#implied. bc of the matching shirts

[the-meme-monarch]

what if deltarune beach episode (<-is cold where i live)

anyway TECHNICALLY based on this ask i got and the nelnal comic that came out like a day after which is also linked there :]

if you ship scc and/or kr/alsei go away

[razzle-zazzle]

Oh my god but Cole having an anacondrai tattoo in Betrothal AU makes so much sense and opens up so much potential drama. Snake Cole (snole). Cole can't copy the power of form to conveniently hide the tattoo so it's inevitably going to be revealed. and he's not even spying for chen! he's just here to find zane! Jay being so ready to get on Cole for it because of the love triangle and Kai's pissed because of the perceived slight of Cole making a move on Skylor before Kai could and Lloyd feels his world tilt for a moment as he tries to come up with an excuse and Garmadon is standing silently in the background stunned because he was not expecting this. Skylor getting off scot-free because she copied Chamille's powers while Cole wants to crawl into a hole and disappear. I was already going to have Cole stick around in the tournament longer (he was never gonna be put to work in the factory anyway so he never does get to unionize the workers in this au 😞 the one downside of this whole thing) so the tattoo reveal becomes the perfect setup for Cole & Jay's homoerotic fight in the tournament. Snole and Snylor and Snarmadon. Yes.

[scented-morker]

Wearing Enhypen’s clothes

Enha x implied fem reader, established relationship, 945 words (AGAIN), fluffff, jungwons is longer than everyone else’s😬

Heeseung

He is the perpetrator.

Like as soon as you walk in the door he shoves his hoodie onto you

It’s not cute either— your arms get stuck and your hair is messed up and staticky everywhere

But as soon as it’s on he pulls the hood down and looks at you with such a lovesick look even though you look like a gremlin

Every time you stay over he makes you wear his clothes because he just thinks you look so cute

And since his shirts/hoodies are too big on you it makes it easier to sneak his hands up them to hold your bare waist which is his favorite way to cuddle 😔

Jay

At first you were just so impressed with his style that you wanted to be like him 🥺

He though it was so cute when you walked out in one of the outfits he had posted a picture in one day and been like “how do you manage to make this look good 😭”

“Well for starters, the clothes actually fit me” he laughs and ruffles your hair

He likes to get matching outfits so you don’t always have to steal much of his stuff since you probably have a match

But you always end up stealing his accessories

The amount of times he’s complimented your necklace only to realize it was his 😐

You’re lucky he loves you

Likes when you slide his rings onto your fingers while you’re playing with his hands 🥰

Jake

THE KING OF SHARING CLOTHES

He will give you anything that you want from his closet, no questions asked

He loves trying to sneakily add articles of his clothing to your outfits

Like “hey what if you added- I don’t know- a flannel around your waist? Actually look, I’ve already go one right here. Let me put it on you.”

He loves coming home and seeing you in his hoodies or flannels (especially when they’re so long it looks like you aren’t wearing pants 😭)

Refers to his new purchases as “our new jacket” or will text you and ask “do you like this?”

And when you tell him it’s a mens shirt so you wouldn’t wear it he goes “actually, it’s a jake shirt, which means it’s a yn shirt.”

Sunghoon

He’s one to act like he doesn’t like it

But one time when you told him you were cold and he said “sounds like a you problem” you threatened to go get one of the other boys’ hoodie and he got so pouty and mad 😭

Now he always brings an extra one of HIS hoodies whenever you hang out because he doesn’t want you to get it from someone else

Also the type to show up at your house, see your collection of his clothes and tease you about it but then not take them back

And if you EVER tell him you need another one bc the ones you have don’t smell like him anymore—

He’s gonna need three to four business days to recover from that

Sunoo

Another one to refer to his closet as “our closet”

He always asks you to wear his stuff

Like you text him to ask what you should wear for your date and he tells you to just wear anything over and he’d give you something of his to wear

Sharing sweaters 🥺

Like little grandpa sweaters that you thrift somewhere and you guys share them like it’s the sisterhood of the traveling pants or something and send each other little pictures of where you were wearing it

“Today I wore our sweater to the ice cream shop! The guy in front of me in line ordered mint choco and it made me think of you” 🫶

Jungwon

Listen, he’s seen the romcoms— you’ve made him watch enough of them during movie nights to know that people like wearing their boyfriends clothes

He just had no idea how to offer it

Does he just walk up to you one day and say “here, wear this”? Does he take you to the cold section of the grocery store until you shiver and then give it to you?

