#time to put your money were your mouths are

[heyftinally]

I specifically want to elaborate on this part:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

As someone who has spent a LOT of time and effort on the nitty-gritty of quoting others in professional documents, I feel like I have a pretty good foundation on which to speak about this.

As a general rule, you want to directly quote the speaker as much as possible.

First and foremost, this is because you don't want to put words in their mouth or misrepresent what they said, as that's dishonest on your part as the interviewer/writer/etc, and harms your credibility. Remember the "Coolsville sucks" meme? Yeah, don't be that person. Quotes should be full and verbatim as much as possible, because anything else presents the possibility that you aren't accurately or fully representing what the speaker said.

The second reason is because when you re-word someone else's quote, you inherently inject your own biases into the new version you create. What that means is, consciously or unconsciously, you are influencing the way readers perceive what was said. This is bad because at best, you're speaking over the person who's quote you re-worded. At worst, you're manipulating your readers to think as you do, regardless of what the original quote said.

When presenting a quote from someone else, your job is to communicate as clearly as possible the speaker's original statement and intention. If giving the direct quote is not possible, careful paraphrasing is vital.

If I say "Sara James then went on to express her dissatisfaction with the pay she received", what would you assume the original quote is?

It could be "Yeah, I found out I was only getting paid ⅓ as much as my costar, even though I have 40% more screen time and I did almost all of my own stunts, so needless to say I'm not happy and I've been talking to my team."

But it could ALSO be "I was surprised when I found out what we were all getting paid. Not to sound like a total nepo baby or anything, but normally the projects I do pay more, y'know? But then I found out that the reason pay was lower for everyone - not just me - was because production was donating a whole bunch of money to the local children's hospital since we filmed in the lot next door. Which I thought was really cool of them! Like, obviously the hospital doesn't get much say in the filming, so I thought it was really cool of production to give back as, like, a thank you. Plus we got to go visit the kids, which was just amazing!"

TECHNICALLY in both of these, you could argue that displeasure about pay IS mentioned - but the specifics of the situation are entirely lost in the oversimplified paraphrasing, and THAT is why changing direct quotes can be dangerous.

So, yeah. I just wanted to elaborate on that particular point because it's one I covered *heavily* while in college. How you quote someone is important.

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[lilyyy123]

Merry Christmas baby~ m.s

Warnings ⚠️: slapping, rough sex, mean Matt, dom Matt x sub reader, squirting, unprotected p in v

Summary: matts girlfriend has been pushing his buttons all day so he gets payback

A/n: this is so bad and I haven't read it over to if there's any mistakes don't mind it 😇

You were sitting next to the tree with Matt unwrapping presents you got for each other. This was your guys first Christmas together so you wanted to make it special. After you had unwrapped the presents and thanked each other you decided to go outside in the snow.

You and Matt put on your warm clothes and gloves before heading out the back door to your garden. As you walk outside your immediately hit with the cool winter breeze, the snow beneath your feet crunching as you step on it. Matt stands a few feet away, watching you play in the snow like a child when all of a sudden he feels a hard, cold ball of snow hit his face. He wipes the snow away, his nose and cheeks rosy red as he looks up at you with an unimpressed look on his face. As you look at him you can tell he's mad, you've been pushing his buttons all day by giving him attitude subtly (that didn't go unnoticed by him) and just being a brat in general but he hasn't said anything yet because it's Christmas and he wants you to have a good time but this was his last straw.

He walks over to you and grabs you by the arm, yanking you inside. You gasp as he pulls you through the door and into the living room, throwing you down on the sofa. "Matt what are you doing?" You ask quietly. "I'm gonna fuck that stupid little attitude out of you and you're not gonna say a fucking word while I do" he replies in a rough tone, grabbing your jacket and pulling it off you. He grabs you and flips you over so your laying on your stomach before grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and pulling them down, revealing the lacy black thong you had picked out earlier that morning. He groans at the sight of it before delivering a hard slap on your ass. You gasp and let out a small whine before he yanks down your panties, revealing your dripping wet folds to his gaze.

He pulls down his own pants, his hard erection springing free and hitting his stomach. He reaches his hand down, stroking himself and swiping his thumb over his pretty pink tip a few times before running it along your entrance but not pushing in yet. He pushes the tip in before pulling out again, repeating the action a few times. You lift your head off the sofa to look at him over your shoulder "Matt can you just-" he cuts you off by delivering a sharp slap to your cheek before pushing your head back into the sofa. "Don't you remember what I said huh? Not a fucking word from that pretty little mouth of yours." You keep your head against the sofa while gripping the cushions. He slowly pushes in your entrance half way before pulling out again. You whine in response, knowing deep down you deserve it for being a brat.

He pushes in again, bottoming out with a groan before he starts moving his hips. You let out a small whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. "Oh my god" you moan before he puts his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down into the sofa. The sound of your muffled moans and skin slapping together filling the room. You go to say something before Matt pushes your head into the sofa more "what was that baby? Not so confident now huh?" He groans as he picks up his thrusts, slamming into your tight hole. You gasp and reach behind you to slow him down, he grabs both your hands and pin them to your back. He pushes down, forcing you to arch even more. "Oh Matt fuck!" You practically scream as he hits a deeper spot inside you because of the new angle. "Shut the fuck up." He snaps at you through gritted teeth. He stops thrusting for a second to get his bearings. "Oh fuckkkk" he growls before he starts thrusting again. You start to feel a familiar feeling in your stomach. With another hard thrust you feel the knot in your stomach break, clear liquid gushing out of you and all over his cock before he buries himself deep inside you. Filling you with his white, sticky load.

He pulls out, watching his load ooze out of your tight hole. Catching his breath before grabbing a tissue to clean you up and pulling you into his lap. "Merry Christmas baby" he chuckles.

[thef1diary]

I need ghost!max to start haunting my place…. Please… I’ll pay good money… bake ghost cookies… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

BUT DI, that is giving freeuse kink and you know who’ll love that ? 👀 yeah yeah…. Dirtbag!daniel….

hear me out, when he realises that maybe there’s something more that triggers the jealousy and all, he’s looking for a way to have you all to himself for some time (you’d obv been fucking regularly but it’s not like you live at his place) AND WHAT BETTER EXCUSE than that??? Y’know…. You’ll NEED to spend the whole week at his place for him to use you like he wants to… AND HE DOES 👀👀

-🐱

— “bake ghost cookies” nonnie you make me laughhh 😭 but mhm dirtbag!danny would loveee free use kink 👀 it wouldn’t be hard to convince you at all, I mean a full week with the hottest guy, giving him the full authority to use you as he wishes? Hell yeah, where do I sign up? 18+ content below

It started with you coming over, a casual plan for the evening. But the moment you stepped through the door, Daniel had you pinned to the wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming like he couldn’t wait another second.

The plan to stay for a single night turned into two. Three. Then a full week. Neither of you could get enough of each other, so why would you leave? He wanted all of you, at any time of the day he desired, and you eagerly complied.

Your clothes? Gone. Tossed somewhere and never given back. At best, he let you wear one of his shirts—oversized and smelling like him, but with nothing underneath. Any time you walked through the house, he’d pull you into his lap, his hand sliding up your bare thighs with a smug grin.

“Gave in so quickly, hm?” He said one afternoon as you stood in the kitchen. “Why do you put up a facade for the world when you’re desperate to be my personal slut? Mine to use whenever I want, however I want.”

His grip tightened on your waist as he stood behind you, his words ticking your ear. “You’re here for me to use, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second.”

He made good on his word. Mornings started in various ways each day. Face down, ass up, your teeth buried in a pillow as he pounded into your wet pussy, groaning about how tight you were, how you were made for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you up slightly. “So fucking perfect like this. You’ll never want anyone else after me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

Or he’d have you on your knees, his cock heavy in your mouth as his hand guided your movements, controlling every inch you took. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his head falling back. “Taking me so fucking well. You like this, don’t you? Letting me ruin you before breakfast.”

Afternoons were no reprieve. He found any excuse to touch you, to take you. The couch, the counter, even the floor—every surface in his house bore witness to the way he unraveled you.

He dropped to his knees in the living room one day, devouring you like a man starving, his beard leaving marks on your thighs. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groaned, his tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers worked you open. “Could spend every damn day buried here.”

By the time night fell, you were spent—but he wasn’t done. He’d pull you into bed, his body flush against yours, guiding your hips to sink down on his cock. “Just stay like this,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides. “Keep me warm for the night, maybe I’ll wake you up by fucking you, exactly how you like it.”

One hand lazily gripped your waist as the other toyed with you—pinching your nipples or rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clit while you were stretched around him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck. Your body ached, your throat was hoarse, and your mind was a blur of pleasure and submission.

When he finally let you rest, he pulled you against his chest with a rare softness. “Don’t wanna hear about anyone else, got it? You’re mine. Always,” he murmured.

And lying there, his hand stroking lazily over your back, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You were happy to be his personal slut, just like he said.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER THREE PT. II: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni! | oopsie, is that... a special banner? gee I wonder if there's something to see at the end of this chapter, huh?

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.5K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. internship interviews suck. nobara likes to steal food from people. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. nanami gets pestered by gojo even here. higuruma likes sunflowers. nanami has a sixth sense.

❀ notes etc.

Apologies to any colleagues reading the word “evidence” in place of “proof” and feeling like tackling me with a broom, lol. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who came around for part one, I hope you guys get to enjoy reading this just as much I enjoyed writing it.

Argh… Monday.

Internship hunt was hell. There was no other way to spin that wheel. You knew it’d be incredibly hard, but not this hard.

Mondays were cursed days, but to know that not only cursed, they’d also start with terrible interviews — plural — was not in your bingo card for this week. Between  oh, you just started criminal law I this semester? and we will let you know laid the crumbling sounds of your utmost despair of knowing full well you were in for a ride for those next few days.

Well, if only daydreaming about him could save you.

It didn’t, though.

Unfortunately.

You arrived at the campus cafeteria where you were supposed to meet Nobara. Even on a fairly uncomfortable chair, she slouched nearly enough to slide down onto the ground like a rag doll, and it didn’t take you much to realize these past few days were throwing her through the wringer too.

“You look like death,” you joked as you pulled your chair to sit with her, putting your tuna sandwich and can of soda over the table.

“And you look like… like… hmph,” she scoffed while rolling her eyes and propping herself back up again.

“No snarky comeback? Are you that tired?” 

“Leave me alone,” she replied, and apparently, she really wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. You took a bite out of your sandwich, pondering if you should ask her about it, but she beat you to it. “Why is getting internships this early in college is so damn hard?”

“Apparently, places don’t trust complete newbies or youngsters,” you noted, “and they want someone who has already studied all the necessary subjects prior to hiring. Also, people with prior experience are preferred.” 

“Yet these are internship opportunities! Aren’t interns supposed to be newbies who are going to learn from the experience they’ll get through the internship?” Nobara irritatedly inquired, her implied commentary more a complaint than a question. You nodded.

“Absolutely. It makes no sense, it’s like they’re just trying to hire a junior lawyer with less rights and a lower pay rate,” you churned out through your mouthful of tuna and mayonnaise, “now that I think about it, it’s probably that, actually.” 

“I can’t go back home! I mean, I made it all the way here. If I had to go back I would never get over this. I need some money, and I need some money soon, otherwise this will all just have been a waste of my time. I should just get a part time job already instead of insisting in starting my internship as fast as possible.” 

Nobara covered her face, and she sounded genuinely upset. You paused your munching for a bit, and after washing it all down with a few gulps of soda, you leaned towards her, pulling her hands from her face.

“Hey, Nobara, we’re not letting that happen, okay? Neither me, Maki, Yuuji or Megumi.” you offered in an attempt to comfort her. She let you peel her palms away, and gazed at you in a mixture of frustration and anger, which softly subsided after your comment. You decided to push your luck, just a bit. “We can refugee you in Megumi’s car. We’ll get you a hammer so you can hit passerbies for shits and giggles to let some collegiate steam out.” 

Consternated, she shook your hands off of her while you chuckled. She made her best effort to still look pissed, but you noticed a tiny smile forming on the edges of her mouth.

“That’s a shit plan, but I’ll take you up on that hammer offer,” she said, and you smiled at her, a gesture she finally reciprocated.

“I’d expect no less from you. So, tell me, in which area are you looking for internships? Fashion law?” 

“Nope, entertainment.” Nobara picked your half eaten sandwich in her hands and took a bite before you could protest. “Maki had told me it was easier to get internships in entertainment law to garner some experience for a future in fashion law, but honestly? I’m skeptical now.” 

“There might be some openings soon. Have you tried Professor Gojo’s firm? It’s the same as Professor Nanami’s, isn’t it? I mean, that giant firm with dozens of departments and that nearly every teacher at our college seems to work for.” You stretched your hand to get your sandwich back, but she slapped you away. “Hey!” 

“I need it more than you, I’m sad!” 

“I’m sad too! I had four terrible internship interviews today, give it back!” 

You both entered a silly slapping match, and the few people walking past the table would look away nervously in fear of getting dragged into the middle of whatever war was going on over a cheap cafeteria tuna sandwich.

“You were having interviews today too?! How come you never told me?! I’m gonna eat your food for not telling me stuff, you’ve been weird ever since that party that you went off for a smoke and dipped!” She took another humongous bite and you jumped over the table, finally snatching whatever remained of your food out of her hands.

“I haven’t been weird!” you had, “and yes, I did. I am interviewing for internship openings in criminal law, but… well, you’ve been through that these days yourself. You know the drill.” 

She grunted with tuna smeared around her mouth, trying to reach for the rest of your sandwich, and it was your turn to slap her.

“Stop it, Nobara. Quit being so stingy and buy one for yourself!” 

“Not when I can eat your food for free,” she joked while taking a big gulp from your soda can, and you sighed, which only gave her a shit eating grin. “Did you interview for that spot they announced today?” 

“What? What opening?”

