question or even something that is quite disturbing, but the ending of a story should be -about- the same things that the story was about, generally speaking.

On a similar note, sometimes The Power of Love doesn’t fit narratively. If a romance plot is a fairly minor part of a work of fiction, having the final battle hinge on the power of love derived from that romance plot feels like a -narrative- nonsequitur. If a TV show has spent most of its run time on political plots, training montages and action sequences and three episodes on a romantic arc and then it’s the romantic arc that turns out to be the most decisive in the end, there’s a disconnect between the emphasis that the narrative itself puts on the various threads of the plot, versus what the ending is -saying- their importance is. 

Relatedly, On a character level, if most of the story has been about a character’s growth as an individual and if that has no connection to their romantic relationship then a power of love ending is irrelevant to that development, and might even subvert it (as might be the case if a straight, female protagonist whose been presented as independent is saved by the power of her love for a minor male character). Digging deeper, if characters aren’t motivated by love, if it isn’t want drives them through the story, then making love the narrative hinge of the story’s climax doesn’t fit with what the characters want and thus who they are.

Finally, and more philosophically, generally speaking these kinds of endings just feel kind of glib and false. Not only optimistic, they feel naive or even dishonest in telling us that the power of love can save us. Because nothing is ever that simple in our lives, is it? Love isn’t simple. It is often painful, fraught, and difficult. Stories that ignore this and simply celebrate love’s power aren’t true to our experience. Put another way, stories can fail to land a power of love ending when they don’t understand what love even is.

Now all of these reasons are closely related. A story that doesn’t provide much narrative emphasis on love probably doesn’t have love as a major theme. And a story that hasn’t explored love in any kind of depth will naturally feel kind of false and glib when it concludes that The Power of Love WIll Save Us. Really, this applies to any thematic conclusion, not just this one - whenever a story’s ending doesn’t reflect what the story itself is about and whenever it doesn’t show thought and depth in how it delivers it, it feels false and hollow. Looking back at how much I’ve enjoyed, or not enjoyed, various endings, I think that this explains a lot of my reactions.

To use an example, Steven Universe was a great, complex, emotionally nuanced and often very dark show with a lot of fascinating themes and insights into human psychology and relationships that ended its Diamond Age arc on a simple message about accepting yourself, and I feel like that’s one of several reasons the Diamond’s ‘redemption’ (such as it is) rings hollow (there’s more wrong with that than this, though). None of that complexity or nuance or darkness or depth was addressed, let alone incorporated into the actual ending of the original TV run (I won’t get into Future and the Movie). At least, I didn’t see it (then again, this is very much tied in with my larger feelings about SU, which is my frustration that it didn’t double down on and follow through with my favorite elements and characters, which I loved so much, and instead began to emphasize simpler and more easily digested themes and easier answers).

So why does She-Ra’s power of love ending work? The simplest way to put it is that She-Ra is a show about love (among other things), so rather than seeming forced and incongruous, making love the heart of the show’s climax makes perfect sense. But this is me, so let’s dive into the details of this - how is She-Ra about love, and how does Catra and Adora’s relationhip’s culmination in the kiss tie that up?

The first key is that She-Ra is -narratively- and structurally a love story, not simply an adventure story with a romance plot. As I mentioned in the first essay of this series, Catra and Adora’s arcs are interwoven as they diverge and then converge over the show’s run. More than that, their arcs are compliments to each other, and at the end of them Adora and Catra have grown into more compatible people. Seen through the lens of their relationship, both Catra and Adora’s development is about them growing into women who are capable of loving each other (as well as growing into their own women, and these two are linked). 

In addition, from the very outset the show has established how central Adora and Catra are to each other, and has also shown just how big a hole they leave in each other’s lives, and how only their reconciliation can fill that hole. Put another way, the converse of Adora’s statement in The Promise that ‘Nothing bad can happen as long as we have each other’ is proven in the worst way possible when Adora and Catra both nearly self-destruct when they are apart from each other, because they are missing the person who understands them well enough to help them when they need it most. That, and Adora and Catra -want- each other so much (see the third part of this series), and its established so clearly that to be loved and wanted is central for both of them. Catra doesn’t think she deserves it, and Adora doesn’t think she can even -ask- for it (or even fully think about it) without betraying her destiny or her duty. It’s only at the heart that this central question is answered with their kiss. By making both the depth of their affection and the strength of their desire for each other clear throughout the show, Noelle and the showrunners sell us on how much this relationship and that kiss mean to these characters.

Moreover, because the conflict between Catra and Adora drives the central conflict of the story (as I mentioned in my second essay), the final and decisive resolution of this conflict (indeed, it’s transformation into love) in the kiss is the perfect culmination to the show’s central arc. Rather than a final fight, Season 5 of She-Ra shows Catra and Adora working through the root causes of their conflict now that they’ve grown as people - it is a dramatization of a couple working out their relationship problems, and somehow it is actually riveting TV as opposed to feeling like a John Gottman book in narrative form.

Just as She-Ra is narratively a love story, thematically it is also a Show About Love, or perhaps more precisely, about relationships and how people can relate to each other in healthy and unhealthy ways. So much of what all the characters struggle with are relational questions - questions of how they can be a good friend, how they can be loyal yet true to themselves and their ideals, how they can honor other people's autonomy while also looking out for them, etc. Not just Catra and Adora but all the characters have learned more about being there for each other, about respecting themselves, and about admitting when they’re wrong and making it right. More mundanely, the power of love (as an inspiration and also a source of magical power) has been present since the first season.

While a lot of this exploration has been about friendship, the show has also explored the power of desire as well as the things that keep us from naming and acting on our desires. Catra and Adora’s love for each other, while appropriate for a Y-7 show, is not desexualized or abstracted, and this also gives it a realism and a poignancy, as well as a power. Among other things, it very much feels like a real relationship between two early 20-somethings.  

Moreover, She-Ra has not pulled its punches about how messy all of this is, and I think this is key. Like I said earlier, She-Ra understands that love isn’t always a good thing. It understands the power of love, good and bad - “for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.” The show has explored obsession, jealousy, control, incompatible values and the psychological hang ups and traumas that keep us from being vulnerable, as well as the havoc that can wreck. Instead of showing all the relationships in the show as uniformly good and supportive, its explored dynamics that are unhealthy or even disturbing, and in Catra’s case, we’ve seen just how twisted love can become, and how closely linked it is with hate. But then the show has shown how people can choose to grow and change and heal. The show, and its characters, have confronted the dark side of human relationships head on and triumphed. So instead of feeling glib, naive and possibly insincere, the ending of She-Ra feels hard-earned and triumphant as well as genuinely moving and insightful.

Another way of looking at this is to say that She-Ra has been deploying the Power of Love all along - seemingly naively in season 1, but with the disintegration of Catra and Adora’s relationship serving as a kind of tragic, sinister counterpoint to all the Princess Alliance’s celebrations of togetherness and friendship. Then it complicates the Power of Love in season 2, especially showing how it fails (or perhaps betrays) Catra when she lets what I think is her lingering love for Shadow Weaver make her vulnerable to manipulation. Ironically, so much of Catra’s schemes in the first parts of the show only work as well as they do because she’s similarly exploiting Adora’s feelings for her, though unlike Shadow Weaver I don’t think she fully understands that’s what she’s doing (but Catra has very much adopted Shadow Weaver’s view that Love is a Weakness). And the Power of Love isn’t enough to keep Adora and Catra together in the portal - indeed that ends with Adora decking Catra, Angella sacrificing herself and Adora sending Catra off with a death glare. Season 4 is very much about the -failure- of the power of love, perhaps because both Glimmer and Catra choose power over trust and connection. This is shown most brutally in ‘Boys Night Out’, which plays like a dark parody of the sometimes too-pat, too-simple conclusions of Season 1 episodes, and leads right into Fractures. So after 13 episodes celebrating the power of love (with those weird undertones from Catradora’s...complexity), the show spends 26 episodes subverting the original optimistic set up and pointing out that it’s much more complicated than that, and sometimes people who love each other hurt each other, and somtimes love isn’t enough to fix it (which to be fair, is very much present in Season 1 in Promise, which is hindsight sets up the tone of the show much more than the cheery end of The Battle of Brightmoon). But Season 4 ends with DT’s speech making the subtext of Season 4 text - that Catra’s domineering and posturing are there mostly to cloak her underlying need. Season 5, then, is all about repairing the rifts of the past 4 seasons (starting with the wreckage Glimmer leaves at the end of S4) and making something better. 

Indeed, the question ‘Will Love Win?’ and ‘Is Power of Love Stronger than the Love of Power’? Is central to the show. As I mentioned above, this is spelled out most explicitly by Shadow Weaver, but it is an idea held by Hoard Prime as Well: both believe that Love is a Weakness, an irrational prejudice or a passion to exploit. Both Catra and Adora have internalized this, in different ways - Catra perhaps has better internalized the idea that love is an exploitable weakness, while Adora has internalized the idea that it is an irrational distraction from What Must be Done. Throughout the entire series, we see characters destroy themselves by following the logic of Shadow Weaver and Prime, and finding redemption and grace when they embrace love and vulnerability instead. There is so much more to say about Shadow Weaver and her importance, here, and more about Prime, but this is a Catradora essay, so let’s just say that Catra and Adora’s narrative arc is a refutation of both Prime and Shadow Weaver’s worldview. They are at their lowest when they reject  their love for each other, and at their strongest when they embrace it (and each other). So when Catra and Adora kiss, they’re not just answering the great question that the narrative has been setting up in our minds (when are these two just going to make out already!?) but answering the question the show’s been posing all along. Love wins.