HE DOESNT KNOW!!!

But one day you two come home from one of your dates and decide to just chill in his bed

Which is cool, except you had dressed a little nicer for the date and your outfit wasn’t exactly made for comfort

“Hey won, do you think I could borrow something to change into? My outfit isn’t very comfy.”

He scolds you at first for not wearing something you’re comfortable in because he’s gonna think you look beautiful no matter what you wear, but eventually gives you a tshirt and pair of shorts to change into

Laughs because you look like Adam Sandler

“I thought this was going to be cute but you look really funny”

Riki

Listen, he loves napping

And napping on you is one of his favorite places

So when your stupid pretty shirt was scratching against his face, Riki was very upset

He lets out a big dramatic groan, grabbing one of his hoodies from the floor next to his bed and shoving it onto you so that he can sleep in peace

You’re still wearing it when he wakes up, and earlier he was too tired to be embarassed but now he realizes what he did and gets a little red

“Thanks for the hoodie ki,” you tease him, but still refuse to give it back when he asks

“Well if you hate it that much you can take it off.”

“Never!! This is mine now!”

Cue him chasing you around to try and get it back

[cameronsbabydoll]

More angst more angst

SCC reader and Rafe get into a fight, probably about something small like she forgot to iron his work shirt so he had to do it himself. He’s yelling at her, making all these snide and mean comments trying to provoke her and she just looks at him with big teary eyes but doesn’t say anything back, she’s too exhausted.

She’s in her first trimester with their last kid and she’s probably in the worst mental state at this point, forgetting things, sleeping all day, being distant with Rafe, just sitting outside staring at the water.

After their fight she just hides out in her daughters room until bed time, she’s playing dolls, tea party, or watching a movie that reader used to like with her daughter, maybe their son comes in to join them watching the movie (her only refuge at this point)

But her little girl is smart and maybe asks her “momma why you sad?” Idk how old she is that this point but in my mind she’s maybe like 5-7. Reader just softly says that she’s just tired bc of the baby. Maybe her daughter gives her one of her stuffed animals to help her sleep better bc she’s a sweetheart like that.

After bedtime, reader locks herself in her and rafes bathroom sobbing with the stuffed bunny in her clutches. Rafe is in their room and he hears her entire breakdown, it’s eating him alive. He didn’t have to be so mean to her, she already gave him 2 kids, so what she forgot to iron a shirt? She’s growing a baby. His baby.

Reader comes out with tears down her face and starts prepping everyone’s clothes for the week, it’s 11 pm at this point, the house is quiet, but rafes mind is going a mile per minute. He tells her that she doesn’t need to do the laundry rn, that it’s late and she should get some sleep, he just casually says that he’ll hire a housekeeper/maid to help her with the house now bc she’s got bigger things to worry abt than his stupid clothes.

“Money can’t fix all our problems Rafe”

Reader is just baffled at how quick he tries to throw money at the problem. Just hire a maid, hire a housekeeper, hire a chef, hire a babysitter. He can’t throw money at this problem tho, she’s unhappy and he sees that. It’s hard to pretend now. The reality is staring him in the face.

He tries to hug her bc she’s still crying maybe she just rejects it fully and she just says “I don’t know if I can live like this anymore”

Now he’s freaking out. Is she trying to leave him? Is there another man? Are their children actually his?

She just stares outside to the ocean. “ maybe I’ll just walk into the sea and let it take me, anywhere is better than here right now.”

Rafe literally stops in his tracks once he understands the gravity of what she’s saying. He gets her a therapist that next morning.

stuffed bunnies & silence

content warnings (cw): emotional neglect, verbal argument, pregnancy-related depression, implied prenatal anxiety, crying breakdown, child emotional awareness, emotional vulnerability, themes of exhaustion and isolation in motherhood

you forgot to iron his shirt.

it wasn’t on purpose. you’d meant to. you always did. but this morning your head was heavy and your back hurt and the second your eyes opened, the nausea rolled in like a wave. so no, you didn’t iron the shirt. and now rafe’s standing in the doorway, holding it up like some kind of trophy in a screaming match you didn’t want to be a part of.