“I just saw it, there was a new flyer on the main hall board. It’s an internship for criminal law, apparently under the guidance of Professor Geto,” Nobara said while shrugging. “Apparently the huge firm now has a criminal law department too. It was announced last week or so.” 

“Did it say up until when they were taking applications?” 

***

Each and every tendon in your body tensed as you sat with the perfect lady-like crossed ankles at the 45º angle under your second-hand suit. The meeting room was, for the lack of a better word, mighty, having an entire glass wall peering into the rest of the office, and towered over you high enough to have you feeling like a tiny speck of dust humbly drifting its way over the clearly expensive brown, leather couch. A few people walked by as you waited, and the mahogany table seemed big enough to fit three people. It was probably worth your entire year’s tuition, and you wondered if the ceiling height really needed to be tailored for elves. Or ents. Tree people, perhaps.

The firm’s name hung high right in front of you, the logo and letters made out of stainless steel illuminated by LEDs behind it. Opulence wasn’t a big enough word to describe that pompous display of corporate wealth.

You were fished out of your rags to riches daydreams by the pivoting door opening, figuring it was your interviewer for the position. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the already well-known foxy-eyed, long haired Professor to come in, but a much more stoic individual with the polar opposite for a hair, not only in length but in color too. You already knew him from afar, as your commercial law Professor. He carried himself in a dignified manner, and upon further inspection, not only was his navy blue suit absolutely pristine, he also didn’t have a single hair strand out of place. You got up to greet him, bowing respectfully, and he returned the gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.,” he said as he sat down on his chair across from you, “my name is Nanami Kento and I’ll be responsible for your interview today.”

You introduced yourself, and remarked, “apologies, but I thought Prof- I mean, Mr. Geto would be the one responsible for this interview today.”

 “As it stands currently, the criminal law department is my responsibility,” Nanami clarified, “so I decided I’d be the one responsible for interviewing our future team. I currently work in our corporate law department.”

You acquiesced with a professional smile. Something about how every tiny detail in him was on point gave you enough leads to conclude that of course this man took it upon himself to be the one responsible for the interviews.

“I’ve read in your resume that you are currently undertaking criminal law I and criminal procedure law I,” Nanami said as he held your resume in his hand, glancing at you and then at the paper, “which isn’t ideal for an intern entering a newly built department.”

Harsh enough?

You readjusted yourself on your chair before speaking.

“Yes, I am.”

He hummed quietly and pulled another paper sheet from his briefcase, and even if his facial expression was perfectly collected, something about how the edges of his lips curled gave away that he was less than happy about whatever was written on it.

“Our HR insisted I should bring this questionnaire with me today, so that I could ask you this list of questions as part of our interview,” he stated, his words followed by a quiet sigh. Nanami then proceeded to tilt the paper towards him and took a moment before proceeding. “Tell me more about yourself in three… captivating anecdotes.”

His voice sounded robotic, as if he was feigning not to loathe the question at hand, and deep down, you did find it amusing. Not enough to distract yourself from the fact that you were usually horrible at interviews altogether, though.

“I’m currently in my late twenties. I started law school last year, and worked during my early twenties to save money for tuition. I’m really passionate about criminal law, that is why I applied.”

Oh, God. What was that?

Well, you sounded robotic too, listing off obvious factualities as if providing a recipe’s ingredients. Both of you stared at each other in silence, wondering if that was what this question was supposed to infer, and it took the two of you so long to speak up again that it became uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, Nanami unconsciously loosened his tie — barely — before continuing.

Well, at least I’m not the only one who’s uncomfortable.

“What…” he paused for a moment, and seemed to be biting down a discontented sigh, “animal would you be?” His gaze quickly darted down the sheet of paper, and his displeasure was palpable. For someone with such a straight face, his eyes were very telling.

What are these questions? Are we a hip tech company? Nanami thought to himself, wondering if he should make a new list to leave at HR. He was quick to discard the thought once he realized that meant he’d be telling other people how to do their jobs, something he did enough of already.

You didn’t quite know what the hell to answer.

“I… don’t know? I haven’t really thought about that in my life? A cat, perhaps?”

“I haven’t thought about that either, don’t worry, that’s unimportant. Let’s move on to the next question. How…” Nanami lifted an eyebrow, and that alone was enough to tell he was absolutely consternated, “many basketballs can fit inside a bus?”

“… Huh?”

Is this serious?

“I apologize, I believe there must have been some sort of mix-up at the HR, let me…”

Nanami was interrupted by three knocks on the glass wall. You both turned your heads to see Professor Gojo pointing at something — the paper Nanami held in his hands — while subsequently making a thumbs up, a wide grin smeared all over his face.

Without uttering a word nor missing a beat, Nanami got up, walked towards the glass and pulled on something you hadn’t yet noticed. Immediately, blinds slowly descended in front of the glass wall, and Nanami calmly walked his way back to his chair as Gojo’s face tried to keep peering inside the meeting room, descending alongside the rim of the blinds. He kept plastering his hands over the glass like a mimic.

A faint pained moan and a thud echoed once the blinds were about a foot away from reaching the floor.

“Is everything okay?” you inquired, pointing at Gojo’s direction.

“Ignore that.”

That wasn’t a request. You nodded. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect. Let’s also ignore this for a while,” Nanami remarked while putting the sheet of questions aside with his fingertips as if it was radioactive. “Let’s try something else.”

Nanami had this feeling — a familiar one — that he’d be able to pry from you what he needed to know if he went about this interview in a more practical fashion. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I’m going to describe a hypothetical scenario, and I want you to debate it with me,” he stated.

“Okay.”

“A client comes to this office being investigated of homicide and he wants to hire the firm to represent them in Court. They intend to plead not guilty.” you nodded, and Nanami continued, “The victim was shot, but there was no gun to be found in the crime scene. However, the client was the only person in the vicinity apart from the victim’s body. The client’s clothes — a long sleeved shirt and jeans — are evidence that has been collected at the crime scene, but no forensics were requested for it by the prosecution. When questioned in their first meeting, the client is adamant that they did not commit the crime. The attorney needs to decide which path to take regarding evidence they’ll request or submit. Now, I ask you, which type of evidence would the attorney request if the client is truly innocent?”

You took a deep breath while mentally going over the hypothetical scenario Nanami had just relayed, and considering all he mentioned, there was only one possibility.

“If my client was truly innocent, I’d ask for forensic evidence on their clothes. Guns leave gunpowder vestiges on things like clothes, so if this person didn’t actually pull the trigger, there should be no gunpowder on their sleeves.”

Nanami acquiesced, but remained silent. 

Ok, this is not the only thing he wants to know.

“Also… I’d tell exactly that to the client.”

Nanami’s face remained completely expressionless, but something about how he tilted his head less than an inch gave you the feeling that he seemed pleased with your answer.

“And why would you do that?”

“We need to work with accurate information. If the client was lying, and we submitted a request for that evidence — forensics on their clothes — we’d be tanking their defense. They need to know what we’ll be submitting as evidence and why. I believe telling that to our client would be enough to sway them into telling us the truth,” you sighed, before concluding, “people lie. Even when they shouldn’t.”

Nanami silently picked your resume back into his hands, and seemed to scan it quickly with his eyes. You knew your chances were slim, considering you had just started Criminal Law that very semester, something he didn’t fail to notice.

After a minute, he spoke again.

“Would you be willing to use some of your spare time to study topics you might not have seen yet in criminal law?”

“Yes.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest. This was it.

Here goes nothing.

“Then, it’s settled. Can you start on Monday?”

***

This wasn’t Higuruma’s usual go-to wish when he found himself behind the Passo’s wheel, but truth of the matter was, he hoped more than anything for his car to breakdown before he got to his destination. It wasn’t something completely out of the question considering his car’s track record, but as if some destiny’s mockery had been bestowed upon him that morning, even the clack-clack-clacks he was already used to hear for the past three months were gone. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the Passo glided over the asphalt like butter. 

“Of course you won’t fail me when I need you to, you unreliable piece of-”he muttered to himself under a discontented huff.

Put upon wasn’t strong enough to convey how Higuruma was feeling, his knuckle-white grip around the steering wheel being enough to give him a sharp pain in his palms that would surely follow him for the next few hours. In a sense, he had been knuckle-white tense ever since that morning, thinking about this endeavor he was kicking himself to push through. It was the nth time he’d tried to make that visit over the past year, one that he dreaded with each and every fiber of his being. 

The Professor eyed his passenger’s seat for a second, his gaze lingering on the plastic bag he carried with him that day. Inside, there were a bottle of Kirin, an incense, and a single sunflower. The flower was definitely too long to fit properly inside the bag, and it’s head peeped though the opening, yellow petals flickering while the car moved, every ridge on the road seemingly making it jump further and further out of its container.

With one hand on the wheel, and the other reaching out, he tried shoving the sunflower back into the bag, and in between eyeing the bag, then the road, picking the flower, pushing it, the bag sliding off the seat, loud news coming on the radio, Higuruma getting startled, his glasses slipping down his nose bridge, him pushing them back in place with his shoulder, tires screeching, a car horn, his heart pounding and his ears ringing, Higuruma came to the sensible conclusion that he should, as any responsible adult would, take a break.

I need a smoke.

Who he was visiting was definitely not going anywhere.

Checking where he was, Higuruma noticed a cafe nearby, and as fate would have it, there was a single parking spot right in front of it. He maneuvered the Passo, and the car fit neatly in between the white lines. Higuruma pulled his sunflower shawl — this time, not caught under any death trap, but laid over his back seat  alongside your scarf —, threw it around his neck and got out. He took a moment to stretch his fingers in the cold air, his breath clouding in front of his mouth, and tapped around his coat to take his wallet, finally inserting some coins into the park meter and crossing the guardrail by the sidewalk. 

He’d have exactly thirty minutes to get his shit together.

The cafe was warm, inviting, and strangely familiar, its orange light almost emanating the smell of coffee beans, croissants and decadent redemption for weary travelers. The store front had a glass display through which he saw an assortment of sweet and salty baked goods. Higuruma would probably pick one of those to eat — the greasiest one, if possible —, had he not been carrying a rock in place of his stomach for the past few hours.

With his resolution waning, he mindlessly took a step back while peeping, and sighed, his tired sigh weighing on his body deciding for him that an espresso was probably the way to go.

Stepping inside, Higuruma paid no mind to whatever was around him, and waited for his turn in line to order his drink. Across from him, you nearly choked, half a donut shoved into your powdered-sugar smeared mouth, nearly spilling your own coffee over your second-hand suit.

After your interview, you thought it’d be a good idea to have a snack, and made your way inside the closest, warmest, coziest cafe you found, which was across the firm. 

At that moment, you found yourself in a cliché adult life predicament — you just saw someone you knew, but they didn’t see you. Should you go over to greet them? Should you not? Would simply leaving be rude? Should you go actually talk to the man you definitely had — and shouldn’t have — a crush on?

You clutched your coffee harder as the thoughts flew around in your mind, as second nature at this point to avoid giving him another beverage shower.

After some quick consideration, you decided you would at least say hello, after all, it was the polite thing to do. You shoved the rest of your food into your mouth, washed it all down with the rest of your coffee, haphazardly cleaned around your mouth with a napkin and slowly walked towards him, stopping a few feet away. Somehow, he still hadn’t seen you, apparently too immersed in thought.

That was when you noticed a shawl around his neck.

It was pretty damn ugly.

“Professor, hi!” you greeted, and Higuruma got yanked out of whatever daydreams — or waking nightmares — he had been simmering in while waiting in line.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect to meet anyone here,” Higuruma replied, “I just stopped by for a snack.”

“Oh, nice. Their coffee is pretty good,” you said, “I got the espresso.”

“And… I hope that you’re finished already? With your coffee, I mean.” he asked while checking your hands, his usually unaffected tone slightly playful, earning him a chuckle from you.

“Rest assured, I’m not assaulting you nor your ugly shawl with my coffee,” you quipped, but his eyes only widened. His owlish eyes blinked once, and then twice, in absolute silence.

That was when you realized.

Oh. I said that out loud.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Awfully hypocritical of both of us, huh?” he noted, with a discreet smile pulling on his lips. 

Relieved, realizing he hadn’t taken offense, you sheepishly returned his smile, “I guess so. I don’t think I’ll get to keep being hypocritical about our ugly scarfs, though. I can’t seem to find mine, it’s been gone ever since that party.”

It was like a light bulb went on in Higuruma’s mind, and he cleared his throat before saying, “well, I may just prove you wrong. Follow me.”

Not fully understanding what he meant by that, you stood by him while he paid for his coffee, got it and walked outside. The cold winter breeze prickled your cheeks and your uncovered neck like hair-thin razor blades, and you followed Higuruma towards a car that wasn’t all that strange to you. Upon further inspection, you noticed that it was indeed his car, the old navy blue beat up thing you used as a shield for the wind during that night when you tried and failed at least half a dozen times to light a cigarette.

And then met him, and gave him a vodka scare.

And helped patting him dry with your-

“Here,” he called out, opening the door to the back seat. Sure enough, you saw that red, frizzly old thing tangled up in a ball.

“My scarf!” you reached inside and took it out, instantly throwing it around your neck. Higuruma noticed how you were genuinely pleased to have finally found it, and thought to himself that he’d most likely feel the same way if he ever lost and found his beat up, old shawl. 

It was just one of those things imbued with a sense of history and familiarity that only beat up, old tokens from days past had.

“Thank you,” you whispered, while sliding your fingers through the worn out cotton. “It was a gift. I might complain about it more often than not, but-”

“But it’s an important part of your life,” he replied, and you both glanced at each other while you nodded.

“Yes. Something like that. It’s my favorite curse to carry around while complaining about it, you know?” you mused, adjusting it around your neck and gratefully welcoming the warmth it brought around your neck. 

“I think I do,” he answered finally, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Let me repay you,” you offered. “Can I offer you a snack, or anything? Perhaps a smoke?”