Last but not least, it’s important that the ending of She-Ra is queer as all hell. This isn’t a story about the power of straight love, and that’s important. Not only is the power of heterosexual love is a cliche; when used to reinforce the primacy of monogamous heterosexual marriage and normative family structures (and their implied gender roles), it can be downright oppressive.* By contrast, celebrating the power of queer love is inherently a rebellious, defiant act of joy. This is especially true when queer love has been shown in its warts-and-all, messy, passionate fullness. Because that reflects our own love when it isn’t neat or tidy or perfectly well-adjusted. It reflects us when we’re not well-adjusted or self-aware or ‘together’. And it affirms that there is still so much power in our love, in us. Maybe the power to save the world.

And it’s so fucking hokey, and so fucking sincere, and yet so thoughtful, and that’s why I love this show. So much media for adults is one step away from being some James Incandenza film from Infinite Jest - a meaningless stylistic exercise or homage to some other, more sincere, more meaningful work of art (Quentin Tarantino, I am looking at you. Yes you.) She-Ra has the fucking guts to be about something, even something as mushy as The Power of Love, and to mean something. It goes for it, and it sticks the landing. And in times like these, that’s what I fucking need, and I don’t think I’m the only one.

Well Noelle, you Magnificent Bastard, you pulled it off. I’m still kind of blown away.

*Yes, you could do a non-terrible story about the power of heterosexual love - in many ways a lot of the novels of Ursula K LeGuin and the films of Jane Campion are about this, and I fucking love both as you may have noticed. But celebrating queer love will have another element that makes it more interesting. Queer love stories are operating on an additional level.

Previous essays in this series:

[grimaldiapologist]

Hi, my freeranged and appropriately enriched audience. I need to talk about something real big bad and I think I've already ended all of my friendships for this reason, so I'm doing it here instead.

This scene? After Colosseum?

There's so many things going on in this scene, and for the love of everything that is holy, in order to talk about any of it, I've clipped Macrinus out of the picture because he doesn't exist.

I'll start with the fact that, while these two are described as somewhat pathologically paranoid, this is the first day we see them living through that gives them significant reason to be worried. Most days, they seem to coast by being both terminally naïve and endlessly isolationist in terms of their company, focusing solely on each other and themselves, particularly their hedonistic pursuits, while assuming that everybody they surround themselves with loves them, for whatever reason. Everything is going great for them as far as they're perceiving it. They don't know the audiences are not cheering for them - they take every cheer as if it was aimed at them. Presenting Acacius at the Colosseum for the first day of the games? They receive no applause beyond what the audience is already dishing out upon their introductions. But producing Marcus Acacius has the audience heated, and these two somehow think that's for them. They're idiots. Morons. They're so stuck in their own delusions of grandeur that yes, while they do recognise they're in Rome and Roman emperors have a terrible tendency to catch a blade, they don't seem to be actually living that reality at all.

What we know from the script is, however, that they have never truly known stability or safety: his whole life, Geta has been shielding Caracalla from their father's explosive anger. Caracalla, presumably, has witnessed this if nothing else, though I'm curious about that golden tooth within this context. I'm sure he's caught some inbetween there, too, because Geta can only afford so much shield from a grown man. And they've never had any protection from any of that. Nobody would stand up to an emperor to protect a prince; they were his rightful property. He could do with his boys whatever he pleased, and Geta's sole duty has been, it seems, not to survive, but ensure that his brother does. His pain has never mattered. His rights, needs, wants, wishes have never mattered. Caracalla's have.

I'm sure they used to be at each other's throats like the wolf pups that they are when they were younger. But what you can see with them in their early adulthood is that this is something that does not apply anymore. They'll hurt anybody else, particularly anyone they perceive as hostile to them, and most often it's done just for fun and pleasure. This makes Caracalla's fetish for watching violence particularly interesting - what with the complex relationship kinks and fetishes can often have with prior trauma, feelings of powerlessness, and attempts to regain control - but that's for a wholly different meta there. What I'm getting at is that it's always others they inflict cruelty upon, and enjoy, but never each other; there is an absolute dynamic between them, it's them against the world, them for one another. Geta's first duty is to protect Caracalla, and Caracalla trusts him implicitly. At least before this scene.

While script!Geta has less patience for his brother than Quinn's Geta does, there is never any doubt there who and what his priority is. Caracalla comes first to him. So, it's safe to say that with Dondus screaming, when he flings his water in Caracalla's face, it's never with the intent of hitting him. I have sensory issues and I'll be the first to admit I've thrown things when my processing threshold is violently crossed and it's something you just don't second-guess, like someone hitting your knee joint with a hammer. But regardless of intent, the consequences are so very interesting. And I'm sure Caracalla, even, knows that this wasn't intentional. Dear gods though, look at his reaction.

This is the face of someone telling you you have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

And, for the sake of my sanity, I need to make sure everybody understands that Caracalla's way to emphasise just how much things have broken here is to say absolutely nothing, leave the room, and go cry under a table. Terrifying. But I digress; what is terrifying is Geta, after this has happened.

This is the face of a man who has crossed a boundary of his own, and it has quite little to do with the previous. Yes, Caracalla is angry at him, and there will be consequences in some form. Again, for now, the consequences are that he's chosen to become inconsolable and hide under furniture, likely much as he did when their father had his rages. But Geta, for the first time in his life, broke out of his role of a protector, and the one to be beaten.

He's realised that Caracalla is not untouchable. And for ages, he doesn't move, because his whole world has shaken here; and what he does then to justify his actions is blame his brother for them. Caracalla did absolutely nothing to earn what he did to him, but it's now his fault, for being so unstable. A liability. How could Caracalla make him do this to him, truly.

This evening, Geta's been brought face to face with his reality: he is not loved. He is not untouchable. While he can mandate the word of gods, he is not, himself, regarded as a god. Not like he deserves. Not like he should be. He's suffered so much - but he is a great man, and he knows this. He's not stupid, and he's a conqueror, albeit from his comfortable seat at home. But he deserves better.

And what, pray, is standing in the way? What is holding him back? His brother is. Caracalla, who is always embarrassing him. Who is his first and last responsibility each day and each night, who needs him to watch his every move, to keep him safe not only from the world but from himself and his own instability, his insanity, his unpredictable actions. Without Caracalla, Geta could be focusing on being an emperor. He could be achieving so much more than he is, if he wasn't his brother's constant, eternal keeper, his babysitter, his court jester. And he deserves more, doesn't he? He deserves to be remembered.

So, let Macrinus (who doesn't exist as you can see from the screenshots) handle Caracalla this time. Geta has an empire to think of.

And this, this is what interests me about this scene more than anything. For Caracalla's part, things seem at a glance much more benign, though no less broken: the one thing he took as certain as air has fallen apart - that his brother would always stand for him first, and would never lay a finger on him to hurt him. His brother, who bled for him, protected him from their father, and has ever since looked after him, elevated him to the highest status, aside from some... minor symptoms of hubris, of course. But while all of this hurts him, deeply, fundamentally, it isn't enough to make him immediately see Geta as his enemy.

And I can't stop asking - should he? Should he now regard Geta as his enemy? His whole world is collapsing. It's from this very moment onwards (yes, this one, specifically) that he begins to show symptoms of acute psychosis: delusions, paranoia, severe lapses in reality, memory, and continuity. He doesn't look like he sleeps either, but of course, other factors come into play with that part. (And gods know I don't blame him for that.)

Geta was his foundation, his bedrock. They were in this together, whatever happened. Yes, they bicker, but they've always known how that goes: Geta's patience is endless with Caracalla, and Caracalla's thirst for violence is not turned towards him, even at its worst. Geta has no issues turning his back to Caracalla in the state that he is while the man is wielding a sword and doing god knows what with it in the background. Not for one second does Geta flinch when coming between Caracalla, his sword, and a man he's already condemned to die, because Caracalla would never harm him, either.

But after this? After the first blow, however small? What then?

I'm just asking questions here. This could lead onto the next subject - the way Caracalla's whole demeanor changes when he inflicts the first wound on his brother and finds that he bleeds just the same - but I'm keeping that to me for now.

[okie-dokie-wo]

Bill Lawrence gives an update on HBO comedy with Steve Carell, Phil Dunster

COLLIDER: How are things going with the Steve Carell comedy series for HBO? How far along are things with that show?

LAWRENCE: That show starts shooting in spring of next year. I created that with Matt Tarses and we have an amazing writing staff. The staff that we put together now usually have a cool, healthy combination of young, newer writers and people that have run their own shows, so that there’s a lot of experienced people there. When people are nice and say, “Hey, you’re getting to do a lot of stuff,” I always try to make sure to say that it’s because I get to work with super talented men and women, and often talk to nice people like you and take credit for their work. But it’s going great. The staff has been working for over a month now. We’re starting to cast up off the pilot script with people I’m really excited about. I think it’s gonna be a blast.

COLLIDER: What made you want to cast Phil Dunster on that show? Is it a character that you feel is well-suited to him, or is it a character you think will show a different side of him?