“you don’t do anything anymore,” he snaps. “you just fucking lay around all day. i have to do everything myself.”

you don’t say anything.

you just look at him with wet eyes, lip trembling, shoulders drawn in tight. your hand instinctively covers your belly, not even showing yet, but already wrecking you. your body, your mind, your heart. everything hurts, and he’s acting like a wrinkled shirt is the end of the goddamn world.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, yanking it on and brushing past you. “don’t just fucking stand there like a kicked puppy. say something.”

but you can’t.

so you hide.

you find yourself in your daughter’s room, the softest place in the house. she’s on the floor with her dolls, her legs tangled in a blanket, humming to herself. you sit with her, quiet, letting her hand you teacups and glittery plastic spoons. at some point your son wanders in and settles beside you, and they start playing a movie — one you used to love when you were a kid. you stare at the screen but you’re not really watching.

your daughter notices. she always does.

“mommy?” she asks gently.

you hum in response, too tired to speak.

“why you sad?”

your throat tightens. you force a smile, stroking her hair.

“just tired, baby. the baby’s makin’ mommy real sleepy.”

she nods like she understands. then disappears and returns with her favorite stuffed bunny — soft and worn down, with one floppy ear and a stitched-up leg. she sets it in your lap.

“she helps me sleep when i’m sad. you can borrow her.”

that’s when your chest breaks. you hug her tight and thank her, barely holding it together.

bedtime comes. the house goes still. you slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind you. you sit on the cold tile and cry into that bunny until your chest aches and your face is blotchy. deep, ugly sobs. it’s not just the pregnancy. it’s everything. you’re drowning, and no one sees it but you.

except rafe hears.

he’s on the other side of the door, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. his shirt is wrinkled and suddenly he feels like the biggest asshole in the world. you’re growing his third kid, and he made you cry over a goddamn shirt.

when you come out, your face is swollen and your nose is red, but you keep moving. you head straight to the laundry room and start folding clothes. it’s past 11. you haven’t eaten. your legs shake a little.

“you don’t have to do that right now,” rafe says quietly. “it’s late. come to bed. i’ll hire someone. a maid. a housekeeper. whatever you need. you shouldn’t have to do all this.”

you pause.

and then, with that same quiet voice you’ve had all day, you look at him and say:

“money can’t fix all our problems, rafe.”

and for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. because you’re right. and this time, he can’t throw money at the wreckage and pretend it’s fine. not when you’re standing there, holding a child’s stuffed bunny like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart

[blueywrites]

soft body, meet sharp teeth

price x plussized!reader x nikolai

content: dubcon; reluctance, power imbalance, manipulation, coercion. reader is from the us (brief mention). inexperienced reader. many descriptions of reader's fat body; reader has body image issues, but price and nik view her body positively. degradation, objectification, brief humiliation; rough sex, spitroast, rimming, edging. aftercare, implied kidnapping /pos (bc apparently I can't help but write some tenderness into every fic lol)

—

You're nervous before you even knock.

You feel a bit silly over it, actually. After all, it's just a quiet little operation tucked inside a very expensive evening, one you're only tangentially involved in— here for a handoff, and nothing more. You’re a cog, not a player.

No one's gonna remember your name.

But the hallway still feels too long, the plush carpet too quiet under your heels, the hotel’s art deco lights warping your reflection almost mockingly in every gold-edged surface as you walk. You've adjusted your blouse three times between the revolving door and here, tugging at the fabric where it clings too tightly to your belly, worrying over the way the waistband of your skirt bites into your soft sides. Maybe it's because this is your first time going solo into the field, or because you'd only been given the assignment late last night, like it'd been meant for someone else and you were just a fill-in. But when you walked by the front desk, saw the pretty concierge tuck her hair behind her ear and reach delicately for the ringing telephone, you couldn't help but imagine yourself a tubby little girl playing dress-up in someone else's clothes.

Your steps trail off as you approach the suite number you memorized this morning, and forcibly, you push those thoughts from your mind. Tonight isn’t about you or your insecurities; you have a job to do. You allow yourself one last centering breath before you knock. The door opens almost immediately.

It isn't the handler you’re expecting.