“I’ll take you up on that cigarette offer,” he replied, and you pulled your pack out of your coat. Giving it a few taps, a cigarette popped up, and you took it in your lips, pulling another one and handing it to him.

Against his better judgement, Higuruma was slightly disappointed, and for a second, felt like kicking himself over it.

Idiot, you can’t seriously be expecting her to light a cigarette for me every time she offers you a smoke. Actually, I shouldn’t expect that at all.

 Against his will, Higuruma felt his cheeks warming up, and he tried his best to dive his face into his shawl while politely took the cigarette off your hands. You didn’t notice his moves and offered him your lighter — the same yellow, disposable one he had given you days ago. He picked it up, lit his cigarette and returned it.

“I see you still have it,” Higuruma noted, smiling gently, and you acquiesced.

“It has been my faithful companion for these past few weeks. I’m just glad I haven’t lost it like I lost my scarf,” you said before chuckling.

Higuruma leaned over the guardrail with his elbows, finally relaxing after… God knows how long. Slowly, he seemed to be getting lost in thought, and you seized the opportunity to better look at his shawl.  It had a sunflower pattern that went in a straight line right in front of it.

Still looking around as he stewed in his silent contemplations, you noticed there was a bag laying on top of his passenger’s seat. Peeping through it, stood a single sunflower, and what seemed to be the top of a Kirin bottle.

A sunflower man, hm?

The thought amused you as the corners of your mouth perked up in a gleeful smile, but you were quickly pulled out from it.

“Do you work nearby?” he asked, while taking a drag from his cigarette. “This is far from campus.”

“No. I mean, not yet. I was just… chasing my dreams,” you remarked, puffing some smoke. “What about you, Professor?”

Higuruma chuckled softly.

“I was being haunted by mine.”

You must’ve looked puzzled, because he quickly amended, “I was just on my way to visit someone and took a break for some coffee, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” you replied, realizing you were probably getting in his way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from your appointment. I-”

“It’s okay, there’s no one waiting for me. Or so I like to think.”

That comment left you with more questions than answers.

“Apologies. I don’t mean to keep you from going about the rest of your day too,” he bid behind a curtain of smoke, “and thank you for the cigarette. I really needed it.”

With your final puffs, you put your cigarette out and smiled at Higuruma.

“It’s okay, Professor. I should really get going, though. We are, indeed, far from campus and I’d like to get to my dorm before it’s dark.”

With a bow, you walked away, leaving Higuruma to his own devices. He sighed, alone with himself and his thoughts once again, turning his attention once more to the bag he had inside his car.

“Hiromi,” a familiar voice called out. Higuruma turned around, only to be met by Nanami, who had a indecipherable expression on his face.

Minutes before, Nanami decided to visit the nearby cafe and check if they had his favorite casse croûte that day. He wouldn’t mind getting a croissant, though.

 Upon stepping outside his building with dreams of pastries swirling around his overworked mind, he noticed you and Higuruma outside the cafe, and figured that was the perfect opportunity to approach you both and introduce you as the new intern for the criminal law department. It was just a matter of time before Higuruma accepted his offer, as Nanami thought, and you’d be both working together. However, before he could, Nanami noticed you and Higuruma were chatting, and not only that, but you approached Higuruma’s car and got something — apparently belonging to you — from his back seat. The ugliest red scarf Nanami had ever seen.

… What?

Nanami then remembered that you were a student on the very same university he tended to.

The same one in which Higuruma was a teacher too.

Why does Hiromi have things belonging to a student in the backseat of his car, of all places?  

Nanami was at a loss for words, and faltered for a few moments, wondering how he should ask Hiromi about this. That is, if he even should ask Hiromi about anything at all. Nanami decided to watch from afar, and something about the way Higuruma was carrying himself bothered Nanami.

He had only seen his best friend behaving like that in very specific scenarios, ones in which Hiromi definitely shouldn’t be interacting with a student of his.

After you left, Kento finally walked towards Hiromi, still uncertain if he should question his friend about the nature of your relationship with him. He could be imagining things.

But something was definitely disturbing him, he was sure of it. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Kento, hi! Oh… I had forgotten, your firm is nearby, isn’t it?” Hiromi asked while looking around. “Sorry, I always seem to forget where it is. That explains why this cafe felt so familiar. Care for a smoke?”

“No.”

“You haven’t smoked with me in a long time,” Higuruma offered, pulling his own cigarette pack from his coat’s inner pocket. 

“I quit years ago,” Nanami reminded him, trying to put an end to this conversation detour.

“You still smoke on special occasions,” Higuruma offered, “eh, I wish I had your resolve.”

“You do, you just fail to direct it at things that will benefit you in the long run.”

“Just my little human shortcoming, I guess,” Higuruma finally replied, sparing Nanami a soft smile. He walked towards his car while unlocking it, “Let’s have something to eat, the coffee opened up my appetite. I just need to get more coins in case I end up going over the meter’s time limit, hold on.”

“Hiromi,” Nanami said once again, his tone graver than usual. That caught Higuruma’s attention.

“Hm, is everything okay?” Higuruma asked while leaning into his car.

Before Nanami could go on with his planned line of inquiry, he noticed what was over passenger’s seat. Especially the sunflower.

“Are you at it again?” Nanami asked, gesturing with his head towards it.

“Ah, you saw it…” Higuruma commented, as if he was a child being caught red handed while making a mess out of the house. “Well, yes. I’m trying to, and failing at it once again.”

“You know you don’t have to go, right?” Kento offered, while pulling some change from his pocket. “I have coins, we’ll be fine. Let me get you a snack, this cafe has the best casse croute around.”

“I do have to go, though,” Higuruma closed the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “I should, at least.”

Higuruma’s earlier energy seemed to wane ever so slightly, his shoulders falling while he slouched, unconsciously making himself smaller. 

“I don’t think I’ll manage to do it today, either,” he finally said, his eyes low on his feet, and his voice barely above a whisper.

Assessing the situation, it was clear that Higuruma was in no way in the right mindset to have that conversation regarding you, so Nanami put a mental note on it to ask about it at a later time. He stepped beside Hiromi and put a hand gently on his shoulder, sighing.

“Is it low tar?” Nanami questioned, clearing his throat to disguise his displeasure.

“Hm, what?”

“Your cigarette. Is it low tar?”

Higuruma huffed, a tiny smile forming on his lips as he said, “yes, yes it is.”

In a smooth motion, Higuruma pulled his pack back out of his coat and took two cigarettes out of it, handing one to Nanami along with a lighter. With the disposition of a man ready to face the electric chair, Kento pursed his lips around the cigarette, and lit it, only to be thrown in a coughing fit moments later.

“How the mighty do fall,” Higuruma noted with a discreet smirk on his lips, “you used to smoke more than me.”

“Shut up,” Nanami managed to churn out in between coughs, “this brand is awful.”

His friend chuckled while taking one long drag from his cigarette.

“Hey, Kento.”

“What?” Nanami considered tossing the cigarette as far as he could, but tried his best to survive it, even if just for Hiromi’s benefit.

“Is that offer still on the table? To…” Hiromi paused for a moment, clearing his throat, “hm, work in your firm?”

Managing to get his throat and lungs under control, Nanami glanced at Hiromi, knowing full well that good things came to those who wait.

Just like he had.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Hi, did you know I like to shamelessly plug people's work? No? So, yeah. I love doing that.

I got this STUNNING commission from @radish-breath and I have no shame to admit that I scrumpt a scream never screamt before when I got this 😭💜 I think you should go check out her work if you still haven't, lots of great sfw and nsfw pieces (all truly delectable 🤌) - Twitter | Patreon | Carrd.

Rad, once again (you already listened to me screeching like a banshee and ugly crying over it, lol), thank you very much for this amazing piece. It is beyond my wildest dreams alsdjasldkj

-

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu @shimadalluvia

[little-mrs-morales]

Trash TV

Dieter Bravo x Personal Assistant Reader

The hotel room buzzed with an awkward quiet, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the thick glass windows. Dieter Bravo sat slouched on the edge of the bed, his hoodie bunched around his hunched shoulders, the fabric stretched tight between his restless fingers. His usual dramatic bravado was gone, replaced by a kind of nervous vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was because he’d never stayed sober this long. Or maybe it was because he’d never been in a relationship that wasn’t driven by his money.

You sat across from him, legs tucked beneath you on the armchair, a hotel robe loosely draped over your frame. This was your first Christmas as not just his personal assistant but also *kind of* his girlfriend. You hadn’t put a label on your relationship, but he’d stayed sober for you and become surprisingly faithful. You never thought you’d see Dieter Bravo clueless about someone flirting with him—yet when the receptionist tried, he brushed her off, saying he couldn’t wait to see the gifts his lady got him. That’s what you were to him: his keeper, his lady, the one who sorted out his messes but also the one he knew he couldn’t survive without. He wanted you in every aspect of his life, even if it meant staying sober.  

It had been an easy night until now—room service, bad movies, and his running commentary punctuating every ridiculous scene with remarks about how he’d do better. But something had shifted—a shadow crossing his face during a rare quiet moment. And now you were here, trying to figure out what he’d never say aloud unless it forced its way out.

“I’m not lovable,” Dieter said suddenly, his voice heavy with self-hate. The words fell like stones into the quiet, echoing through you.

You blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the frayed edge of his hoodie, tugging at a loose thread. “I’m fun for a little while,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “But there’s too much under the surface. It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.” He let out a laugh that sounded painful. “I’m like trash TV—and that’s ironic because I’m a good actor—you watch it for a while, and it makes you feel better about how normal you are, but it gets annoying if it’s all you watch.”

You stared at him, his words hanging in the air like a unspoken truth. He wasn’t joking, not this time. The usual quips and distractions he threw up to keep everyone at arm’s length were gone, leaving only the jagged edges of his insecurities. He sat there, bracing himself for rejection, like he expected you to agree.

“You really believe that?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“I know it,” he shot back quickly, defensively. His hands stilled, and he finally looked up at you. His dark eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’ve been through this enough to know how it ends.”

“How does it end?” you pressed, leaning forward.

“With me fucking it up,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to betray him. “With you realizing I’m...” He exhaled sharply, dragging his hands through his unruly hair. “I don’t know. Too much? Too broken? Take your pick. It always happens eventually. And I’m gonna end up shattered, restless, and totally done with myself.”

The weight of his confession was suffocating, but not for the reasons he feared. It wasn’t disappointment or regret that sat heavy in your chest—it was the sheer force of wanting to prove him wrong. You stood, padding over to the bed and sitting down next to him. He tensed at first, but he didn’t pull away.

“Dieter,” you said, your voice steady. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re not trash TV. You’re far from it.”

He scoffed, but you cut him off before he could deflect. “I’m serious. You’re messy, complicated, and frustrating as hell sometimes. But you’re also funny, smart, and... God, so kind when you let yourself be. You care more than you think you're allowed to, and it scares you.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. You took it as permission to keep going.

“You’re not some temporary distraction or someone to put up with. You’re just... you. And yeah, maybe you’re a lot, but I’d rather have all of you than none. You don’t have to be perfect to be worth loving.”

His breath hitched, and you swore you saw the faintest sheen of tears in his eyes. He dropped his gaze, his hands wringing together in his lap. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You don’t know everything yet. You know more than most, but there are still things…” He knocked on his head. “…things that would scare you away.”  

“Then let me see,” you said. “Stop deciding for me what I can handle. Give me the chance to decide for myself. And I’ll show you I can handle all of you.”  

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was searching for the catch, the lie, the flaw in your words. When he didn’t find it, his shoulders sagged, some of the tension bleeding out of him.

“You make it sound easy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you admitted. “But nothing worth it ever is.”

Dieter let out a shaky laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re either insane or... I don’t know. Insane seems more likely.”  

“Probably,” you teased gently. “But that’s why we fit. We’re both insane. A good match, I’d call it.” You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re insane for putting up with me. For bringing me my pretty pickles when I’m on my period, or buying my crazy stationery when I’m in a creative mood.” 

He huffed a small laugh, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.  

You stayed close, giving him space to process in his own time. He didn’t say anything more, but the way he leaned into you spoke volumes. There was still a long way to go, but at least he wasn’t alone in it anymore.

He was quiet for a while, his breathing calming, his hand finally still in his lap. Then he shifted slightly, turning toward you. When his eyes met yours again, there was something different—a hint of determination under the vulnerability.

“You really think I’m worth it?” he asked, his voice low, almost fragile.

“I don’t think it,” you said softly. “I know it.”

His gaze flicked to your lips for a brief second before returning to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You didn’t hesitate, leaning forward to close the space between you. The kiss started gently, his lips soft and unsure against yours, but soon deepened, filled with a raw desperation and quiet gratitude. His hands cupped your face, trembling but steady, as if afraid to let go. You had shared countless kisses before, but this one felt different—more real, more alive.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between you. Dieter’s eyes were glossy, his expression unreadable for a beat before he whispered, “I think I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished, but it was everything.

You smiled, your hands resting on his wrists. “Good,” you murmured. “Because I love you too.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t holding anything back. And for the first time, you knew he believed he didn’t have to.

Writing Prompt #2916

"I'm not lovable. Not in the long term. I know that."

"What?"

"I'm fun for a little bit, but there's too much when you dig down. It's more than anyone else should have to handle. I'm like trash TV—you put it on for a little bit and it makes you feel better about how normal you seem but grating if it's all you watch."

[its-all-papaya]

If you need one word landoscar prompts: remote

from october 21.... hope this anon is alive on tumblr somewhere still... anyway. have some landoscar future winter fluff

The cabin is way-the-fuck-out-there, and Lando's not much for rustic vacations, but he trusts Oscar knows him well enough that he's not properly worried about it.

"Pick me up," he demands when they reach the porch.

"What?" Oscar stops messing with the key and turns to look at Lando with the same confused expression he's been using for years.

"You have to carry me," Lando whacks him on the chest. It'd be a pat normally, but he can barely feel body through Oscar's thick winter coat. Needs a bit more oomph like this. "Over the threshold, proper, like."