LAWRENCE: I think it will show a different side to him. This is gonna sound way too preachy, but with network TV, where I started – I’m a dinosaur who’s been doing it forever – you used to do a TV show where you’d have 26 episodes the first year sometimes. That gives you 20 episodes of television to figure out who the characters are and make the show work and find the chemistry, and then you explode from there. Everybody that watches old TV will go, “Oh, wow, the first year of Parks and Rec was so different from the second. The first year of Scrubs was so different from the second.” Nowadays, 26 episodes is almost three seasons of a streaming show and to catch an audience in that landscape, sometimes you need to find yourself hitting your stride so fast and finding character chemistry in the voice of the show so fast that for me, it’s almost a cheat sheet to hire actors and actresses that you know and are fans with, and in your head you know how to make them funny and know what they’d be really good at doing, even if it’s not something that you’ve done before. Quite honestly, at this stage of my career, if someone is also an awesome person to be around, I think you’re crazy not to keep hiring them. What I know about Phil is that he’s hyper talented. He’s not like Jamie Tartt in real life, at all, any more than Brett Goldstein is like Roy Kent, at all. To tailor a part especially for him is gonna be a blast.

Source: Collider

[stalactites]

wait wwdits really didn't commit to nandor and guillermo? that's hilarious. television got like three gay couples before they were like actually it IS more progressive to tease a will they won't they for six seasons and fail to deliver anything satisfying.

[angelsaxis]

"you cant call X character from Y show a stereotypical presentation because I relate to a lot of it. I am not a stereotype" that doesn't make the character any less a stereotype. real life people cannot be stereotypes. personally relating to a character doesn't change the often decades or even centuries-old intention + message about a character.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

i hope yer happy with yourself YURI CAUSE CROSS HERE MUSTVE HAD HER SPEAR AND STABBED MY HEART AND THEN PULLED IT OUT TO KEEP IN HER TROPHY ROOM OF HEARTS SHE HAD STOLEN /LHJ

overall, tiddies rating 10/10

DAMN ten outta ten??? she wouldn't know what to do with all this flattery dude cmoon HHGFSHGF fr fr waaa thank youuuu >:'D <333333

[hecksupremechips]

I don’t remember much from the danganronpa end of hopes peak anime, nor do I remember liking it too much, but every time I think about the episode where Chiaki dies I kinda just have to lie down and cry for a minute 🥺

[stoportotouch]

more Notions. please hold the line.

[indefiniteavatar]

So basically, in a case about him shoving money at someone so they shut up about him. . .he can’t shut the fuck up himself. I would say something clever and funny here, except the sad part is that this is just so normal in current politics that it’s just. . .not hilariously absurd behavior anymore? Not to say that it’s not absurd - it is beyond such, but it is just. . . predictable, I suppose.

I guess this is how I feel about politics lately? Either I get mad at everything or I try to laugh at everything and normally that works because politicians usually aren’t so tragically stupid so very often, but now I just kinda have to chuckle at the particularly eyeroll worthy things like this, and try to ignore everything else or my brain will explode.

[neolithicsheep]

I've been meaning to write this down for some time because there are some fundamental errors that people keep making in crowdfunding/sales that shoot their campaigns in the foot. So here's a list of easy principles.

Who am I and why should you listen to me? I am a freelance chaos marketer who has raised well over $100,000 when totaling up various crowdfunding campaigns, mostly for aid to Afghanistan. In addition I've managed to successfully market everything from stuffed plush koalas to hydration salts. Why am I putting this out here for free? Because despite a years long track record of success in social media marketing no one will hire me because I don't have a college degree, so I might as well help people out who can't afford to hire full time marketing. 

If you'd like to hire me to help you evaluate your marketing and sales and teach you better skills on a 1 to 1 basis then hit me up, I am often willing to barter, esp with artists in a variety of mediums! 

Anyway on to HOW TO CONVINCE PEOPLE TO GIVE YOU MONEY:

TL;DR: use positive messaging that humanizes everyone involved and make it as easy as possible for people to give you money.

1. Shame and guilt are demotivators. They will not inspire people to give you money. “Why aren't people helping” “I guess people don't care” “This isn't getting enough shares/donations” etc etc. Online fundraising is often frustrating, heartbreaking, and will make you angry, especially when there's a humanitarian crisis involved. It is critical that if you are raising funds for someone else that you have a place to vent that is not the audience you would like to donate to the cause. 

2. Use motivating messages instead! “You can help!” “Even a small donation is important because it tells Recipient they're not alone, and people care” “We can't fix the whole world, but we can make this one thing right, and that means something”. Emphasize that this is a problem that the reader can help fix with even a small effort. With items for sale, tell a story. "I drew this thinking about how safe I always felt under a tree in my childhood backyard". "I chose the colors in this shawl to remind me of sagebrush and piñon pine in my favorite place."

3. Make it easy for people to give you money. Never talk about your product or cause without a link that leads directly to where people can give you money. They should be able to click one link on your post and land at the fundraiser or your shop. Every required click is going to lose people, so minimize the number of them required. This also means if you have a list of fundraisers for people to choose from the ones at the bottom will be neglected - people will hit the ones at the top. Be sure to take those off when they're met or periodically shuffle the list around to make sure everyone gets a chance to be in the first 5 spots. In online stores people will often only look at the first page or two of items so be sure to shuffle things around and remove out of stock items that are taking up prime real estate.

4. Humanize the recipient - this can be tricksy when raising charitable aid because you don't want to be exploitative. But to use my last Afghan campaign as an example, “We need to raise $500 for an Afghan family” is less effective than “This Afghan family's home was damaged in heavy rains that caused extensive flooding. They only need $500 to repair and rebuild so they can stay in their home and not become displaced.”  If possible, tell as much of the recipient's story as they consent to. Eg “Fred is seven and loves dinosaurs. His favorite is brontosaurus, and he carries a stuffed one with him everywhere. He wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up and discover a complete brontosaurus skeleton that he can give the same name as his stuffed friend. Unfortunately he's also a trans boy living in Texas and his family needs $1500 to rent a Uhaul and get to Colorado so he can grow up in safety and do that.”

5. If you're not the recipient, humanize yourself while you're at it! “I'd be really grateful if you all could share or donate” “This fundraiser really means a lot to me because…” “Thank you so much for any help, whether sharing or donating” 

6. Treat the audience like humans. Speak to them like they are people you're having a conversation with, not ATMs. This ultimately is the goal of not using shame/guilt and humanizing yourself and the recipient. 

7. Set low goals and bump them up when met. One of the weird things about people is they prefer to give to successful fundraisers. Yeah I don't know either. So you're more likely to get the full amount you need if you set a partial goal initially and then raise it when that's met. Raise it in small increments and raise it repeatedly as those goals are hit to keep momentum going. You can't always control this so if you're boosting someone else's fundraiser you can do it artificially via asks like “Hey y'all can we get together and put $500 on this?”

[shotmrmiller]

I totally believe that pornstar!reader's video with fan pathetic!Simon blows the hell up.

It gets millions of views in days, from a degenerate male audience who loved the expression he put on your face— discomfort from his monstrous cock bullying into you and cockdrunk after forcibly wrenching 4 orgasms out of you in 30 minutes.

And an astounding amount of support from the female audience who loved everything about him— his size, tattoos, and especially his mask (since masked men are a huge thing right now).

But the most striking aspect of the entire video was the sheer desperation he had taken you with.

He'd painfully stretched you open and reached a depth inside of you that not even the most well-endowed in the industry could hit.

He'd shown no mercy, even when you quietly pleaded for him to slow down, or ease up just a bit— that he would break you if he kept that rhythm up.

Needless to say, it was a fucking of a lifetime, if not two. You woke up extremely sore. From a fan.

A fan!

And the worst part was that your manager was making you fuck him again. Again.

You asked if he was so popular, why not another porn star? The blonde one with the big tits and tiny waist was always in high demand.

"Because Ghost— that's his alias now— said he only fucks you, or no one."

He cannot be serious.

"This is your chance to get an exclusive contract with a studio instead of this freelancing shit."

Wow. "You're really just gonna use my own spells against me, Potter?"

Your manager knows how badly you've been trying to secure a spot with a big-name studio.

Asshole.

"Fine. When?" you utter resignedly.

You're so fucked. Literally and figuratively.

(bonus hc that Simon uses govt resources inappropriately and long before being in the video he found out what your real name is, where you live, and your phone number. he also lurks in your favorite bookstore without a mask, so you don't recognize him.)

[pedroscowgirl]

The Lie Detector Test

Hugh jackman x reader!actress

Warnings!!!: minors dni!!

mentions of: daddy issues , age gap (reader is in their 20s), smut (duh), oral!receiving, p in v, creampie (wrap it up), semi-public sex?, pet names (baby,princess), fluff at the end and lots of romantic kisses

lmk if i missed some!!

Words: 4.3K (i went a little crazy cuz I'm so down bad for this man omg)

A/N: This is the first time in years that I've written a fanfiction so pls be kind 🙈

You had just finished filming the latest blockbuster, and the studio had arranged a promotional event to build hype for the movie. The concept was unique and promised to be a hit: a lie detector test featuring you and Hugh Jackman, your co-star. The aim was to show a fun and candid side of both of you, offering fans an intimate glimpse into your personalities.