In their place is a man who fills the frame like it was made for him. Broad in the shoulders, bearded, brows heavy over pale eyes. His sleeves are cuffed at the forearms, shirt slightly wrinkled but neat, like he'd rolled them up himself rather than letting anyone touch him. He looks like someone used to giving orders even when off the clock.

“You’re early,” he says, before you can even think to speak. His voice comes like gravel under boots— English-accented, calm but severe, like the cadence in your training videos. It doesn't matter how quiet he keeps it; authority coils inside every syllable.

“I, um… built in a buffer,” you reply, your voice doing that too-bright thing you hate. “Just in case. You know. Something happened.”

He doesn’t respond. Just looks at you, his sharp eyes sweeping over you, taking in everything from the careful pin at your collar to the way your kitten heels shift slightly on the tiled floor, not quite able to stay still during his examination. You’d dressed to blend in: black pencil skirt, opaque tights, a fitted blouse in a soft green that matched the pigment in your eyeshadow. Professional, understated, but different enough from your usual attire that you can't stop feeling aware of it. You’d worn a trench coat over it on the way in, but that’s folded over your arm now, no longer offering protection.

You feel exposed under his gaze, like your body is saying something about you before you have the chance to speak for yourself.

“She’s not Jacobs,” comes a voice from behind him. Lighter, accented. Russian, you think— lilting, playful in the way it curves up at the end. A second man steps into view, and you have to swallow twice before you can breathe properly again.

This one is even taller; broad-shouldered like the first man, though leaner through the chest, with a long face and sharp nose that gives the impression of someone who knows how to smile and get away with it. His eyes are blue-grey, murky where the other man's are bright and cold, but they're cutting— smirking at you, even if his mouth isn’t.

“You’re not Jacobs, are you?” he says again, like it amuses him personally.

His amusement makes something tighten inside you. Ignoring the feeling, you shake your head. “No. I’m her backup.” You look between them, almost beseechingly, adding quickly, “I've been fully briefed, and I have the dossier—”

“That’s fine,” the first man says, cutting off your spiral. “Come in.”

You step forward, obeying on instinct. The door clicks shut behind you.

“Captain John Price,” the first man says, jerking a thumb toward his chest. “This is Nikolai. You’ll be handing off to us.”

“Pleasure,” Nikolai says with a smile that flashes teeth, gesturing toward the seating area just beyond the doorway. You choose one of the two armchairs, avoiding the couch across. As soon as you sit, he cocks his head just slightly. “Do you always look like you’re about to bolt, or are we just that frightening?”

“Nikolai,” Price warns, tone flat but not sharp.

“What?” Nikolai raises his hands, still grinning, though it’s more cheshire-like now. “She’s cute, all nervous like that. Takaya kisa. Sweet kitty.”

“She’s here for the file.”

You look on helplessly as they go back and forth, unnerved by the Russian Nikolai used that you don’t understand. And there’s something in the tone of Captain Price's voice now, something buried underneath that top note of authority, that you can't quite decipher. It tickles at your hindbrain, feels off-key like a sour note, though you can't pinpoint why.

“And I’m here for the ambiance,” Nikolai retorts easily despite the warning in his superior's voice. “What a lovely little team we make.”

They exchange a look, and you sense there's an entire conversation in it, one that leaves you entirely— unpleasantly— in the dark. Reluctant to draw attention to yourself, you move subtly, draping your coat over the arm of the chair and pulling the satchel with your files into your lap. WIth your pulse hopping in your throat, you look around instead.

The suite is immaculate in the way expensive places always are, gilded by the light filtering through long curtains in muted sheets, turning gold against the walls. The floors are stone tile with warm rugs underfoot, and everything smells faintly of citrus polish and fresh linen. A tray has been set on the low table with two glasses and a decanter already sweating condensation, ice cubes untouched in their crystal bucket. The whole thing feels… unreal. More like a set than a hotel room, suspended in quietude as if waiting for something to begin.

You fidget in your seat, suddenly conscious again of how loud your clothes feel— how every shift of your thighs rubs fabric together, how every breath catches under your blouse like it isn't meant to move that much. You want to sit still. You want to do this right. But you just feel wrong.

“You’ve done this before?” Price asks, pulling your attention to him. He hasn’t moved from the door, but the weight of him follows you.

“Not—” You're about to say ‘alone,’ but pivot at the last second. “—with you. But I’ve run support for this unit before.” Wanting to move on quickly, you add, “My supervisor said you’ll be getting the greenlight for insertion after the gala.”