He lifts an eyebrow at Oscar, squinting in the low dying light of the sunset. They're going to have to start early in the morning if they want to do any sightseeing in the following days, the way that evenings come so early in the winter. Not that it matters; Lando's got everything he particularly wants to see right in front of him.

"Why not you carrying me?" Oscar gets the lock at last and shoulders through the door. Behind him, Lando can see high peaked ceilings, manicured wood, furry throws draped over the back of a tastefully rustic sofa. His grin ticks up in approval, even though he wasn't worried.

"Because you were never even gonna ask," Lando puts his hands on his hips. It still feels a bit weird on his hand, a weight he's not used to catching on the bit of webbed skin between his fingers. He wonders how it might feel under racing gloves. He wonders if anybody wears theirs that way, during races, wonders why he'd never thought to pay attention before it was too late.

Oscar's breath fogs between them. He looks funny all bundled up. His cheeks are impossibly pinker than they were even the evening before, all flush with champagne and sappy shit like eternal fucking love.

"Alright," Oscar drops his backpack just through the door and turns back with his arms out like he's bracing for Lando to jump into them without warning, "c'mere, then."

Lando slides his arm around Oscar's shoulder and yelps when he's swept up and off his feet, even though he'd been expecting it. They're both giggling immediately, caught up in the absurdity and the leftover mood from yesterday too, probably, stuck like the gooey bits of congealed champagne tangled in the back of Lando's hair where Oscar had missed it in the hotel shower. Distracted by other things.

(They'd laughed about it first, how routine it felt to scrub champagne from behind each other's ears, how it could be like any number of nights, any number of hotels, if they didn't think too hard about it.

"McLaren 1-2?" Oscar had joked. When he'd lifted his arm to shove drippy curls back off Lando's forehead, his left hand had glinted in the bathroom lights just like the shine off a trophy after all.)

Oscar doesn't drop him until they're halfway through the living room, dragging bits of snow all along the clean wood floors. He'd used the side of Lando's hip to bump the door shut, at least, so Lando has no qualms about wrapping his arms around Oscar's shoulders to keep him close when Oscar deposits him on his back on the sofa.

"Lemme get your shoes off," Oscar mumbles against his mouth. He's turning his chin every which way to avoid Lando's lips, but he dips his tongue out every time they catch anyway. "Gonna get the fucking sofa wet."

"Bet we are," Lando licks into the shell of Oscar's ear before he finally lets him up.

Oscar's trying to look unimpressed, Lando can tell, shaking his head and everything, but his eyes are all crinkly and fond as he wiggles each of Lando's boots loose in turn.

While he's at it, Lando props himself up on his elbows so he can swivel his head around and take in the place for real. It's cozier from the inside. Looks like something out of an AI Instagram ad trying to scam people out of their money - there's even a proper fireplace across the way from where they're at.

"What d'you think?" Oscar asks from below. His shoulders are drawn up just a little, one of his only anxious tells. He's got the heel of one of Lando's feet still cradled in his palm and he's massaging little circles into the arch like he's forgotten he's even doing it.

Lando swallows. Oscar shuffles forward just enough that he's properly between Lando's legs where they're hooked over the arm of the couch, and Lando thinks, realistically, that they're never going to get the bags out of the car if Oscar keeps batting his eyelashes from that specific position.

"S'nice," Lando grins. He splays his arms out like he's about to make a snow angel in the fur underneath him, "Real remote."

Oscar nods quick, "You said to pick somewhere where we wouldn't have to worry, wouldn't have to..."

He waves his hand vaguely. It's the one with the ring on it.

Lando catches the fingers between his own and uses them as leverage to drag Oscar back in over him, close enough to put his lips back on Oscar's, "It's perfect."

"Good," Oscar lets Lando kiss him this time, long and indulgent and so deep that their lips aren't even really moving at the end. "You deserve perfect," he adds when they've pulled apart to breathe.

"We," Lando nudges his middle finger against Oscar's wedding band where it's still tucked against against the joint, "deserve things however we want this week. S'the point of, like..."

"A honeymoon," Oscar says, so used to smoothing over Lando's gaps at this point that he just assumes that's what it is.

"Yeah," Lando agrees.

After he's kissed Lando just enough to sate him for the time being, Oscar straightens back up with a sigh. He bats at the grabby hands Lando immediately makes, that same crinkly-fond-unimpressed look back on his face, "Someone's got to go get our things. Unless you're planning to get back up?"

Lando drops back against the pillows in answer, "I guess they don't have people for that here."

Oscar snorts, "There's no other people, mate. Not for, like, a kilometer."

Lando swallows hard, knows it makes his throat bob in a way that interests Oscar, and then lifts his chin up to smile wickedly across his body at him - his husband.

"S'pose that means we can fuck against the windows later?"

originally from here if anybody cares hehe haha

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet) yeah we full blown yandere babes, dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 6: Not Quite

Your legs are parted wide, rough hands keeping them parted even as your hands paw at the mass of black hair between your thighs. You don’t have the strength to deny him, and certainly not the power to stop him, and so he drinks freely. Lapping, licking and plunging his thick tongue deep inside you, enticing your body to sate his endless thirst just a little more.

Each precious drop is a rumbled hum of approval and when you couldn’t be brought to orgasm fast enough he split you open with a thick finger, curling it inside your small body and sucking on your clit until your pleasure dripped down his arm.

He’d stop long enough to lick the sweet nectar from his forearm, harsh and focused eyes on your weak and exhausted form.

But no matter how much you came, he didn’t stop, mouth between your folds again. Fingers pressing into the tender meat of your thighs, teeth pressing angry marks into your skin. He was going to eat you, one of these times, you were certain his teeth would be too sharp. His hunger too desperate, and his appetite too insatiable and he could bite clean through-

You suck in a breath, legs and arms flailing, smacking into the mountainous form beside you.

Crocodile’s eyes are on you. Sleepy, but focused, he settles beside you after being sure you didn’t injure yourself flailing next to him. You are covered in sweat and slick, you can feel the thick liquid squish between your thighs.

“I don’t know if you had a nightmare or a wet dream,” his voice is soft, but his tone is aggravated. You’re certain he doesn’t like not knowing, and unfortunately you can’t clear things up for him. “Get cleaned up. Put what I taught you to use.”

“Y-yes sir.” You nod. You were too drowsy and too disoriented from the powerfully real - whatever it was - to offer up much else. Sweat and slick at least were easier to clean off than paint, so if you didn’t do a perfect job it wouldn’t matter.

You took enough time to wash your hair along with everything else, and put on the pajamas that the tailor had made for you. They were styled after the shirts you’d been borrowing from Crocodile, loose and silky, but a little more properly proportioned to your size. You weren’t sure why they needed to button down the front like his shirts did, but you didn’t argue.

It was free clothes, and they were your clothes.

They’d been skillfully made, and fit wonderfully, but aside from trying them on when they arrived, you hadn’t worn them since. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and there was no sense in getting dressed just to stay in the office room with Crocodile.

You haven’t been told you can’t wander the castle, but every morning you have breakfast, and then he has you sit in his lap while he works. You know the cage for what it is, but it’s still warmer, and more kind, than anything you knew before.

You weren’t paraded around the tents, surrounded by guards and attendants, a piece of art to ogled by everything with a pair of eyes. You weren’t covered in paints and forbidden from warmth, wearing thin, barely there clothing even when the winds blew. You were at a different extreme, perhaps, but it wasn’t bad.

What else would you do anyway?

Ask Crocodile, a pirate, for money so you, a priceless omega - a rare jewel even if you weren’t the Starling - could bandy about the Grandline hither and fro? You had no skill at either a trade or hobby. You had no way to find, or purchase, suppressants in some vain, and dangerous attempt to hide what you were.

It was a wonder he hadn’t bit you the day you were brought before him.

Instead he treated you more humanely than anyone else had. Maybe not kindly, and certainly not as an equal, but his touch was pleasurable. His voice was soothing, and his scent was alluring.

Omegas were meant to cry in desperation beneath Alphas. Alphas protected them, and made their heats bearable, and omegas gave Alphas a point of focus. Something to care for and protect, so that their desires didn’t drive them to folly.

Or maybe they were only driven to madness because of omegas.

You climb into Crocodile’s lap without him beckoning you once you’re done with breakfast. You can feel the relief in his scent. Regardless of the hows and whys of it all, you were grateful he was an Alpha. You were grateful your instincts knew more than your mind, and that you were beginning to understand the subtle differences in his scent depending on his mood.

He could control his face, and to some extent his tone, though he seemed to mind both less when it was just the two of you. Maybe because on some level he knew he couldn’t hide from you.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

His hand cups your jaw firmly and you still in his lap. You feel a soft shift and gasp as something teases your skin beneath the shirt. It settles at your nipples, and you know it has to be him, but he releases your jaw and his hook is resting on the desk.

“What…?” You sigh, the gentle caress making the flesh stiff.

“It’s just my sand.” He says evenly. “No one else will know.”

You sigh softly the smooth sand dancing over your nipples and sending pleasure into your chest. It feels good, and you want to squirm, but you’ve been sitting carefully before now. Sure you shifted and adjusted throughout the day, getting up sometimes to stretch, the action spurring Crocodile to take a break more than not.

And he did play with you, sometimes, but not like this. Not while he worked, and since the first time, it hadn’t been while people were coming in and out.

But the people came in, and the sand did not relent.

It wasn’t enough to bring you to the brink. It wasn’t enough to force you to make noise. It wasn’t enough that it was impossible to stay still.

It was enough that you couldn’t look anyone in the eyes when they came in. It was enough that you probably looked like a small little pet in his lap, more than you’d looked the days before. It was enough that your slick was definitely staining the seat cushion.

“Your chair,” you whisper as the most recent intruder into the room leaves.

“It’s fine.” He assures you.

“I… I…” You aren’t sure what you want to say, so distracting is the constant and unending pleasure against your chest. Never enough pressure to hurt you, and it’s not rubbing you raw despite the hours that have gone by.

“You were so distressed this morning, I wanted to be sure your pleasure was comfortable today.” He explains, tilting your head back until you were bent back and squirming beneath his gaze. “You don’t smell distressed.”

You shake your head as best you can in this position. “Not distressed.” You gasp, your thighs pressed together, rubbing back and forth.

“If you want relief, you can ask for it.” He sounds so bored, his tone, his eyes, but his scent is curled around your throat like a set of teeth.

“Please.” You whine and you feel everything shift. The soft shuffle of sand moves your legs until you’re straddling his lap, your back to his chest, and his tip presses into your leaking cunt. The swirling sands lower you onto his cock, his fingers in your mouth, letting you drool and whine against them as the simple act of penetration has your eyes rolled back in a subtle orgasm.

The chair scoots a little closer to the desk, pinning you between it and him. He reaches between your legs, teasing your pulsing clit with a single finger, making you shiver and tremble against him. Holding onto his arm you ride him as best you can in your position, the wet wriggling motion of your hips was nothing compared to the way you twitched and gripped him internally.

It was enough for you to cum harder, however, tucking your face against his upper arm and crying your pleasure into his sleeve.

“Good girl.” He hums softly, letting you suckle the tip of his finger. “Stay still. There will be more people, but as long as you don’t cum, they won’t know.” He lies so sweetly you’re willing to believe it. It was obvious what your position was right now, even with the desk obscuring the truth of it.

Your skin was flushed, and you couldn’t calm down that much. You had been in his lap for days before now, but this was the first time people would see you trapped so. You might not be up on his desk, riding his fingers with nothing more than the size of his shirt concealing your body, but none of his people were fools.

The clown maybe, but even he had uses enough that Crocodile kept him around.

Crocodile did not keep useless things.

Stuck between him and the desk, his throbbing cock sunk deep into your sensitive pussy, there was no place for you to hide from those that came in. They might not be able to see him speared inside you, but you couldn’t hide your face behind anything in this position. He helped you tuck against his chest, his hook arm pressed across your shoulders so he could easily work around you.

Everyone who came in knew.

As embarrassing as it was, no one dared to say anything, and most didn’t even dare to meet your gaze once they understood the situation.

Everyone was exceptionally efficient that day.

Once he was certain there was time enough before the next person, he’d tease your clit and have you cumming against his thick cock. The sands teasing your chest never stopped, no matter what, but he didn’t finger your throbbing clit unless the office was empty.

If you came, it was for him, and him alone.

By four o’clock, no one was coming into the office at all. Word had gotten around, or people could smell the thick scent of pleasure even if they were only betas, and no one was willing to risk stepping inside. But you had your hands on the desk, one of your legs carefully looped inside his hook, your right thigh in his hand.

He moved you like a toy. His hips hardly moved and he made you ride him, the sand still teasing you even as you sobbed from overwhelming pleasure. Everything from shivering little pleasures that barely felt like orgasms, to toe-curling delights that had you moaning like a whore between his arms, you felt them all through the course of the day.

No matter how hard or how gently you came, he could keep the same steady pace. Occasionally licking heavy strips against your neck and shoulders. He inhaled full huffs of your scent, alternating between growling and purring, seemingly edging himself as he forced pleasure from every inch of you.

The soft chime of the clock indicates the end of the day, and he presses you against his chest, large hand easily splayed out over your torso. He scoops both of your legs into the crook of his hook arm, nearly folding you in half before thrusting up into you.

Soaked in sweat, slick staining his pants, the chair, and pooling on the floor, you’re relaxed only because you’re too exhausted to be anything else. He pushes a moan from your dripping lips with every thrust, thick tears falling down your cheeks and you babble pleasure, hands pawing at every piece of him you could reach.

Your shivering limbs kick and curl as a pleasure you can’t deny floods through you. You’re almost sick from the exertion, the heat and euphoria of it pushing back the pain in your twitching limbs. Hot liquid fills you as Crocodile’s cock throbs against the sticky grip of your cunt.

You can’t clean yourself up afterward. Your limbs are limp and your brain is in a thick fog. You’re burning up, but the cool air of the office makes goosebumps rise along your skin. He cleans you up, so you assume, the deep melody of his voice is a soft tone, a praising song that soothes your heart as much as your aching muscles.