You remembered your first day on set with Hugh vividly. It was a sunny morning, and you were a bundle of nerves, excited and anxious about working with such a celebrated actor. Hugh had approached you with his trademark warmth, extending a hand and offering a reassuring smile.

“Hi, I’m Hugh. It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your work,” he said, his voice carrying a genuine note of friendliness.

You shook his hand, grateful for his easygoing nature. “I’m thrilled to be working with you, Hugh. I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

From that moment on, your chemistry on set was undeniable. Hugh’s professionalism and charm made every scene enjoyable, and your natural rapport translated effortlessly on screen. Between takes, you found yourselves sharing stories and jokes, the lines between your characters and real life blurring as you formed a close friendship. But behind your confident exterior, you felt a tug of nerves whenever he was near. Hugh Jackman wasn't just any actor; he was the embodiment of the older, charismatic figures you'd found attractive for as long as you could remember.

You had always known you had some form of daddy issues. Growing up with an emotionally absent father, you had a tendency to be drawn to older, authoritative figures. Hugh fit that mold perfectly, and being around him made you acutely aware of your attraction to him. His deep voice, his kind eyes, the way he carried himself with such ease...it all made your heart race.

Fast forward to the day of the lie detector test, the studio was buzzing with excitement. The set was designed to look sleek and modern, with a large, imposing lie detector machine at the center. Cameras were positioned to capture every angle, ensuring that no reaction or subtle expression would be missed by the audience.

You took your seat across from Hugh, who was already connected to the machine by Lou, the lie detector specialist. The studio lights reflected off his charismatic smile as he settled in, ready for the challenge.

“Ready for this, Hugh?” you asked, trying to hide your amusement and the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Just go easy on me, alright?”

You picked up the first question card, the icebreaker questions designed to set a light-hearted tone. You both took turns answering questions about your favorite movies, childhood memories, and behind-the-scenes antics from the movie set. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and playful teasing, showcasing the easy relationship that had developed between you two.

Then, feeling a mischievous urge, you decided to go off-script.

“Okay, Hugh,” you said, leaning forward with a twinkle of mischief in your eyes. “How do you feel about people on the internet calling you ‘daddy’ or 'father'?”

Hugh raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the unexpected question. He took a moment to think before answering, “Well, I do have kids., so technically , I am a father.”

You tilted your head and smirked, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Hugh chuckled, a deep, genuine laugh that filled the room. “Well, I don’t mind i guess” he admitted, glancing at Lou for confirmation.

Lou looked at the lie detector’s readings and nodded. “Truthful,” he confirmed.

“Good to know,” you said with a playful wink. “That was actually not a question on the cards. I just wanted to give the people with daddy issues what they want. You're so welcome.”

Hugh laughed again, biting his lip as he looked at you with a newfound appreciation. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You felt a thrill at the way he was looking at you, the playful banter taking a more intimate turn. “Just keeping things interesting,” you replied, your voice softening. Your heart pounded harder, realizing just how much he affected you. You could feel your palms sweating and hoped he wouldn't notice the slight tremor in your hands as you reached for the next question card.

The rest of the session continued in a similar vein, with flirtatious comments and lingering glances exchanged between questions. Each time Hugh's gaze lingered on you a bit longer, your heart raced a little faster. You tried to focus on the questions, but your mind kept drifting to the way he looked at you, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket.

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

As the interview came to an end, you both stood up, removing your microphones. The studio crew began to pack up, the hustle and bustle of the set slowly fading into the background. Hugh caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Hey, why don’t we head to the dressing room? We can talk more privately there,” he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of something more.

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Sure, sounds good.”

You both made your way through the winding corridors of the studio, your footsteps echoing in the quiet halls. As you approached the dressing rooms, the anticipation grew, every glance exchanged between you filled with unspoken tension.

Hugh opened the door to his dressing room, allowing you to step inside first. The room was cozy, with comfortable chairs and a small table with snacks and drinks. You took a seat, trying to calm your racing heart as Hugh closed the door behind him, shutting out the world outside.

He turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You were great today,” he said, his voice low and sincere. He walked over to the small table and picked up a bottle of water, offering it to you. “Here, have some water. You’ve earned it.”

You accepted the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. The cool water was refreshing, helping to steady your nerves. Hugh sat down across from you, his gaze never wavering.

“You know,” he said, his tone turning playful, “I think you might be even more captivating off-screen than on. It’s quite a talent.”

You choked on your water, caught off guard by his flirtatious comment. Coughing slightly, you set the bottle down and tried to regain your composure. “Thanks, Hugh,” you managed to say, your cheeks flushing. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Hugh chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I was hoping I wasn’t being too forward.” He paused, letting his eyes sweep over your outfit. “That dress, by the way, is incredibly sexy. It’s been hard to concentrate all day.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, the compliment sending a rush of heat through you. “I—thank you,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow warmer. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air thick with unspoken desire.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You really do look stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with that sexy australian accent. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all day.”

You felt a thrill at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you, the sincerity in his voice, made it hard to breathe. “You’re not too bad yourself, Hugh,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Hugh smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

The way he looked at you, the intensity of his gaze, made your breath catch. You could feel the tension building between you, the unspoken attraction simmering just below the surface. His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt yourself leaning into his touch.

"Hugh," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He didn't reply, but his eyes said everything. He was as caught up in this moment as you were. His other hand came up to cup your face, holding you gently but firmly. You could feel his breath against your lips, warm and inviting. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

His lips hovered just inches from yours, the anticipation almost too much to bear. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the magnetic pull drawing you closer. His eyes flicked to your lips and back to your eyes, seeking permission, waiting for a sign.

You gave the slightest nod, a silent invitation. That was all he needed.

Slowly, as if savoring every second, he closed the distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, testing the waters. The contact was gentle, almost feather-light, but it sent a wave of heat through your body. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The kiss deepened, growing more confident and demanding. His lips moved against yours with a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, igniting a fire within you. You responded eagerly, your body pressing closer to his, craving more of his touch.

His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer still. You could feel the strength in his grip, the possessive way he held you making your pulse quicken. The kiss was everything you had imagined and more, filled with unspoken promises and undeniable chemistry.

When he pulled you closer, you could feel his bulge pressing against you, the sensation igniting a fire deep within. A rush of heat surged through your body, making you aware of how much you craved him. Every nerve seemed to tingle with anticipation, and the space between you crackled with unspoken desire.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss. The intensity of it made your knees weak, and you pressed yourself against him, desperate for more. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, hard and demanding against your stomach, and it only fueled your longing. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him, to feel every part of him.

Your breath quickened, each inhale filled with the intoxicating scent of him. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, sliding down his chest, over the taut muscles, until they reached his belt. Your fingers fumbled in your eagerness, trembling with the intensity of your desire. The thought of what was to come made your heart race, and you could feel the slickness between your thighs, a testament to how badly you needed him.

Just as you began to loosen his belt, Hugh’s hand covered yours, halting your movements. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the dominance in his touch made you shiver. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Nu uh, not yet, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and filled with a fierce determination that made your pulse quicken even more. “I want to please you first.”

The promise in his words made your heart skip a beat, and the anticipation of what he was about to do was almost too much to bear. Your breath caught in your throat, and you let out a soft whimper, the need inside you growing more insistent.

His other hand slid down your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips, igniting a trail of fire on your skin. His touch was both soothing and electrifying, and you arched into him, silently begging for more. The way he looked at you, with such intensity and focus, made you feel like the center of his world.

“Hugh, please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless plea.

He smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I want to savor every moment.”

Hugh's hands were firm but gentle as he gripped your thighs, lifting you with an effortless strength that made your breath hitch. He set you down on his desk, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating from your skin. The room felt charged, every second stretching out as his intense gaze bore into you. Your heart raced, anticipation and desire coiling in your belly. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Can I take a look at your panties and take them off?" he asked, his voice husky and dripping with intent.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you bit your lip, your body responding to his every word. You nodded, eyes wide and lips parted, but he wasn't satisfied with your silent answer. "I need words, baby," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. His eyes held a command that you couldn't ignore. "Yes," you finally breathed, voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to take them off, please."

A slow smile spread across his face, sending a thrill through you. He slid his hands under your dress, fingers brushing against your thighs as he lifted you slightly. With deliberate, teasing movements, he peeled your black lace panties down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles. The air felt electric, every touch sending sparks along your skin. His eyes roamed over your now-bare form, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Did you plan for this to happen?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge. The question made your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. You met his gaze, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "No," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "My granny underwear is in the washing machine." The confession hung in the air, vulnerable and oddly intimate.

Hugh's grin widened, his eyes darkening with amusement and desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I think I prefer the lace," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver through you. The tension between you was unbearable, an unspoken promise of what was to come.

He knelt before you, his eyes dark with hunger and intent. The anticipation made your breath quicken as he placed his strong hands on your thighs, gently parting them and lifting them onto his broad shoulders. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from his, filled with a confident, almost predatory desire. He paused for a moment, giving you a sexy look that sent shivers down your spine, before dipping his head between your legs.

The first touch of his mouth against you was like nothing you'd ever felt. You gasped, your body arching towards him as his warm breath and skillful tongue explored your most sensitive spots. He started slowly, teasing you with soft strokes, his lips and tongue moving with practiced expertise. The sensation was incredible, each flick and swirl driving you wild. When he began to suck on your clit, a moan escaped your lips, the pleasure so intense it felt like fire coursing through your veins.