By the time dinner is brought to the office, you’re cradled in his arm, letting him feed you.

“Your heat will be soon.” He says, and an understanding dawns on you.

“You… it effects you?” You feel like your question is answer itself, but he nods.

“My… apologies.” He says gruffly, putting another bite to your lips. “I am not in the practice of denying myself that which I desire, and my attempt to soothe your nightmare did not go as I had planned.”

“Will this be your first time too?” You question carefully.

He nods, bringing the cup of water to your lips. “When the government started gathering up all the omegas they could, what was rare became even more so. Most Alphas never find an omega, and most omegas are never bonded, since the dragons shuffle even the lowliest of you around like borrowed pieces of jewelry.”

You go quiet and so still that he doesn’t try to get you to eat more, simply staying still with you as the seconds ticked into minutes.

“You’ll,” you swallow thickly, nerves dancing against your spine. “Claim me, during my heat, won’t you?”

“… Do you want me to?”

Tears rush up your chest, choking your lungs. Your face twists and he pulls you close, rocking gently back and forth. “I don’t know.” You sob softly.

He promises you nothing, neither removing your choice in the matter entirely, nor assuring you that he’ll leave you to have one. Instead he just soothes you, letting you cry for all the reasons you need. It’ll be your first heat with an alpha. It’ll be your first heat that isn’t attended by Celestial Dragons. It’ll be the first heat where your nest isn’t provided to you, where your location isn’t decided for you.

No one will bend the will of your instincts in the direction they want, and you’ll be navigating everything on your own.

It was terrifying to a certain extent, but… with him by your side there was something that soothed you. An almost manic thought that seemed absurd, but it was powerfully grounding. It didn’t matter how you thrashed against the inevitable, he would not let you escape, wouldn’t let you be swept away.

You were already between his teeth.

[moonlight-records]

Secret Santa| MS36 (HAC #11)

pairing: ms36 x reader

summary: Mercedes is doing secret santa for their holiday party which is fine, typically. What happens when by some stroke of luck, you get your long time crush?

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: day 11 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 |day 10 | current day | day 12

“...The limit for gifts is £100. Once again, this does not mean you need to spend £100 on a gift but if you want to buy something a bit more expensive you can.” Toto continues on. You, by some miracle, tune your boss out as you look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hand. It feels like it’s burning into your skin as you watch Toto drone on about the rules of secret Santa. 

“Finally,” you’ve never been more excited to hear those words leave your boss’ mouth, “do not share who you got for secret Santa!” Toto explains before staring at all of you and gesturing, “open them.”

You watch all your co-workers around you start opening their pieces of paper. All of them, in their own form, are tucking themselves away to read the name and you simply look down at yours before finally opening it. 

Mick Schumacher.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper with wide eyes looking at the paper. It was only your work’s secret Santa but you had to get it right. How else were you supposed to try and impress your crush if you didn’t nail Secret Santa right.

Sitting in the factory parking lot, you browsed your phone frantically searching for anything at this point. The party was tomorrow and everyone was raving about how good their presents were and you had nothing.

Somehow three weeks flew by and you still hadn’t bought your secret Santa present. You had found a lot of potential gifts but nothing really screamed Mick and it was driving you nuts since this was all you thought about when you weren’t at work. For fuck sake, you finished your holiday shopping for all your friends and family while trying to find the perfect Mick for gift but anytime you didn’t have money or the excuse, you could always find something for Mick. You were starting to accept the fact that you were going to botch this one attempt with Mick and make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Hitting your head gently against the headrest you sigh softly. Looking back at your phone, you refresh Facebook Marketplace and scroll through before seeing it. Your eyes widen as you read an ad before putting your phone into your cup holder. You start your car and you’re off. 

You manage to get to the location in 30 minutes. Getting out, you make your way into the building and talk to the first worker that’s available. You explain your situation and how your secret would absolutely love this and take such great care and has so many already but they’re with his family and how he’s been always talking about one. After a lot of paperwork and talking, you finally secure the gift. Getting your gift carefully in the passenger seat, you thank the worker once again before climbing into the driver seat and heading to the store to get a few last minute things to make a little basket for this gift before heading home.

You’re up late building your basket. Taking a step back, you smile at your hard work and how it’ll finally pay off. “Perfect.” You say aloud before laying down on the couch, too tired to make it to bed as you happily drift off to sleep, excited for tomorrow.

To say that everyone was more excited about the holiday party than anything else was an understatement. Honestly, it was a miracle that Toto didn’t get so annoyed at the entire company for horribly pretending they were working. It seems that the factory did annoy him enough that he had everyone go home early to get ready for the party. You thank Toto as you leave the factory before going home and changing for the party. 

You check yourself over and brush your red dress of little fuzzes that got on it. Putting your tights on, you slip some spandex on before your boots before gathering everything and packing the car. Coming back, you carefully grab your present and make your way back to the factory for the party. You park and grab your gift as you head inside, thanking a coworker who held the door open for you and find a table that’s tucked away closer to a corner and put your gift down, admiring how fast Toto and some workers decorated the factory. 

As more people arrive, the more lively it becomes before the party is in full swing. You have a drink in hand as you talk to some of your co-workers, occasionally glancing back at your gift that’s still resting on the chair. When you’re not overly anxious about your gift, your gaze finds its way to Mick and you can’t help but admire him. A stupid love sick smile appears on your face before his eyes meet yours and he smiles at you. You blink before smiling back, shyly waving before glancing away as your face burns in embarrassment. You look back and see Mick excusing himself from a conversation with Lewis and Bono as he starts making his way over to you.

Shit.

You brace yourself to embarrass yourself before Toto is loudly calling for everyone’s attention and everyone freezes to listen to Toto. You feel relief run through you but it’s short lived as he announces that dinner will be ready in a few moments so while everyone waits, they can finally exchange their gifts. You stand frozen as everyone erupts into chatter, zooming around to find their secret Santa. You turn to look at your gift before there’s a tap on your shoulder before turning and blinking. “Mick!” You were sure as hell he would’ve gone to find his secret Santa. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mick smiles. He glances down at the box he’s holding, fidgeting with it slightly, “so um.” He offers the box to you a bit more rigid than he wanted and winces internally, “for you.”

“Me?” You ask, surprise, as you take it. “I–I was your secret Santa?”

“Yeah. Which–works because…” Mick’s voice trails off as you carefully untie the ribbon. You glance up seeing Mick shift anxiously before looking back down and opening the box slowly and gasping. Inside the box was a gold jewelry set. Simple gold hoop earrings along with a gold necklace that had your initials on a charm with hearts surrounding them. “Oh Mick,” you whisper after finding your breath again. Looking at him you’re smiling wide. “It’s beautiful. Oh–thank you so much. I’m. I’m truly at a loss for words with how beautiful it is–”

“Then go on a date with me? Please?” Mick blurts out.

“What?” You look at Mick. 

You’re both staring at each other with wide eyes. You’re staring in disbelief because you don’t think you heard Mick right and Mick’s staring at you with a sheepish smile because it seems that this wasn’t exactly how he wanted to ask you. “Me?” You point to yourself. “You.” Pointing to Mick, “a date?”

“Yeah. If you want, which I really hope you do. Though it’s totally fine if you don’t!” Mick says quickly, “might make things awkward. I don’t really want it to be but that’s also fine and–”

“Mick!” You finally cut him off. “I would love to go on a date with you!”

“Really?!”

Nodding excitedly, “yes!”

“Great!” Mick beams as he follows you to your seat. He’s rambling off date ideas before stopping when his eyes fall onto your gift basket. “Oh! Did you make this? This is so cute! Who’s it for?”

“You.” 

It’s Mick’s turn to be surprised as he points to himself. “Me? You had me for secret Santa?” He laughs when you nod, “Well, what are the odds of that?” He goes to pick it up but stops when you gently put your arm out and instruct him to just open it. He raises a brow but he does slowly before gasping and covering his mouth. “Oh my god. Y/N–are you serious?” He stares at you in awe before turning back to the sleepy Saint Bernard puppy who’s in the middle of a yawn as she looks up. She immediately wiggles in Mick’s gentle hold before cuddling into his chest and wagging her tail. “Y/N I–I don’t know what to say. How did you–”

“No kill shelter that was already overflowing. Someone had brought this litter in and given them away for free. I found the ad at the last second and the little girl was one of three left. It took a very long conversation and many pictures of you and your family dog for them to agree but they did. Completely free so I really spent all the money on stuff you’d need for her.” You gesture to the basket. 

“Y/N, this is the best present anybody could have gotten me.” Mick says earnestly, “I really don’t know what to say or how to thank you–”

“Maybe we could have dinner at your place and do some training with this girl,” you explain while petting the pup, “and we could call that our first date, yeah?” Mick looks up from his cooing and gushing over the pup. “Deal.” 

[rieamena]

graveyard shift.

teaser two. shigaraki tomura.

another sneak peek for @chericos ignore how its (once again) heavily unedited but its longer than teaser one 🙏🙏 release date is looking like never?!?!??

she stood at the edge of the gravesite, her silhouette sharp against the faint light of the rising moon. her expression was calm, unnervingly so, as if she had rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times before

"you killed him." your voice cracked, more with disbelief than anger. "your own brother. how could you?" 

she didn't flinch, didn't even blink. instead, she folded her arms and tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint, bitter smile. "he was already gone," she said flatly, her words devoid of emotion. "you think that man was my brother? the one who screamed at the walls, clawed at his own skin, couldn't even remember my name?" she scoffed, shaking her head. "that wasn't him. my brother died a long time ago. i just… put him out of his misery."

her casual cruelty took you aback. legally, you were a criminal, but she, she was a monster. "he was sick. he needed help," you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. "you don't get to decide—"

"i didn't decide," she snapped, her calm demeanor fracturing. her eyes flashed as she took a step closer, her voice sharp like broken glass. "he did. he killed himself the moment he stopped fighting—what i did was mercy. you think he wanted to live like that? to suffer day after day for nothing?"

your stomach twisted. you glanced at tomura beside you, his jaw tight, his fists stuffed in his pockets as if gripping at the edges of restraint

"and the money?" you pressed, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "was that part of putting him out of his misery too? or was that just a bonus?"

she froze at that, her gaze narrowing. "you think i did this for money? you're the ones who dug through his grave."  

"and you made sure there was something to find," tomura muttered, stepping forward. "don't play innocent. you're not the one covered in dirt, but you're no better than us."  

for the first time, her composure wavered, her lips curling into a sneer. "you don't know what it's like—watching someone you love rot from the inside out. don't you dare judge me."  

"you're right," you said quietly, your fists trembling. "i don't know. but i know that you're the one who decided to make it final."  

her laugh cut through the cold air like a knife. "and yet here you are, ready to risk everything for what's in that bag." she took a step closer, her voice now a low whisper. "now tell me, does that make you better than me? or just the same?"

[wolfpackenthusiast]

A Real Christmas

Pairing: Paul Lahote x imprint!f!reader

Summary : Your first REAL xmas with Paul!!

Genre : pure fluff!

A/N : Merry Christmas everyone!! My christmas ended up pretty shitty but i hope your guys christmas is great!! + guys i have no ideas for fics so I’d appreciate some requests very much

It’s christmas morning, soft snow gracefully falling outside as the sky begins to get brighter and brighter, the big, grey clouds blocking the sun from coming out. You’re currently at Emily and Sam’s house, everyone seemed to knocked out there, since there was a Christmas Eve party a day prior, with both Jacob and Sam’s pack together for a “little” celebration, under the tree came loads of gifts, while the dining table was full with food, though, the next day, the presents were still there, but all the food was devoured, as usual, since there was not one but two wolf packs, and that comes with boys / girls with bottomless pits for stomachs, you helped Emily with the food along with the other imprints, you’re glad they liked the food.

You got out of bed, you and Paul were sleeping in the guest bedroom, you stretched your arms and legs, Paul was still fast asleep, hugging a nearby pillow, mistaking it for you. While you walked out of the room and went to the living room, where Embry and Quil were sleeping on the couch, while Jacob and Jared were on the pullout couch, Brady and Collin were on the floor.. lets just say, most pack members where knocked out all over the place.

You stepped over Brady and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, for once, it’s not so noisy so early in the morning, they must’ve used all their energy yesterday, if they didn’t, they’d be very noisy about opening presents already.

You finished your water and put the cup in the sink, heading back to bed to wake up Paul, you knew if he didn’t get early he’d sleep till around 3 pm.

Once back in the room, you shook his shoulder, “Paul,” you said softly, receiving a grumble from him. You shook him again. “Hey, wake up, it’s christmas morning..” you said.

“Mmh, morning already?” He muttered groggily, stretching his arms as you nodded, “mhm.”

Then, you heard some loud noises from the living room, “looks like the other boys are up, c’mon, don’t want them getting dibs on the good stuff, do you?” You provoked. “..no.” He murmured as he sat up in bed.

You both got into the living room, everyone was wide awake now, sitting at the table as Emily and Kim made breakfast, you sat at your seat, next to Paul.

Around 30 minutes pass, and they served breakfast, it was Christmas tree shaped pancakes!

“Yum, thanks Emily and Kim for the delicious breakfast!” You said as you dug in, along with everyone else. “Of course.” Emily said.

After breakfast, it was time to open gifts, everyone got their gifts and separated them into piles, surprisingly you got some too, it was unusual, since you were always the one giving and not really receiving, always claiming you didn’t need gifts.

Opening gifts, there was so much noise, bickering, thanking, envious comments, but not one word of complaining.

As you opened your gifts, you got a new sweater, it was a navy blue with white stars on the sleeves, and some initials imprinted on the right sleeve.

“P + [first letter of your name]”

You knew it was from Paul, glancing over at him, you both made eye contact. You mouthed a “thank you,” and he smiled, scooting over to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I knew you’d like it, princess” he said, he seems to know you better then you knew yourself.

“Course i love it, how much was this?” You asked, hoping he didn’t spend too much money on it. “Price doesn’t matter, what matters most is if you like it,” he said, ruffling your hair with his hand. “It’s about time you got some gifts, it’s not a real christmas if you don’t.” Paul said

“C’mon, y’know that’s not true, it’s about-“

“It’s about the people you spend Christmas with and not the gifts, i know.” Paul interrupted you, “but it still doesn’t hurt to get gifts, it’s apart of christmas, and i want you to have the full experience.” He reasoned

“Yeah i guess you’re right.. i love you.”

“I love you too princess.”

—————————————-

Word count : 700+

[triptychcryptid]

Okay, so you know those AUs where Older Stans meet Younger Stans? What about one where Grunk Stans accidentally get transported back to the 1960's and see their little selves out with Filbrick, who's being...well Filbrick.

They arrive just in time to see Filbrick berating like 9 year old Stan for something, Stan crying and he walks off, leaving Ford to comfort Stan. Grunk Ford is PISSED and makes a move to chase down Filbrick, but Stan's already on him. Out of sight of the boys, Stan drags their father off and basically has an all out brawl with him because now he's got way more fighting prowess than their Dad, and he's been in many life or death fights. He's got a lifetime of being treated like shit by this man to make up for.

Meanwhile, little Stans notice their Father left them and start to panic, as kids do. Grunk Ford (against his better judgement) goes up to them and gently asks what's wrong. Stan's too distraught to say anything so Little Ford just says "Sorry Mister, but have you seen our Pa anywhere? I think he just lost us, and we're not sure how to get home from here..." Grunk Ford feels a familiar twinge of sadness. He desperately wants to hug the younger boys but doesn't. "I'm not sure that I have. Do you live nearby? Maybe I can help you get home." He of course knows exactly where they live, but he's trying not to be creepy. XD

Little Ford nods, wiping a tear from his face and tells Grunk Ford where they live. Ford pretends to think for a second. "Oh, is that where the Pawn Shop is? What a coincidence, I was just on my way there. Why don't I take you boys home?"

He takes them home and Little Stan and Ford thank him. Before he can leave, Little Ford grabs his arm and ushers him inside, despite his protests. Caryn is watching the store and greets him. Little Stan explains what happens, and Caryn comes out from behind the counter.

"Oh, thank you so much for bringing my boys home! I'm so sorry for the trouble."

" Oh, no trouble at all." Ford replies. Caryn holds out her hand to shake. Before he can figure out how to get out of it, Caryn grabs his hand enthusiastically, then gasps. She looks at him for a second, then tells the boys to go play in their room. They oblige and as soon as they're out of earshot, she drops Ford's hand and holds both hands to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. "...Stanford?"

Ford's eyes widen as he tries to figure out the best way to play this. In the end, he decides to just go with it. "How did you know? Was it the fingers?" Caryn shakes her head slowly.

"No, honey, I'm psychic, remember?" Ford scoffs.

"What? That wasn't real! You just used that as a scheme to get money." Caryn smiles.

"Well, THAT part's not real. But I have Psychometry, Stanford. If I touch something, I know everything about it. The only person who ever believed me was Stanley, and I swore him to secrecy." Ford rolls his eyes dismissively. He's too old to be taken in by his mother's cons now. She puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow.

"You dated an alien with two heads and six arms? You haven't even told Stanley that. AND you have tattoos?! Stanford!" She chastises him. Ford stares at her and opens his mouth, but no words come out. Caryn's face softens again and her eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry about what happened to you, honey. I'm so sorry." She pulls him into a tight hug. He hesitates, then reciprocates. He missed how warm her hugs were. How comforting. She pulls back slightly, gripping his forearms.

"Where's Stanley?" Before Ford can answer, Stan comes into the pawn shop, hauling an unconscious and bloodied Filbrick. Stan barely has a scratch on him, save for his raw knuckles.

"Hey there Ma....m. Is this yours-" Before he can even finish, Caryn has him in a tight hug, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Stanley! My poor, sweet boy! I'm so sorry, Sweetheart. I'm sorry for everything you've been through." Stan looks at Ford and mouths "what the fuck" at him. Ford just smiles and shrugs.

[deesseshesca]

PAC:LETTER FROM PREGNANT SELF (HIS POV) 18+

PILE 1  

It would not surprise me if your baby father was in an extremely abusive relationship with his ex. May have other kids before he meets you (only for 50% of people reading this). You  may be an sex worker. If you are a stripper, you meet that person at work and actually become each other's safe place. Only for them, the rest of y’all, there was a natural development of the relationship and unfolding of each other's life. 

My (flower name (if you have a fav flower he might call u that in his language OR  is your stage name) 

I could spend a lifetime showing my devotion to you. To say we found love in a hopeless place is such a short statement of reality. I want to apologize for all the rough ways I dealt with you. You know I became so passive with life that pouring any kind of emotion was an expensive action. I spent years trying to make it work with my ex and honestly I would rather not talk about it but since this damm (watch your words…) girl keeps trying to pull on my energy here I am. I hate talking about her, you think it is because it hurts. Sure it does, I should have never been treated that way, should have never been ridiculed and humiliated. I should have never been yelled at because of my opinions or even beat on just because I was not providing something tailor to miss extremely complicated taste. Let’s fucking face it, what have I not gave. What can a 7 figure salary can’t fucking give you ! Nothing was never good enough. I should have understood the mind game she played but before I knew it I was hooked on the devil with no prenup and the idea of puppy love we had since high school. Every time it became too much, I would come see you dance. The way you move your body to the music is so enticing, I know it’s y’all job but you felt like it was your calling. I am not saying that you are nothing but a damm stripper, no please don’t take it like that. See that’s exactly why I did not want to talk to this (watch your mouth …) tarot reader because I am not good with my words. I hate the fact that I dedicate more time to STEM classes and work meetings. I dedicate more time to academic excellence and make sure to always more than admirable professional performance thinking I would never need to use art classes a day in my life. Here I am … Words failed me because I never took the time to appreciate the things surrendering me. Always so eager to gain new things and more knowledge. You were the first in my life, I truly allow myself to be appreciated. On the stage you own it, not like you are dancing for a couple dolla bills. Almost as if you don’t give a fuck weather men are there to spend or nah. You came to bask in your power. The first time you approached me, I could not help being rude. Now I can assure it is because I was mad, I knew you were approaching me to secure your bag. I wanted more, I wanted to matter to you as much as you matter to me. You left the first meeting with a stink face and you would have probably never dealt with me, if I never ordered that VIP room. Always came with more money each time. Taking more money from my wife's allowance to let it rain on you. It was my sweet revenge. Each time you never let go, like you use on stage. Guess you were not fond of me which confirms to me that it was not for the money. That also shows the amount of self respect you had for yourself in an industry that prides itself on destroying mental health in the name of a couple Benjamin. Then one day I ask you to sit down, apologize for the way I was treating you. Instead of making it rain, I put the money in your hands and ask you for a chat. Your face shows no judgment but instead mercy. You did not pride yourself on a broken man and I stop seeing you as only my distraction. The VIP with no dancing, bringing you back home after spending long hours at work, then finally following you at your apartment finishing the night with some intense love making. It was fun not being objectified for once in the bedroom. My wife likes to find pride in my beautiful big dick … I guess I only matter that way.

There's more ....

[cherrycherryves]

Madness in Mansion Chapter I

A Long Trek, a Great Journey

“Dear Miss Bethany,

By the time you are reading this, I will (hopefully) be long gone. I would tell you where I am going specifically, but I know you or someone else would have to come find me. I have left to find my father. My biological father! So please, please, please don’t worry! (And don’t chase me!)

I know me leaving might make things hard. I won’t be around to help with the other kids or the cleaning or the cooking. I’m sorry for putting more on your plate. But this is something I must do! Something calls for me! And if all goes well, you and the agency won’t have to worry about me anymore! I’ll be with my father safe and sound! If I can, I’ll send you a text message when I get to him and all settled in!

Love,

Lazari Swann!

P.S. There’s still some left over lasagna in the fridge if you were worried about dinner tonight! I put it on the bottom shelf! :-D”

Lazari taped her folded letter to the fridge. Really, it was the only place she was confident her foster mother would see it. The home was always chaotic, so many other kids, ones much younger than Lazari, demanded attention and care and nurturing. So much so that it was often Lazari herself offering such things to the toddlers and babies. She’d help make them breakfast, help them with homework, help them get dressed. Really, she was a bonafide second caregiver to her foster siblings. And while she wished she could’ve stayed after school for clubs or maybe been in her middle school’s play, she didn’t complain. There were much worse things in the world. Much worse situations.

Every morning her foster mother would rush out to the kitchen and begin making breakfast. She’d call for Lazari desperately, as well as some of the older kids to help. And every morning Lazari would jump into action, fully dressed and prepared for the day, and make the most delicious pancakes a 13 year old could make. So the brunette was certain that this was the spot for the letter to be. Brown eyes scanned her dark surroundings, the house still and chilly as she stepped back from the refrigerator. The young girl took a deep breath.

“Goodbye, home four.” She whispered out softly, jostling her stuffed backpack around to be better situated on her shoulders. She had already left letters for her siblings to find (the ones old enough to read at least) so all that was left to do was to leave and get to the bus station. All her money from allowance and chores was saved up for this moment. All her research at the library and on school computers when she should’ve been paying attention to algebra lessons, it was all for this purpose and this purpose alone. Lazari Swann would find her father.

Her mother had died after giving birth to her, that’s what she knew. Her father was nowhere to be found. All she had of her parents was her mother’s necklace and some old photos her mother had kept in an album. The album was mostly of her mother and her family, Polaroids from adventures long buried in the wake of a premature death. Her grandparents refused to take her in, refused contact, and Lazari was left to the devices of the foster care system. She was allowed to keep that album though, the one with many stories never to be heard from her mother’s own mouth. And there was one photo in particular that always caught little Lazari’s attention.

— 🍝 —

Lazari stared at the photo long and hard as she felt the shifts of the bus, as it turned and slowed and sped up. Her fingers rubbed over the ink that had stained the film, her only clue to finding her remaining family, a location she had never heard of yet oozed familiarity.

Loblolly, Alabama

XX,XX,1993

Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” bumped in her earbuds, bright red iPod held firmly in her opposite hand. She had studied this picture for so much of her childhood, she felt like she could draw it from memory. Lucky for her, a bus from Louisiana to Loblolly, Alabama existed, and 8 hours later that bus was slowing to a hefty stop. Lazari braced herself as the vehicle jolted, it wasn’t exactly a graceful finish to the ride. She popped her head up and tucked the photo away into her jeans’ pocket, pressing pause on her little device and wrapping her earbuds around it to place back in her bag. There weren’t many other passengers on this ride, and certainly none as bright eyed as Lazari. They all seemed lost, the girl had briefly thought, but then again, perhaps she was as well. She shyly thanked the bus driver for getting them to their destination safely and was on her way.

Loblolly, Alabama… the fresh air was welcomed into Lazari’s lungs as she stepped off the bus’ steps and looked around herself. She was closer than ever before to answers, to family, she just wasn’t sure exactly where to start her search. The photo she had been studying all this time was hard to decipher; it was a red monolith erected in what seemed to be a forest of black trees. She always assumed the photo was just taken at night, that’s why it was so dark and ominous looking. But where should she start searching if the whole town seemed to be surrounded by trees? A grumble in her stomach brought her thoughts back to the present moment. It was around lunch time now, no wonder she’d be hungry. So, her search would have to be put on pause while she found something to eat.

The young girl walked by many fascinating things, old stores that somehow seemed to be up and running still, the town square and a library, posts and walls with countless missing persons papers stapled on them. Lazari found herself watching her reflection as she walked by store and restaurant display windows, pleased with herself since her plan was going so smoothly. She disappeared into a small diner to grab a quick bite to eat, setting her overly-packed bag next to herself in the booth. An older woman waltzed over to her, makeup intense and perfume even more so. She peered over her cat-eye glasses to the young lady in front of her, face uninviting but words warm.

“What can I get ya to drink, honey?” Her voice was raspy, but gentle. Lazari decided it was pleasant.

“Oh! Um… do you have iced tea?” The brunette asked meekly, smiling politely like always. The woman didn’t have to write anything on her small notepad yet. She just nodded and stated:

“I’ll be right back with that, hon.”

Lazari watched as she walked away before turning her attention back to the menu. She thought about getting a sandwich, something easy to finish so she wouldn’t have leftovers and waste food, it was just a matter of figuring out what kind. As her eyes scanned over the options, she couldn’t help but pick up on the low conversations surrounding her.

“Did you hear he was spotted again?”

“Yeah, by the high school right? I wonder what he was doing there…”

“There weren’t any reports last night… no new victims or anything. Do you think he’s planning something bigger?”

The sound of a glass clinking against the table made Lazari jump. She looked up to see her waitress, face flushing as she found her own spacing out silly. She thanked the woman who nodded and brought out her notepad.

“Now, what can I get ya to eat?” Lazari had decided to get something simple after all. She ordered a grilled cheese with tomato soup, perfect since the days were getting a bit colder. Once the waitress was gone again, Lazari slumped back against the booth and let herself rest for a short moment.

It was when the waitress was coming to take her dirty plate when she got the confidence to ask. Holding the picture with sweaty fingertips, Lazari looked up to the older woman and squeaked out her question.

“I-I hate to be a bother, ma’am, but I was wondering if-if you know where this is?” The girl presented the image to the waitress and her eyebrows raised. Lazari wasn’t sure if they raised out of recognition or curiosity, or perhaps maybe for a more negative reason like annoyance. Either way, the woman took the picture in her aged hands and tilted her head. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

“Sorry, hon, I haven’t got a clue.” Lazari felt her hope falter a bit. “Maybe it could be the park down the road from the high school? You know, there’s a lot of trails there and what not? I think that’s your best bet at finding something like this.” The woman handed the picture back to Lazari with care. She picked up the plate before pausing and turning her head to say something else. “If you’re gonna be going there anytime soon, just be careful. There’s been nasty things going on around us lately…” The waitress turned her head away and left slowly after that, leaving her words to linger in Lazari’s mind. Ultimately, she decided that whatever it was had nothing to do with her or her goals. The young girl gathered her belongings, left an overly-generous tip, and was once again off on her merry journey.