You'd never been with an older man before, and the thrill of his experience, his confidence, heightened every sensation. His touch was commanding yet tender, a perfect balance that made you melt under his ministrations. His tongue moved in amazing patterns, drawing you closer to the edge with every motion. The excitement of this new experience mixed with the raw pleasure, making your moans louder and more frequent.

Then, without warning, he slipped two fingers inside you. They filled you perfectly, curling just right to hit that sweet spot. The sudden intrusion made you gasp and clutch at his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. As you tugged, a deep, primal groan rumbled from his chest, the sound vibrating against you. The sensation was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His fingers worked in rhythm with his tongue, and you felt a building pressure, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. The combination of his skilled mouth and the fullness of his fingers was overwhelming, pushing you towards the brink. You could feel his own enjoyment in the way he groaned against you, his voice low and resonant, spurring you on. Every touch, every movement, felt deliberate and precise, as if he knew exactly what you needed, where to touch to make you come undone.

As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you couldn't hold back. Your hips bucked against his mouth, your hands gripping his hair even tighter. His fingers and tongue moving faster, more insistent. The feel of his mouth and hands on you, sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, and then you shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. The release was overwhelming, leaving you breathless and trembling. He continued to pleasure you through it all, his touch gentle but unrelenting, until you were spent and utterly satisfied.

As you came down from the high, your breaths ragged, he finally lifted his head. His eyes met yours, dark and satisfied, a smug smile playing on his lips. The sight of him, lips glistening with your pleasure, sent a final shiver down your spine.

You were still catching your breath, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, when Hugh pulled back and licked his lips, savoring the taste of you. His eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss. The sensation was intoxicating; you could taste yourself on his tongue, a delicious reminder of the intimacy you'd just shared. His fingers trailed back to your core, seeking to reignite the fire, but you pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

"Please, Hugh," you panted, your voice laced with desperation. "I'm begging you, I need to feel you inside me right now, or I'm going to go crazy." The urgency in your voice was undeniable,your body aching with unfulfilled desire.

He chuckled softly, the sound a dark, velvety caress that made your skin tingle. "Oh, my poor princess can't wait to have Daddy inside her," he teased, his words dripping with amusement and lust. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, making you bite your lip. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Oh, so you really like being called Daddy, huh?" you purred, a teasing edge to your voice. "Well, I can arrange that for you." Your words were a playful challenge, a promise of more to come.

Hugh's lips curled into a wicked smile, and he pulled you into another heated kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a possessive intensity. As he kissed you, his hands deftly moved to unbuckle his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle and the rustle of fabric sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. You watched with bated breath as he stripped off his pants and shirt, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. When your eyes fell on his impressive length, a gasp escaped your lips, louder than you'd intended. The sight of him, so big and ready, made your heart race and your core throb with need.

Hugh noticed your reaction and smirked, a dark, knowing look in his eyes. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "We'll take our time." He reached out, his fingers gently caressing your cheek, the touch tender in contrast to the raw passion between you.

As he stood before you, your eyes roamed over his body, drinking in the sight of his defined abs and broad, muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare at how well-built he was. "God, Hugh," you breathed, your voice filled with awe. "You're so sexy. I can't believe how ripped you are for your age." Your hand traced the lines of his muscles, feeling the hard planes of his torso. "These abs, this body... it's incredible." You looked up at him, biting your lip, the admiration in your eyes unmistakable.

He laughed and positioned himself between your legs, his hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer. You felt his tip graze your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through you. You couldn't help but moan, your body arching towards him, craving more. He paused, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and desire. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

"Yes," you breathed, barely able to form words. "Keep going, please." Your voice was laced with anticipation and desperation, the need for him overwhelming.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Hugh began to push inside you. The stretch was intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain as he filled you inch by inch. Your nails dug into his biceps, your fingers curling around the hard muscle as you adjusted to his size. "Oh my god, Hugh," you moaned, your voice breathless. "Fuck, you're so big."

A wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Call me Daddy, baby," he murmured, his voice a deep, commanding growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Daddy," you whimpered, the word slipping from your lips like a plea. The sound seemed to fuel him, his hips snapping forward, burying himself fully inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that left you gasping.

As Hugh began to thrust in and out, setting a rhythm that drove you wild, the intensity of the moment heightened. The pleasure was almost too much, your back arching, head tilting back. Hugh noticed, concern flickering in his eyes. He reached up, cradling the back of your head with one strong hand, his touch gentle and protective. "Easy, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Don't want you hurting yourself against the wall." The tender gesture made your heart flutter even as your body surged with lust.

He continued to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours. The connection between you was electric, every movement synchronized, every breath shared. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. The pleasure built with each stroke, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless and begging for more.

Hugh's thumb found your clit, and he began to rub tight, precise circles, sending jolts of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body. Your breath hitched, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips in a breathless chant, a plea and a prayer. He picked up the pace, each thrust harder, more demanding, driving you wild with need.

"Come for me, princess," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you come around me."

The combination of his deep, commanding voice and the skillful movements of his fingers and hips was too much. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter and tighter, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm tore through you. You cried out, the pleasure so intense it left you shaking.

Hugh groaned, the sound low and primal, as he felt you tighten around him. His movements became erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release. With a deep moan, he followed you over the edge, his release hot and deep inside you. The sensation sent a final wave of pleasure through your body, leaving you breathless.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms faded, Hugh leaned down and kissed you softly, his lips gentle and tender. The touch was a sweet contrast to the raw, passionate encounter you'd just shared. His hands caressed your skin, soothing you as you both came down from the high, the connection between you lingering in the air.

The room was silent except for your labored breaths, the intensity of the moment leaving you both in awe. Hugh pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the soft whispers of comfort and affection made you feel cherished and adored. It was more than just a physical connection; it was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy that left you both craving more.

Just as you were catching your breath, a loud knock echoed from the door, making you both jump. You barely had time to react before you heard Ryan's voice, muffled but clear. "Hey, guys, next time be more subtle, okay?" His tone was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of amusement. You blushed furiously, burying your face in Hugh's chest as he chuckled softly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Noted," Hugh called back, his voice laced with humor. He looked down at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guess we'll have to be quieter next time, huh, princess?" He stroked your cheek tenderly, his expression softening. The playful moment broke the tension, leaving you both laughing softly, the bond between you stronger than ever.

[curryshesus]

bts fics that radiate sheer utter brilliance

(aka my favorite fics of all time) pt. 1

hello, hello! please make sure to show your love and support to these lovely authors if you enjoyed any of these reads as much as i did <3 note: all of these fics contain nsfw content (minors dni please). enjoy!

➺ the road to you - by @bonvoyagenoona

| ot7 x reader (tae focus) | 110k

au of all aus, best friend!taehyung, high school boyfriend!jimin, professor!yoongi, college boyfriend!jungkook, art enthusiast and city heartthrob!namjoon, barista!hobi, actor!jin, angst, fluff, smut, series

>>summary: "armed with your quick wit, creative passion, talent for storytelling, and innate understanding of your fanbase, you have met every challenge, surpassed every goal, and achieved the unimaginable. despite the earth shifting erratically under your firmly planted feet, you’ve always had a plan. you’ve made peace with the sacrifices you’ve had to make, and you’ve long forgotten the rejections and heartbreaks that came as a result. your agent keeps reminding you that you’re at the precipice of something new, that your audience is waiting for your next project with bated breath. this is usually when you thrive. so why do you feel so lost? and who can you count on from your past to help you find your way?"

➺ matilda - by @babystrcandy

| yoongi x reader | 141.8k

brother’s best friend au, f2e2f2l, slice of life, angst, fluff, eventual smut, series

>> summary: "loneliness had always been a constant for you, haunting you like a ghost; until your older brother’s best friend, min yoongi, came into your life. you both promised each other something back then - you’d always have his support and he’d always have yours. but with time and age, you weren’t sure how much that all still stood to be true."

➺ bitchin' - by @kinktae

| jungkook x reader | 49.5k

1980’s au, inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before, e2l, fake lovers/college au, frat boy!jungkook, smut, series

>> summary: "the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with jeon jungkook."

➺ flower - by @readyplayerhobi

| hoseok x reader |

online dating au, fluff, future angst, future smut, series

>> summary: "you finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the flower dating app. one of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. what happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

➺ suncity - by @jamaisjoons

| hoseok x reader | 17k

strangers to lovers au, vacation au, angst, fluff, smut, oneshot

>> summary: "when you’d taken a spontaneous trip to barcelona, you hadn’t expected to meet hoseok. more than that, you hadn’t expected to begin a torrid affair with him."

➺ idealizations concerning real life relations - by @venusiangguk

| jungkook x reader | 40.9k

fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!oc, s2l, fwb, smut, angst, oneshot

>> summary: "jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return."

➺ peach parfait - by @jamaisjoons

| seokjin x reader | 19k

enemies to lovers au, fluff, smut, slight angst, two parts

>> summary: "you and seokjin have always been at odds as the top two chefs at big hit academy of culinary arts."

➺ tell me no lies - by @jeongi

| jungkook x reader | 15.1k

ceo au, criminal au, robbers au, angst, smut, minimal fluff

>> summary: "you chose to rob your boss, however; you never expected to fall in love with him."