It took a good while to find the high school. Lazari had to ask around for directions and received odd looks in response. It was like the townspeople couldn’t believe someone new had shown up there willingly. They would briefly answer her questions and then brush her off, all guarded and cautious. However, Lazari eventually found her way. And here she was on a hill, gazing upon the small school with a tilt to her head. She felt like she had seen this school before, maybe on the news or in an online article. But that wasn't the point of finding it. Now that she was here, she was certain she’d be able to find that park the waitress had mentioned to her.

“From the high school, go left.” She muttered to herself, reminding herself of the directions a more friendly townsperson had given her. She made her trek down the long road and before she knew it, she was entering the park.

It seemed like any other wildlife park. There were hiking trails, picnic areas, but everything seemed deathly still. An odd melancholy permeated the air. Lazari couldn’t tell if her sudden apprehension was because it would be getting dark soon or if she was just freaking herself out. It was just a park after all, a nature preserve! But the words her waitress shared with her suddenly rang in her head. Still, she had come all this way, she wouldn’t give up on finding her dad now.

Lazari stopped by a map of the trails and inhaled sharply as she realized just how many there were. There was no mention of a red tower, just trail names and things of more importance. She wouldn’t make progress just standing around, she had to keep moving. The young girl picked the longest trail to go down, thinking that this way she’d cover more land. If she didn’t find the tower on this trail, she’d just come back and pick a different one. Sure, it might be tedious, but she felt so close to uncovering something. Her heart raced, and she wanted to believe it was from the adrenaline of finally meeting her father, not from unease.

— 🍝 —

The sun was just disappearing behind the trees when she saw it. The red tower. Her heartbeat quickened, thumping hard against her rib cage. She felt the prick of tears, being in an area where her father and mother must’ve stood at one point. Sure, the tower was rusted and unsturdy, and the trees were a muted green instead of inky black, but this had to be it. She was at the exact angle the photo was taken from! She placed the Polaroid back into her pocket and kneeled down to retrieve her flashlight. Finally, she was finally getting somewhere. Lazari stood back up and switched her flashlight on. She gazed upon the tower once more, and as the sun faded, slowly… so did her optimism.

It suddenly dawned on her just exactly what she was doing here. She had left her foster home behind, traveled 8 hours to a location she’s never been to before, trekked through the woods alone, all just to see some tower that might have something to do with her father? What was she expecting to find here? Was she expecting him to be there? Waiting for her? Was she expecting some miracle to happen, or for something to make sense? She was here and now what was there left to do? That prick of tears turned sour as they trailed down her rounded cheeks. She choked on a hurried breath as her actions, and their possible consequences, started catching up to her. What was the point of this? What was the point of anything?

crrrrack

The sound of a twig sharply snapping made Lazari stiffen. The sound stung her ears, she must’ve grown accustomed to the eerie silence that hung heavy in the branches. With haste, she turned and shakily pointed her flashlight towards the direction of the noise. What she saw before her was almost indescribable.

At first, she thought it was a person, emaciated and bare, but the more her gaze lingered on it, the more she realized that was no human being. Its crouched position gave it an animalistic quality, its face unnaturally contorted in a snarl, and its eyes seemed to reflect her flashlight’s brightness. She shrieked, crying so loudly in hopes the whole world could hear her and someone would be there to rescue her. But she’d have no such luck.

It all happened so quickly. The thing bounded towards her and she ran off the trail. She jumped and stumbled over overgrown roots, feeling thorns and sticks brush by her legs. At a certain point it caught up with her, grabbing her ankle and yanking her back. Her flashlight left her hand and she yelped as her chin met the forest ground. The thing, now on top of her, slashed at her face. She was quicker though and lifted her arms in defense, earning a tear to her favorite sweater (and her arm) instead.

Lazari had always heard your life flashes before your eyes before you die. She saw glimpses here and there, memories of birthdays or going to a new house or meeting a new sibling. She even faintly recalled a barn, and having no time to be confused by that thought, she let the memory comfort her as she tried to make peace with the fact that she was about to be killed. At least she’d get to meet one of her parents tonight. But before this creature could finish her off, she watched it get pounced on by something with much more weight to it.

The creature was tackled off her and she didn’t waste time crawling away. The sounds were that of a struggle. There was growling, tearing, the crunch of bones being crushed by powerful jaws. She snatched up her flashlight to at least give her surroundings more visibility, pointing it towards the sounds just in time to see that whatever had attacked her was dashing away into the darkness with a hiss. She trembled as she looked upon the other beast that remained. Would this one attack her too? Was it just fighting off a competitor to win the prize of a meal?

The dog looked back to her, head tilted and curious. Lazari felt her stomach start to settle. This was no beast! This was a dog! A very large dog, but a dog nonetheless! The animal trotted up to her, keeping its gaze submissive as if to show it was no threat. Lazari swallowed thickly, but didn’t stop it from coming to her. After everything that had just happened, the potential to pet a fluffy dog was the most comforting thing in the world. She reached out a hand and the thing ducked to fit its blocky head under it. With shaking hands still, Lazari stroked its fur, sniffling and trying to quiet her sobs. She did this for minutes, trying to will herself to stop shivering.

“Go-Good boy…” She finally whispered, fingers brushing against a collar. Carefully, she found the bone-shaped tag on it and shone her flashlight over its engraving. “Smile…? Is that your name?” The dog’s tail started to wag and it barked in response, earning a cringe from the young teen. She hushed him nervously, looking around herself and forcing herself to be vigilant. Lazari recounted her belongings, making sure she still had her backpack on her back, her flashlight in her hand, her picture in her pocket. After what felt like hours, she stood up, only mild tremors still affecting her body. Smile watched her and dutifully took on a protective stance once he realized she was ready to move again.

“I don’t suppose you know a way out of here?” She half joked, now realizing she didn’t recognize her surroundings at all. She had gotten so far off the trail. Smile nudged her leg, raising his neck to connect with her fingers. Curiously, Lazari grabbed onto his collar and he began to guide her in a seemingly random direction.

— 🍝 —

To her utter surprise, the dog named Smile had taken her to a cabin. The cabin was rickety, small and she would’ve thought it was abandoned had it not been for the warm lights seeping through the cracks of the boarded up windows. Smile finally left her side, trotting up to the cabin door with a wagging tail. She figured his owners must live here, maybe that’s why he was in the forest in the first place. Cautiously, Lazari stepped up to the cabin door and knocked on it, bony knuckles making a pleasant sound against the wood. There was a long pause and no movement, so desperately, Lazari knocked again. There was another long pause, but this time, some noise could be heard from within the rundown cabin and the door was opened with a great force. Lazari flinched, jumping back as the door swung away from her.

“What!?” A gruff voice sounded out, and Lazari’s vision focused on a man. The man before her stared at her dumbly as soon as he saw her, Smile at her side, happy and playful still. His brows were furrowed, but something in him seemed to immediately soften. Lazari and the man stared at each other for a long moment before a third person entered the equation.

“Tim? Who is it?” This man’s voice was more relaxed, curious as he also entered Lazari’s view and peered over the dark-haired man’s shoulder. He, upon seeing Lazari, immediately held a similarly dumbfounded expression. There was another long bout of staring. Lazari found the courage to try and explain her situation.

“I-I’m sorry! If I um… am disturbing you both! But um! I was on the trail in the park. And-And something attacked me! I don’t know what it was, but… I think your dog saved me? I ran off the trail and got lost when it came after me and I…” Lazari’s voice trailed off as words got jumbled in her head. After the running and the attack, she realized she had run out of steam very rapidly. This fatigue also made her completely forget about the term ‘stranger danger.’ And honestly, these men looked more scared of her than she should be of them. The one named Tim finally spoke.

“Come in.” He stated lowly, opening the door more for Lazari to enter. The other man also moved out of her way. She didn’t have to be told twice. The brunette hurried into the warmth of the cabin and felt herself completely unravel.

The tears started again, her sobbing and biting her lip to try and keep herself quiet. The taller man knelt down a bit by her, attempting to take her backpack off her and she let him.

“Hey now, you’re okay.” He cooed, setting her backpack down with care and taking her hand to guide her to the only bed in the cabin. “You can sit here. Now, what’d you say your name was?” The man squatted in front of her as she slumped down on the thin mattress.

“I’m Lazari.” She sputtered out pathetically, whimpering and shivering all over again.

“It’s nice to meet you Lazari. I’m Brian. That grumpy looking guy is Tim.” Brian nodded his head to the dark-haired man who was on the opposite side of the cabin grabbing something from a shelf. “We’re gonna help you out, okay?” Brian offered his hand to shake and Lazari shyly shook it, manners were ingrained in her. The lanky man patted her hand with his free one when they were done shaking as Tim met up with them, first aid kit in hand.

“Did you get hurt anywhere?” Tim asked softly, squatting down similarly next to Brain. It was at that moment Lazari realized she had gotten scratched. She felt the cold stinging in her arm and looked down to see her sleeve torn and stained red. Tim and Brian watched as she took off her sweater to get a better look at her arm. She was relieved that the t-shirt underneath didn’t get damaged at least. She had worn her favorite outfit for the journey, after all.

“It doesn’t seem to be too bad, just a surface scratch.” Brian noted, suddenly serious. Tim grunted in agreement, switching sides with Brian so he could disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“This might sting.” Tim noted as he rubbed a disinfectant-drenched cotton ball on her skin. Lazari inhaled a bit suddenly, but that was the extent of her reaction. There was silence as the shorter man bandaged her wound. He was extra careful to not make it too tight on her skinny arm. He was finished swiftly though, and he packed the first aid kit back up to be put back on the shelf.

“Now, can you try to tell us what attacked you?” Brian prodded gently, offering a lopsided smile of reassurance. Lazari hesitated, and he seemed to catch it immediately. “I need you to be as honest as you can. I promise whatever you’re about to say, me and Tim will believe you.” Lazari gulped, but she gave in. She was too tired not to.

“At first I thought it was a person… A really skinny and naked person. But it wasn’t. It was… unnatural… I don’t know how else to describe it, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, you don’t gotta apologize.” Brian hummed. Tim had rejoined them by this time, arms crossed over his broad chest. “We’ve encountered that guy plenty of times. We know exactly what you’re talking about. I’m just glad Smile was there to save you.” Lazari looked to Smile, who had been sitting next to her this whole time. He was as tall as her now that she was sitting. She nodded, also glad that she didn’t have to be met with such a terrible fate.

“What were you doing in these woods at sundown?” Tim suddenly asked, sounding a bit like he was scolding her. Lazari bowed her head, now realizing how stupid this whole plan of hers really was.

“I was looking for my father.” She stated, voice small. The cabin stilled, both Brian and Tim suddenly confused. Lazari continued. “S-See, my mom died giving birth to me and my dad was nowhere to be found. I’ve been going from foster home to foster home and I just wanted to at least try and find my dad. I just wanna go home…” A home that she had never known, Lazari realized as she spoke. “My only clue was this stupid picture!” The young girl presented them with the Polaroid picture from her pocket. Tim took a hold of it and looked down, Brian standing to get a peek as well. Lazari’s eyes were downcast, she couldn’t see their faces turn pale as they gazed upon the image. There was a bout of silence before Tim spoke again.

“I see…” These simple words were filled with trepidation. Brian had grown quieter than ever. The two men exchanged a look, as if reading each other’s minds, exchanging sentences with no words spoken. “We know a guy who might have answers.” The shorter man finally said. Lazari’s eyes widened and she looked back up at them.

“Really!?” She nearly shouted. Tim nodded, but his face looked grim.

“Now listen, kid…” He handed the picture back to her. “You’ve already witnessed first hand that things in this forest are not… right. And now that you’re here, frankly, things might get complicated. The answers you get might not be ones you want to hear. I’m not expecting you to understand anything I’m saying right now. But I’m telling you that you’re gonna have to be a lot stronger from here on out. Things are… well… it’s just…”

Brian placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, patting it with comforting pressure. He smiled simply, Tim exhaling and taking a moment to recollect his thoughts.

“We’ll bring you to him in the morning. You’ll stay here for the night, where you’re safe.” Brian informed as Tim walked off to go to the sink. He filled up a glass of water and placed it by the bed Lazari was sitting on. “Try to get some rest, okay, Lazari?”

Lazari nodded slowly, allowing their words to sink into her brain. It seemed things were more complicated than she could’ve ever known, but she was in no state to inquire about what they meant or who she was about to meet. The young teen kicked off her shoes and curled up on the mattress. She felt Brian pull the flannel covers up and over her, effectively tucking her in. Smile climbed the short distance from the floor to the bed and huddled up against her legs. Lazari couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but she felt that this must be close to what home feels like, and the warmth of this lonely cabin lulled her to sleep.

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: Barou had intended for this evening to be spent much differently. A nice little stroll down candy cane lane. However seeing you so starry eyed at the homes and families that surrounded you both had his heart warm and his cock straining in his pants.

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻: Shoei Barou (Blue Lock)

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 3k

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼: Barou x Eve. SMUT. Friend's selfship, physical descriptions are tailored to Eve unapologetically. 𝓒𝔀: Breeding, penetrative sex, car shenanigans, fingering, praise, degradation, mentions of their shitty HOA fuck the Barou's HOA, mentions of insert's body's changes due to pregnancy, downright them being in love (cause they are), did I mention breeding? cause yeah theres a shit ton of that.

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: @eevees-hobbies MY LOVEBUG, when I tell you I was so excited to be your secret santa for the Roppongi Strip Club's exchange l really was. I have been asking you dumb questions for weeks so I hope you enjoy my love. Merry Christmas! Also so sorry in advance for incorporating myself into your selfship lore but likeeee I'm your wife so its alright isnt it? LMAO

Barou couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the spur of his hips, the way they were guided forward with one notion. One that not only guided his thrusts, but one that caused more than a hefty ache in his balls. Part of him felt embarrassed, no mortified, that someone who held so much pride in his composure had been taken down to his barest instincts with just one simple conversation. You had such a hold over him, one that made him weak, desperate. His thoughts consumed him, and as he watched your face contort in pleasure beneath him, writhing in ecstasy, he was sure you didn’t mind too much.

The evening had started off innocently enough, your beautiful brown eyes lighting up at the prospect of going to see the above and beyond decorations of those who “have so much money they don’t care about their light bill”. Your condo was more than enough to accommodate you both, nice, spacious, but you didn’t have the accessibility to go all out. Your decorations all remained interior. So as you both got ready he mentally cursed this condo and your HOA for dimming your holiday spirit. He had several arguments with its head, but it seems like you call the head of your HOA committee a donkey ONE TIME and they retaliate with ridiculous fines for the smallest infractions.

He watched the mirth in your eyes, the way you bounced around your living space as you readied yourself to head out, he couldn’t help the warmth that blooms in his chest. Barou had never considered himself someone who relied on others. An extremely, sometimes to his own detriment, independent person who obtained everything on his own He didn’t need to be surrounded by people. Often times even thinking down on those who had such dependencies on others. There had been a time in his life where all he cared about was what he could achieve, never envisioning himself as someone who would even foster a romantic relationship But as looked around your shared condo, little touches of you all throughout, he couldn’t help but to think that he was so grateful for breaking his character and going to that party all those years ago.

He remembered it so vividly, even in the dim lights of that stupid frat house, you had been radiant. Your warm skin, infectious laughter, and that smart ass mouth was more than enough to have intrigued him. And even more than enough to keep him coming back for more. Admittedly he hasn’t always been the most romantic, not at first, but he couldn’t be more grateful for your patience with his “emotionally constipated ass” as your annoying best friend called it.

He loved everything about you, but that woman was the bane of his existence. Taking up your time, always having something smart to say. He wasn’t sure how on earth his teammate put up with her. But he supposed he had her to thank for you both meeting Taunting him for not attending their teams afterparty at a teammates fraternity. Knowing he hated to be challenged, gaslighting him into attending to prove he wasn’t a “socially isolated donkey”. To be fair the party hadn’t been the first time he had seen you. Sam was dating their midfielder, having drug you to more than a few of their games. The first time he had seen you he was taken. At the time he was more than frustrated with himself at the way in following games he would search for you in the crowd.

His eyes would tread through the sea of meaningless faces, he had supposed he was grateful for your lesser half’s brightly colored hair at the time as it made it easier for him to find you. After every goal every achievement on the field he would let his eyes fall to you, even then he supposed he was searching for your approval. For the look now that held pride at the attendance of his games. Being his and screaming it from the sidelines. But one particular time he had found you in the crowd but met the eyes of your friends moments later, a self-satisfied smirk (that he would come to know meant nothing good) lacing her features. In less than a week he was leaned against a wall, grimacing at those in attendance before his eyes locked with yours. Not from the crowd at a game but right in front of him. He supposed your best friend wasn’t too bad. Especially with the way she loved to credit herself with your first meeting. Hearing the tone of an incoming message he takes his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the notification; speak of the devil.

Merry Christmas, Donkey. ( •؎ • ) Heard you and Eve are going out tonight, better propose to her soon bud before I do it for you~ (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

Never mind, he was right, he hopes that monster of a woman chokes. Even if she did go with him to get the piece of jewelry tucked away in your bedside drawer. His deepest condolences go out to his teammate she was preparing to marry.

The brisk December air whipped against your cheeks as you walked down the “candy cane lane” the lavish homes brightly decorated and covered in an array of glittering décor. He watched the way your face lit up as you past the scenes, giggling at the ones you had claimed to bee “too gaudy” or looking like a “hot mess”. He felt you shiver against him, the cold getting to you. Pulling from you a bit, he unravels the scarf that he had worn. Its red color a stark match to his eyes. Standing in front of you as he fastens the fabric around your neck to add an additional layer of warmth.

“I told you that you were going to be cold without one, baby.” He huffs, doting on you to assure your comfort.

“Well I just wanted to get here before the crowds got too bad, my king.”

He felt his cheeks flush, unable to be blamed on the cold. His heart picking up speed as it did every time that name had slipped past those beautifully plump lips. There was something about you using the title he had dawned himself with that had his heart racing and his cock stirring to life within his jeans. Coughing to conceal the effect your words had on him continued down the street with you. Taking in the scenery and enjoying each other’s company. You both has approached a stand ran by a few kids selling hot chocolate hoping to bite through the cold. Watching you interacting with the little ones, more specifically the baby that rested on the hip of one of their parents, had a sensation bubbling in his stomach.

The same one he got every time he saw you interacting with his younger sisters. The one that saw how good you were with them, the one that had his head filled with thoughts of one day it being your shared child you were cooing at, the one that had his balls aching with a need to stuff your cunt full enough of his seed until it took. Broken from his thoughts when you waved a hand in front of his face, offering him the warm beverage. After teasing him a bit for dazing off you both set back to your path.

“You know, Shoei, I can really see us settling into one of these.” Your voice held a thoughtful tone, looking more at the homes you passed than him specifically.

“Oh, yeah? Is that something you would want, Eve?”

“Yeah, I mean just think of it. Maybe one day we’ll have a house we decorate like we don’t pay for the electricity.” You giggled before continuing, a dreamy tone taking over your voice. “Maybe standing our front while our kid sells hot chocolate. I could see us in one of these, children of our own, maybe a German Shepard or two.” You giggle once more, completely unaware of the effect your words had on him.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The thoughts of you holding your own child in your arms as they giggled. The idea of the both of you looking up at him as you welcomed him home after a game he had won. Coming in to envelop you both in his arms, only to put them to bed to give them a sibling for Christmas. These thoughts consumed him. And as much as they made his heart fill with warmth, he couldn’t help but feel the strain of his cock in his pants once more. The thought of your tummy becoming swollen with his child plagued his mind. Breast swollen and filled with the nutrients needed to feed your child. It almost stoked a primal urge inside his mind. He needed to have you, and he needed it now.

Barou had sworn the drive back to your condo had never been longer than right now, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, the thoughts from earlier still running rampant in his mind. The grip he hand on your knee as he drove served as a warning. The indicator of how this evening was about to go. It wast long before his hand began to wander, rubbing up and down the expanse of your plush thighs as he drove.

“Shoei?” You questioned, his behavior unusual, not often risking touching you when operating a vehicle. But damn, he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. He needed to feel you in some capacity.

“Shh, Eve, just let me take care of my queen.”

His words dripped with desperation. Deft fingers unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease. Wasting no time in sliding them past the waistband of your panties. Grinning as he comes into contact with your already drenched cunt. Always so responsive to his touch.

“See baby, you question me, but your cunts already dripping baby.”

His hand slips from your pants, to show his glistening fingers from one pass of your slick. Making a show of separating his index and middle fingers, letting your see the string of your arousal that connects the two digits. Popping them in his mouth, adding lubrication while getting a taste of your arousal.

“Sweeter than fucking honey, Eve.”

Sliding his hand back where it once was, his fingers sliding past your slit to your sensitive clit. Rubbing slow agonizing circles against your bundle of nerves. He relishes in the grip you have on the center console, moans falling from your lips as he keeps his attention on you. Sliding further into your folds he slips a finger past the ring of your entrance, your velveteen walls drawing in the digit greedily, being rewarded with the squelch of your arousal as he begins to pump his finger.

“Your cunt’s sucking me in so well, Eve. So responsive to me. That’s my good girl, this fucking cunt is mine to touch whenever and wherever I please isn’t it baby?”

All you can muster is a nod, and for now that’s enough for him. Your rewarded with the addition of another digit, fingers setting a steady pace as they invade the welcoming walls of your cunt. Curling his fingers to abuse that spot he knows always has your eyes crossing. He can feel your hips bucking against his hand, positioning it in such a way that your clit would be nudged by the heel of his palm with every grind of your hips. He had always taken full advantage of just how sensitive you were, how easy it was to have you unravelling for him. Taking advantage of the red light he just stopped at to increase the speed of his fingers, fucking your cunt until your hips were jerking against him. Your walls spasming against his digits as you came, eyes welled with tears.

With a grin, his ego stroked as his cock ached within its confines. That first orgasm being the promise to be the first of many that evening. Slipping his fingers into his mouth once more, cleaning your honeyed arousal from his skin, knowing that the moment you were both back in the safety of your condo he would have you on his cock for the remainder of the evening.

“Please Shoei, please, wanna come please I don't care, my king.. I just need to come all over your cock, daddy, need to feel it so bad baby. Fuck.. Please, daddy cant take it.” Desperation bled into your voice, spurring him to move his hips rougher, deeper, harder, to force more pf his cock into your tight cunt.

“Need to feel you come inside my cunt.. want you to breed my pussy Shoei make me a mommy daddy.” Those words were Barou’s last nail in his coffin. Releasing your curls from his grip, he removes himself from your cunt, hearing the whining whimper you let out in response to the loss of him stuffing your cunt. The feeling of emptiness doesn’t last long. He was quick to swap your positions, flipping you with ease until you were on your back, looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes now rimmed with tears of pleasure and frustration. His hands found the backs of your knees, forcefully pressing your thighs to your chest. He sheaths his cock into your drenched depths with one surge of his hps. Eyes rolling back at how well you take him.

“God, Eve, this cunt was fucking made for me. Always taking my cock so fucking well my queen.” He groans pistoning his hips, the squelch of your arousal bouncing off the walls sweeter than the most beautiful symphony. “Gonna stuff you so full of my cum you’re gonna be leaking for fucking days, you hear me? Might just keep this cunt plugged up with my cum 24 fucking 7 until I’m sure you’re having twins, my Eve.” He groans, head dipping down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder, the way your cunt spasmed around his cock told him all that he needed to know about how you felt about that idea. His fingers come in contact with your sensitive bundle, rubbing harsh circles on your clit to overwhelm you with pleasure.

“Yeah, my queen, you like the sound of that? Me sliding a plug into this greedy cunt, only to be taken out to give you a fresh load, hm my little breeding bunny?”

He watched the way you threw your head back against the sheets, curls surrounding your head like a halo, such a stark difference to what was taking place and the words that fall from your lips.

“Fuck, my king, yes! Want you to stuff your cuntfull of your cum.. stuff me and plug me until I make you a daddy Shoei.”

Your words were the catalyst. He ducks his head lips tugging the peaked bud on your chest into his mouth, teeth grazing it, biting harshly before soothing it with his tongue. Your words spoken directly in his ear have his eyes rolling back and the coil tightening in his belly. He knew from the moment he sunk into you he wouldn’t last long, his games having kept him from your cunt for too long. The thoughts from earlier plaguing him in a way that he knew the first round of the evening would have him spilling into that perfect cunt. Having missed the feeling of your suffocating walls. His hips snapping harshly speed of his fingers picking up as he rubbed your clit in tight circles

“Yeah Eve? Fuck, show me then show me how much you want me to fill you up baby. Come for me my queen, come on my cock so I cant breed this tight fucking cunt kitten.”

Throwing your head back at the attention suddenly given to your chest as you cried out his name once more, his words were the last thread on the rope before it snapped in half. Pulling him impossibly closer than what he already was, nails digging into his shoulders a chant of his name whimpering as you were thrown over the edge. Walls strangling his cock as you came, body convulsing with the overwhelming pleasure.

 “Please fill me up Shoei… please I want it so bad breed me please.” Your words came out breathlessly, whined into his ear.  ‘Please give me it to me.. I need it so bad please daddy I need you to stuff my cunt full of your cum.”

You shivered at the feeling of being more filled than what you already were at the hot ropes of cum that flood your cunt in direct obedience to your pleas. A rather loud cry, almost a scream ripping past your lips. The sensation of his seed flooding your womb having triggered a second orgasm, cunt gushing as you soaked Barou and the sheets below with your wetness. His hips slapping violently against your own as he paints your insides with a loud scream of your name. His thrusts slow after a moment making sure he had filled you with every drop he had to offer. Heart racing, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls your trembling form to his chest pressing tender kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

The two of you stay there for a while, collecting your breaths, locked in each other’s warm embrace. Lips press to your skin as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. Sweet kisses stoke a trail to your plump lips, capturing them in a searing kiss. Heat steadily building, his tongue invading your mouth as he claims it as his own once more. His cock barely having the time to soften completely before you felt it stirring to life within your depths once more. Barou swallows the surprised noise that bubbles up in  your throat. Pulling from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips that snaps as he speaks.

“The night is long from over, Eve. You’re not leaving this bed before I’m sure this cunt cant take another single drop of my cum.”

Character banner and dividers by me.

[mittensmorgul]

Jill Weinberger: And seriously, if you have $5 to give, whatever, go to that Act Blue link and donate, because if the first thing that happens after this announcement is a massive surge in donations, it will be incredible optics and give hope to voters who are worried and also make shitty people really unhappy.

Kevin M. Kruse: Yeah, for better or worse, the initial donations will be the first thing the mainstream media will look to as a metric of "Democratic enthusiasm"

Weinberger is one of the writers on Leverage Redemption.

Kruse is a Professor of History at Princeton, per his department page, "Kevin M. Kruse studies the political, social, and urban/suburban history of 20th-century America. Focused on conflicts over race, rights, and religion, he has particular interests in segregation and the civil rights movement, the rise of religious nationalism and the making of modern conservatism."

(link to the official fundraiser for Kamala Harris for President) (yes at time of posting it says donations will go to Joe Biden, but Harris has filed FEC paperwork that needs to be fully processed before that can be updated. The funds will go to her campaign)

[boyapologist]

lmao are All members of big time rush terrible people irl