➺ concrete king - by @bratkook

| jungkook x reader | 16.7k

sweet summer romance, fluff, smut, himbo energy, two parts

>> summary: "when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there's no way you could ever say no to him."

[prince-geo]

literally pleased with almost all of the new atla trailer except as per usual, Zuko's scar, idk why studios are so scared to commit to the intensity of the thing, its supposed to be shocking and obvious and textured and the first thing you see... that's the point, Zuko is supposed to struggle with feeling like it defines and brands him before finally coming to the point in his journey where he defines it.

Hollywood/big studios are known to hesitate or straight up avoid properly and honestly and unapologetically showing people with disfigurements/disabilities/facial differences etc. with the realism they deserve. Which is a shame in general for representation and humanization but ESPECIALLY in this case as its minimization actively harms it's narrative purpose as well

I promise making the scar more intense (shrivel up the ear a bit, make it intrude in his hairline, make his eye in a permanent squint due to nerve damage, for god sake REMOVE THE EYEBROW IT WAS BURNED OFF) will not make Zuko "ugly", (the actor is incapable of looking ugly and also the implication that scars make people too unappealing? yikes) but will actually do the character and his journey justice, not to mention really show Ozai's brutality, another essential narrative tool. Especially when he's bald like hello??? It should be even more stark and intense when he doesn't have hair to distract from it and cover his ear!!!

When transitioning from 2D to live action, of course some visuals are up for interpretation but that usually involved ADDING detail because the constraints of having to stay on modeling frame to frame is gone, not minimizing, removing or airbrushing. Doing Zuko's scar right to me is absolutely essential and I'm disappointed they seem just as as scared to go there as I thought they might. It doesn't have to be gory, if you've ever seen burn victims in real life or in pictures or even cosplayers/artists who are skilled in realistic burn makeup you'd know its possible to balance realism with humanity. It's possible especially with their resources to avoid the "scary Halloween makeup" route while not holding back on the brutality of the original injury.

Budget is definitely not an issue, or "scaring the kids" considering this remake is likely aiming to go a lil darker in tone than the cartoon (which was already super dark with its target audience of nickelodeon 7 year olds so no excuses) Audiences SHOULD be unsettled and upset when they see him but not because he's hard/disturbing to look at but because we are human and do not want to imagine someone doing that to a child.

It's a deliberate choice out of the all too common fear/hesitation to allow someone who is destined to eventually become a protagonist and is meant to be sympathized with to be "too ugly" while this hesitation is very rarely applied to straight up villains (again we come back to media's historic villainization of facial deformity). It's a trend that's always ticked me off in fanart too. The boy's face was melted, for gods sake. Zuko was always portrayed as an attractive boy in the cartoon (fire nation girls fawn over him) even with the intensity of his scar which is something I've always admired! People exist with scars similar to Zuko's in real life, and should not only be permitted to be represented as good guys and/or as attractive when their scars are toned down to be "palatable"

Like I said there's more that I loved than didn't love about the trailer, that can be a whole essay on it's own but I needed to get this very specific vent off my chest because it missed the mark so hard and stands out like a sore thumb in comparison to all the other visuals that hit the nail on the head to me

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1 : “Unveiled” [cyberstalking] for Kinktober.

♡stalker! fyodor d. x afab! reader.

♡Synopsis: your secret life as a streamer takes a wild turn when feyda becomes dangerously obsessed with you, well uh.. obsessed enough to break in, not just to watch, but to finally fuck you.

♡Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, cyberstalking, cybersex, obsessed! fedya, bdsm themes, non-con recording, dark themes, bondage, oral, cum mentioned, unprotected sex..etc.

♡Word count & a/n: 4k, i'm so sorry. i know i'm horrendously late. i may or may not morph into some sort of poetic lunatic by the end of this fic ppft. also, shoutout to fedya’s art by the brilliant " @isabeau333 " on x.

[SEE: Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]

it’s 1:46 a.m. again. you’re sitting on your bed, eyes wide open, staring at the glow of your phone screen. tonight feels different, but you can’t wrap your finger on why. there's a stillness in your own bedroom that makes your skin prickle with unease. you should be asleep by now—work’s in a few hours—but your body hums with a strange kind of thrill. a thrill you haven’t felt since him.

you unlock your phone and scroll through your messages—nothing. the usual fans, the usual comments. until you see it, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you catch the latest one:

unknown: “don’t bother, my dear. i’m already inside.”

unconsciously, your breath catches in your throat. inside? inside where? your fingers freeze as you stare at the screen. is someone actually stalking you? you can't help but think what if it’s just a prank, someone trying to mess with you, make you think that you're crazy or something.

but deep down, you know better.

because nothing exciting ever really happens to you. not in your real life, anyway. you’ve got your 9-to-5 job, well, the same routine every day as it was before him. you come home, make lunch, and watch a show to unwind from the long, exhausting day at work. mundane. predictable.

but after midnight, everything changes.

it’s the part of your life no one knows about. not even your closest friends. as soon as the clock hits 12, you shift into someone else entirely. that secret side of you comes alive, and for a few hours every night, you stream games to a hidden audience, identity shielded by the anonymity of your kitsune mask.

you’re known online as "kitsunekitten," a name that’s grown more popular than you ever expected. thousands of fans tune in religiously to watch you play everything from dishonoured to lies of p, dead cells, or resident evil. and with every stream, your fanbase grows. the praise, the attention—it feels good.

your phone buzzes again.

unknown: “look behind you.”

you freeze, breath hitching with fear as you feel the slight shiver spread across your body. your gaze darts to the corner of the room, where your webcam sits innocently atop your monitor. you’ve always felt secure with the mask on—no one could ever see your face, not really. but now? the idea that someone might be looking through the lens, watching your every move, makes your skin crawl.

for a long moment, you don’t move. you don’t dare to. but the urge to check if it's him is eating you alive. slowly, your head turns, heart pounding as your eyes scan the obscured room behind you.

there's nothing.

the room is exactly how you left it—empty, quiet.

your shoulders sag in relief, though your nerves still remain frayed, buzzing with adrenaline. you stand from your desk, pacing, trying everything just anything to shake the unease that's wrecking your system. you glance at the clock: 1:49 a.m. it’s too late to still be awake, but you’re wired. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep tonight, not after those messages.

your phone buzzes again, and against your better judgment, you grab it.

unknown: “you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

your blood runs cold, a shiver racing down your spine. there’s no way they can actually be inside… right? you check the door, locked. the windows, closed. you even peek through the curtains, scanning the street below. everything is as it should be, yet the feeling of being watched is suffocating.

how do they know?

another message:

unknown: “why don’t you check the stream again?”

your heart nearly stops. you rush back to your desk, hands trembling as you click open your streaming software. the screen flickers showing your room through the webcam—but something’s off.

the feed is lagging, slow, as if struggling to keep up. then, for a split second, you see it—a shadow in the corner of the room. you blink, leaning closer, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

panic sets in, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to do. but before you can type anything, another message appears, this time in the stream chat. their username, the same one that’s been following you for a few days now: raskolnikov.

“i like your mask, but it’s time we get rid of it, don’t you think?”

your pulse races trying your best to shut the stream down, but your cursor freezes. the mouse won’t respond. every click is to no avail. the screen blurs for a moment before the video feed cuts to black.

what the hell is going on?

then, just as you're about to reach for your phone to call 911, your screen lights up again, showing a video file playing. it’s footage of you—a vivid footage from inside your apartment. to be more exact from your bedroom. you recognize the view, the angle—it’s from your own webcam showing you, sleeping, unaware of the camera watching your every move you make.

your stomach churns. this isn’t real, no... this can’t be real.

then you hear it. this time, a voice comes from right behind you. it filters through your ears, clear with a chilling calmness to it.

“did you miss me, myskha?”

your body locks up, thrill tightening your throat. god! you're so stupid, of course it's him, you should've known it's him, that smooth, taunting tone you’d recognise anywhere.

it’s fyodor dostoevsky.

a few months ago, things were simple. your streams were gaining traction, and the messages were nothing out of the ordinary. until him.

it started small—just a user in your chat, “@demonfyodor,” who seemed more attentive than others. you didn’t think much of it at first. his comments were polite, sometimes even helpful. but then, they became more specific. he knew details about your personal life, things you had never shared on stream—what books you were reading, the colour of the shirt you wore to work that day.

you ignored it at first, brushing it off as a coincidence. but the coincidences kept piling up. he knew too much.

and then, the gifts started arriving. packages with no return address. items you’d mentioned offhandedly during a stream—a game you were interested in, a book you had your eye on, even a necklace you admired. they all came, perfectly wrapped, as if sent by someone who was always listening, aways watching.

by then, the messages grew more intense, sliding into your dms with a casual ease that sent shivers down your spine. easy to say that he wanted more than just to watch. he craved interaction, intimacy, a connection that transcended beyond the screen. and the thrill of having someone so alluringly close was insanely intoxicating, especially when you wore your mask, the anonymity allowing you to explore sides of yourself you’d long kept hidden.

at first, it was thrilling to engage in these flirty exchanges with him. fyodor had a specific way of using words that wrapped around you like silk, enticing you into a world of pleasure you had almost forgotten. he’d ask if you liked the gifts he sent—those perfect little treasures that you've always secretly craved. new packages started arriving, each one with a rush of excitement, revealing items that teased at your wildest fantasies—handcuffs, whips, and other bdsm delights that you had secretly wanted to try but never had the courage to explore.

you’d spent so long alone, single for what felt like an eternity, that you never expected to be so drawn to these fantasies again.

you found yourself lost in hours of texting, often escalating to calls and even facetiming late at night. there was this specific magnetic pull between you, a connection that was both so thrilling yet unbelievably terrifying. and the unforgettable nights you shared became an addiction—worse than nicotine, you realised.

safe to say that fyodor was different. well, he was smart, intuitive, and oh, that half-lidded gaze of his, those captivating amethyst eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, made it nearly impossible to resist. the way he smirked when he facetimed you, so confident and smooth, drew you in like a cat to catnip.

fyodor had a unique talent for making you cum over and over again without even being in the same room. his silk smooth voice filling your senses with his soft moans and luscious whispers. you could almost feel him there with you, as if he knew every secret spot that would send you twirling into ecstasy.

“just for me, darling,” he would murmur in the dead of night, calling you while you lay there, helplessly aroused, stroking his deliciously lengthy pale cock while whispering sweet nothings that seemed to tangible your desire. it was intoxicating.

and oh the thrill of being sprawled out in front of him through the lens, just for his viewing pleasure, became a nightly ritual. you’d slowly slide the lavender dildo he gifted between your slick-coated folds, moaning softly as you fucked yourself just for him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. every squirm, every gasp was a performance, and the way he admired your every inch of you, the way his gaze burned into you through the screen, made it all the more exhilarating. you loved how pretty he made you feel, how desired, and how alive.

and then came the darker undertones—the realisation that the line between thrill and danger was razor-thin, especially when your connection to him spiraled deeper into obsession.

you were obsessed—completely consumed by him, and you could swear he felt the same. fyodor was always there, filling the void with his words and voice. until one day… he just disappeared.

no warning, no goodbye. nothing, just… gone.

he deleted all of his accounts, his number, everything. every trace of him, wiped clean, deactivated as if he had never existed in the first place. you thought it was some kind of sick game at first. a punishment, maybe? but for what ? you didn’t know. all you knew was the desperate, gnawing need for answers.

you spent days—weeks, really—searching for any trace of him, some clue, something that would explain why he’d vanish so suddenly. but there was nothing. it was as if he had planned this all along, like a predator keeping his prey hooked, dangling just out of reach before vanishing into the void, leaving you stranded in the wake of your obsession.

you’d find yourself obsessively refreshing your streams, hoping his username would pop up in the chat as it used to, scouring your dms, wondering if maybe he was still watching you, lurking among the anonymous fans. you caught yourself imagining him behind every new follower, every message, wondering if he was there, pulling the strings once again.

three months of silence. three agonizing months of waiting, hoping, wondering. were you in love with him? or was it just a pure obsession? you couldn’t tell anymore. all you knew was that he had burrowed into your life, into your mind, so deeply that it felt like you were drowning without him.

your late-night streams had become hollow rituals, devoid of the thrill they once held. the gifts he’d sent were still there, tucked away, untouched since his disappearance. you couldn’t bring yourself to use them anymore, not without him. Not without his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how beautiful you looked writhing on camera just for him.

"you're shaking my dear are you okay"

his smooth, silky voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. okay? you're anything but okay. is he even kidding right now? you almost had a heart attack, convinced someone was about to kill you.

your hands tremble, mind racing with dozens of thoughts, questions colliding together in your head. but against all logic, despite the overwhelming fear, you can’t help but feel the familiar rush of dopamine hit your brain receptors.

you missed him. and you know exactly what that means.

he’s right there, sitting on your bed—flesh and bone, not just pixels on a screen. it’s almost too much to process. you hate to admit it, but he’s even more handsome in person. those amethyst eyes are sharper, more intriguing, and his smirk… makes your stomach twist with longing.

then, his voice again hypnotic, like velvet draping over your hearing senses:

“i’m sorry, myshka. i didn’t mean to disappear like that... i had some things to take care of.” he pauses, eyes searching your face for any sign that might let him push further. but all he finds is panic, disbelief, and hurt.

“i—i don’t understand,” you stammer, desperately searching for a way to make sense of it all.

his hand reaches out, brushing your cheek lightly. the touch makes you flinch, but it’s not out of fear. it's the way your body responds—a pink hue spreading underneath your cheeks colouring them so adorably.

“you’re trembling, my dear” he whispers, thumb trailing down to your lips. “but not just from fear, is it? no… there's something else, isn’t there, darling?”

you should push him away. you should scream. but instead, you stay frozen, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb presses lightly against your lower lip, and you can see the striking plum violet and mauve lines in his amaranthine irises.

“you’re so beautiful without the mask,” he continues, leaning slightly forward. “i’ve missed this. missed you.”

oh shit! the mask—how did you forget it? the realisation hits you like a truck, leaving you feeling achingly exposed, like a delicate flower stripped of its petals. is this okay? will he hurt you?

his other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around your side delicately, drawing you closer to him.

“i’ve been watching you, myshka,” he smiles, that damn smile that you've always wondered when you'll see again. “every night, waiting for the right moment to return.”

“did you think about me?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully, as if he already knows the answer. you swallow hard, not sure if you should be honest with him or not.

“y-yes,” you finally admit, of course, you thought about him—every single day and night. his essence always lingered in your mind like an addiction, one you couldn’t quite shake off. every moment of your life was coloured by the hope of his return.

“tell me what you want, myshka,” his eyes roam over your nightgown, captivated by how your lavender bra hugs your breasts so perfectly from underneath. tracing the cascade of your hair down your shoulders, with a few wisps caught teasingly between the soft curves of your cleavage. “i can give you everything and more.”

oh lord—the way he says it makes your vision blurs with lust, you want to tell him, you want to confess all of your darkest desires, the fantasies you’ve spun in the solitude of your room. but words fail you. instead, your body leans instinctively toward him, humming in delight, craving the contact you’ve denied yourself for so long.

“the little toys i sent you are gathering dust, aren’t they? i think it’s time we put them to use.”

your breath catches in your throat. how did he know? you hesitate for a second before rushing to your closet, fingers trembling slightly as you open the drawer and pull out the baby blue handcuffs and the magenta vibrator he gifted you months ago his smirk widens as he watches you, an amsuing glint speading into his eyes.

“good choice,” he murmurs, stepping closer to take the items from your hands, smirking viciously as he holds the cuffs like a trophy. “let’s see how well you can follow my orders tonight.”

slowly, he begins to undress you, hands exploring every inch of your soft skin as if you're a forbidden fruit in eve's garden. he traces his fingers along your arms, down your hips, then to your neck down your spin and the cloudy pillows of your ass. each touch makes your skin pebble, radiating flames under his tender touches. you’re not just his toy, you’re his masterpiece.

once he’s stripped you down to nothing, he leads you to the bed and gently handcuffs your wrists to the headboard, securing you in place. you're quite aware that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety but right now? all you can think about is what he is planning.

as he finishes, he swoops down, lips brushing yours so teasingly, before pressing his cold ones against yours in a gentle chaste kiss growing handsier by each second, causing you to let out a muffled hum of surprise.

he pulls back watching your heaving chest as you catch him holding your kitsune mask, a vicious smile curling on his lips. “you know I can’t have my favorite little fox completely unmasked,” he teases, lifting it toward your face, placing the mask over your features to obscure your identity as he holds a camera in his other hand aiming it at you, its lens capturing the erotic moment. “i want to remember every exquisite detail,” he grouses erotically—placing the camera on your night stand before slowly taking off his clothes.

your breath hitches as you take in his details through the mask. yes, you've seen him naked multiple times before, but it was always behind the camera lenses, never this close. his body is pale and perfectly structured, and oh god, his waist—how is he that beautiful?

your gaze drifts lower, eyes widening as they lock onto his hard cock, the tip glistening and teasingly brushing against your slick folds. it’s a sight that sends a jolt of desire pooling low in your stomach. you want him—need him—right now.

he spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened amethyst orbs as your delicious juices drool from your empty hole.

“oh... myshka, your pussy is so much softer than i imagined.” he purrs as he watches your glossy lips part slightly letting out muffled mewls, the mask frames your features, leaving your mouth exposed for him. he tilts his hips ever so slightly letting the tip of his cock glide against your buzzing clit.

“mnff...fedya,” here comes your needy whimpers that he adores.

he lowers himself, so that his mouth is just a few inches from your cunt, warm breath faning against your wet puffy folds making your cunt gush more and more of its sweet juices.

he begins with teasing licks, the hot muscle swirling around your sensitive clit in circular motion, each flick makes your back arch and hips instinctively buck up yearning for more. a muffled 'mmff' vibrates against your hot sex, as he tastes the sweet honey seeping from between your folds like you’re the sweetest nectar.

“mmff myshka, can you stop moving so much?” he murmurs against your heat core, the vibrations adding to the delicious torment. his fingers dive deeper, curling inside you as he continues to work your clit with his mouth, the combination making you moan loudly, while struggling against your restrained hands, you desperately try to break free, yearning to let your fingers tug on his luscious black silk hair.

“please… more,” you gasp, unable to contain the desperation in your voice as he responds with a low, pleased growl, redoubling his efforts to bring you close enough to your sweet release.

but just as you’re about to cum, he suddenly pulls away. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, the pleasure abruptly cut off as you watch him with wide eyes, feeling the emptiness where he was just a moment ago.

“not yet, myshka,” he chuckles, licking his lips to taste the ghost of you.

without warning, he rams inside you, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you, the sudden intrusion makes your vision blurry, stars flashing behind your eyes making every nerve in your body tingle with pleasure. as you feel yourself close to your release again, your walls clenching around him instinctively.

“черт! тебе так хорошо.” (fuck! you feel so good.) he groans as he begins to thrust deep, each swing of his hips sending ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core. “this tight little pussy of yours..ngh..is going to become my new obsession..mff”

you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your hollow heart, making you feel butterflies in your stomach mingling with the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.

lost in a haze of blissful moans and blurred vision, you barely notice fyodor's hand gliding over to the vibrator. the moment he presses it against your swollen clit, a scream escapes your lips, a sound of pure ecstasy that mingles with his deep, satisfied moan. the buzzing sensation resonates deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. as his heavy shaft with veins straining against the skin, finds new pleasure points inside you that he commits to memory eager for the next time you make love.

heat coils between you as his furrowed brows speak of pure, concentrated desire. each deep stroke reshapes your walls, molding them to the weight and curve of his delicious lengthy cock, making sure no one else could ever fill you up the way he does. when your eyes meet, it’s like gazing into a galaxy of forbidden stars—his eyes telling you of a dark beauty of pleasure that pulls you higher and higher and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass blends with your moans, each collision driving you closer to the intoxicating edge of bliss.

you’re absolutely lost in the art of it, the way his body claims yours, painting pleasure across every nerve until the world outside dissolves and all that remains is just the two of you.

his breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps, tension in his muscles like the pull of a bowstring, ready to spill inside you at any given moment. he swells, every stroke only adding more fuel to the release building between you. the world narrows to this moment, the brush of his sweaty skin against your heaving chest, the pulse of pleasure echoing through your body with the buzzy rhythm of the vibrator pressed on your clit drives you straight away to your own release.

it's like stars colliding in the vastness of a violet sky, you shatter together. his name spills from your lips in a cry, body arching as pleasure crashes over you, flooding your senses. his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives deeper, groaning low in his chest. and then you feel the heat of his release blooms inside you, filling you in waves as your walls pulse around him, pulling him in even tighter.

your bodies tremble in the afterglow, the world spinning and slowing until only the soft hum of breath and the fading echoes of pleasure remain. you glance at his irresistible eyes, seeing the remnants of that celestial fire, a shared intimacy that lingers even as the stars dim and the night settles into quiet.

he reaches over with a steady hand, grabbing the camera set just beyond the edge of the bed, with a smirk curling his lips, he flicks it off, the soft click signaling the end of the recording before he leans closer, fingers brushing against your cheekbone as he slowly pulls the mask off your face and gently frees your aching wrists from the restraints.

“beautiful,” he murmurs with a thick russian accent, his breath mingles with yours for a heartbeat before he closes the gap, capturing your lips in another deep, passionate kiss, mouth moving erotically against yours with the same fervor that had driven him moments before, as if he’s still chasing the aftershocks of pleasure through the taste of your glossy now-swollen lips.

“moya lyubov, you're designed just for me.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr

[tbaluver]

teachers pet

pairing: professor!rafayel x college student!reader wc. 1.4k cw: MDNI p in v a/n: he's so yumm. this is inspo from his anecdotes! warning: explicit and sexual content below. this is intended for mature audiences. both are consenting adults and this fic does not condone sexual relations with your teachers in real life. this is all purely fiction. any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

you dreaded the idea of taking your last class for college. it was your final semester before transfering over to the Hunter’s academy and your last required class just had to be an art class.

you appreciate the arts but seriously? were you going to paint the wanderers before finishing them off? you later changed your mind about this class until your professor was painting your insides white.

-

rafayel was mesmerized as he watched your tight little cunt swallow his cock whole. the position where he has you bent over has him hitting your spot each time he pushes forward. with each hard thrust you knew you weren’t going to last long, again.

he holds onto your shoulder as he keeps one of his hands on the top of your ass, letting you rock back and forth in his shallow thrusts. the stretch makes you tremble, slick with want. you find your old nail scratches etched into his desk, now adding new ones in this position he’s placed you in.

“so cute,” he praises, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes half lidded. “how can my cutie have such filthy thoughts about me?”

you don’t know how long you’ll last. with the way he was praising you, calling you his, and him rubbing your clit again to make you reach an earth shattering high. you were so close and he can tell. your walls were so desperate to milk dry. all you can feel is how he stretches you to perfection, your mouth drooling from the absolute pleasure he was giving you.

your orgasm slams into you and your vision whitens, clenching around him as he fucks you through it.

“so good to me,” he pants, “my favorite and best student.” he sighs against your neck, sending goosebumps to your skin. he gently takes ahold of you by the neck, angling you for a tender but for a slightly messy kiss while his hands rub the side of your ass.

he helps you clean the mess between your thighs with his handkerchief as you fix the top of your shirt. he gently helps you slide on your panties, guiding your leg over the entrance, then the other, before placing a tender kiss on the inner part of your thigh.

“try and focus today cutie, don’t wanna go rough on you tonight.” he tilts his head and winks, patting your thigh that you’re good to go before any students see.

-

you were known as the model student in this class. always the first to arrive and always looking the best. many of your peers don’t know how you do it and why but truly your motivation was him.

your art could no where compete with his so you always found yourself reaching his help, hoping for his attention- not that you cared much for the projects. it was him you wanted, his touch, his gaze, the thrill of being near him was almost electrifying.

his presence was impossible to ignore. his hand covers yours as he helps guide your brush. his chest pressed gently against your back and his steady breath on the back of your neck made your heart race.

thankfully the canvas you had was large enough to cover both of you. no one could see the way his lips brushed against your ear as he murmured small praises and the way his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than necessary. they couldn’t see the way his hand slipped off your waist as he left you to do your work.

“class is almost over. make sure to clean up your stations and you’re free to go.” he says in a deeper tone, one that he never used much to you whenever you two were alone.

the hum of class chatter, the shuffle of footsteps as students packed up and cleaned their stations, filled the room. one by one, they all trickled out, only a few remained.

as you gathered your things, your eyes found his across the room. his gaze locked with yours and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

neither of you looked away. his nebula eyes followed you and you could feel the weight of his stare as you made your way to the door. you let your gaze linger for a moment before you stepped out of the room, knowing he was still watching until your figure completely disappeared from his sight.

-

a trail of your clothes and his litter in his room to his bed.

“fuuuuck, cutie, - hah. fuck you’re so fucking wet for me,” he lets out a moan that comes from deep in his chest. he takes a couple more breaths, clenching his eyes close and finds solitude in the crook of your neck. his palms could basically leave his handprints on your ass where he’s squeezing so tight.

he thrusts into you deeply, matching your rhythm while you clamp down on his cock. your body seizes as your orgasm washes over your body and continues fucking you through it, trying to find his own.

you hear him whine and continue to let him have your way with you while you grab onto him. he can’t control the sounds that come out of him as he lets out such soft and pretty sounds in your ears. you know he’s getting closer and closer until you feel his cum flooding inside of you.

he continues thrusting inside of you, taking advantage of your hot walls squeezing down on him. he catches his breath with his head still down and you can feel his breath on your chest as you stroke the back of his head.

“raf?” you asked soflty, your hands intertwining with his soft locks. “are you alright?”

he lifts his head away from your neck, his eyes refocusing on you again. a mischievous smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, his hands find your back and draw you down with him, the plush of his mattress catching you both. the unexpected movement earns a surprised yelp from you.

“i love you, my little conch,” he mutters under his breath, unsure if you heard it. both of you were still hazy from what just happened a couple seconds ago.

your fingers trail absentmindedly over the locket around his neck, fiddling with the cool metal. his hands cover yours, gently guiding it away from the chain and refocusing your attention back to him.

“i love you too,” you murmur, “but...why won’t you tell me who’s in this locket?” you tilt your head innocently as you rest your head against his chest cutely.

he chuckles quietly, “i’ll tell you soon, kay?”

you pout and you struggle to hide the frustration on your face. the relationship between you two had always been there but it had to be kept a secret from the public. you both knew the stakes and if anybody found out, you we’re both in deep trouble.

you know he’s not married but the curiosity gnaws at you that he never discusses much of his life and his past with you.

he could tell this was bothering you so he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “don’t worryy about it too much, cutie. you’re the only person on my mind.” he reassures and he figures you were okay once you nuzzle deeper into his warmth.

his arms tighten around you, pulling you close and he knows how exhausted you are. you slowly drift away and your body melts into his as sleep finally claims you. he holds you tight, feeling your body relax against his and finally he allows himself to simply be here with you. no one else to worry about, just you and him alone in your own world.

as you sleep, he stays awake. his fingers play with the chain of the locket as his thoughts wander. this relationship was never supposed to happen. he never intended for it to go this far but the moment he saw you on the first day, he couldn’t resist.

with a quiet sigh, he opens the locket and there it is. a picture of you from your past life that he cherishes so deeply. he doesn't know how to tell you about it and he doesn’t know if he’ll even tell you about it. he can’t bear losing you again, not when he has you this close. he closes the locket, holding you closer. but right now he has you in his arms again and that’s all that truly matters. his beloved bride.