“Mhm.” He rubs his jaw, sharp eyes still on you. “Where’s the list?”

“In the folder.”

You open your satchel, hands steady even if Captain Price's discerning stare has your stomach in knots. As you reach inside, you feel Nikolai shift closer, see the shine of his belt buckle in your periphery, hear the sound of ice clinking in a glass. Leisurely, he moves to sit across from you, one arm slung over the back of the low couch, sipping his drink like this is a post-dinner chat and not a pre-op intel briefing.

While you gather your documents, you hear the captain approach from behind, but when you open the folder, smoothing it across your lap, Price stays standing at your back rather than taking the second chair like you would have expected. He looms over you like a steady wall of heat and judgment. You clear your throat, doing your best not to be unnerved.

“There’s a ballroom on the second floor, accessed through the main atrium,” you say, tapping the printed map. “Security’s clustered there and at the service corridor junctions. Your entry point should be the staff elevator through the south kitchen. It has the least camera coverage, and no guards are posted there after 8 p.m.”

Price grunts, reaching down to skim a fingertip along the page beside yours. His skin brushes your knuckles, warm and rough; your hand twitches, but you keep it there. You want to look unbothered in front of them, like you’ve done this a million times.

“What’s on the third floor?” he asks.

“Private rooms,” you answer. “A few penthouse suites. VIP bookings. You’ll find the target there— Suite 3C. It's not marked on the hotel’s guest registry, but I cross-checked with event vendors.”

“And backup?”

“Two guards posted outside, unarmed but trained.”

Nikolai hums. “Where are you from?”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“You,” he says, gesturing lazily with his glass. “You’re not from here. American, right?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” There’s a pause, and you realize he expects more. “Long Island.”

“Aha. I thought so.”

He smiles like he’s won something. You try not to fidget under the weight of it.

“I lived in Brooklyn once,” he goes on. “Russians love Brighton Beach. All the food, none of the Russians.”

He grins, clearly amused with himself, and Price shoots him a look. Not annoyed—just dry. Familiar.

“She’s giving us the layout, mate.”

“I’m listening,” Nikolai says, shrugging. “I just like to know who I’m working with.”

“She’s a contact. Not part of the team.”

“Even so. Doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly.”

You stay quiet, lips parted like you aren’t sure whether to keep talking or wait for permission.

Nikolai’s smile lingers. Price says nothing. Neither of them look away.

And you, to your credit, do your best to quash down the roil of emotions inside. You try to keep things professional, return to the page. Try to ignore how your blouse feels tighter than it had earlier, how the elastic in your tights is digging deep into the soft crease of your belly now that you’ve sat too long. You chose the skirt because it’s black and structured— because it holds things in. But the waist is unforgiving, and your legs have always been wider when seated. You can feel the fabric strain where the hem sits flush against the underside of your thighs. Not riding up, exactly, just… tight. Pressing.

You don't tug on it or adjust your posture, not wanting to draw more attention to it. But you know they can see, and it's hard to ignore that.

“Like I said,” you continue, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as small as it feels, “you’ll want to avoid the ballroom and access through the service corridor. It’s a clean path from there to the elevator, and—”

“What time does the gala start?” Price asks, still looming behind you.

“Half seven. But VIPs start trickling in around six.”

“And no one else has this intel? Staff, guests?”

“Just me.”

Price makes a sound low in his throat, and for a moment, you feel his fingers brush the back of your chair, like he might adjust it, or even reach over it toward you. But he doesn't. He just stays there, standing close enough that if you were to lean your head back even slightly, you’d graze the front of his thighs.

You stay very, very still.

“She’s not used to this,” Nikolai says suddenly.

Startled, your gaze snaps from the page up to him. His expression is amused when you scan his face, trying to puzzle out such an odd remark. He’s relaxed in a way that makes it more unnerving, not less.

“Used to what?” you ask, too quickly.

“Being looked at.”

The silence that follows is deafeningly loud. Your stomach turns cold and hot at once as it lingers— as Price doesn’t contradict him, redirect him like before.

“That’s not—” you start, but trail off. There’s no version of denying it that won't make it worse.

Because he’s right. You aren’t used to being looked at like this, and certainly not by men like them— the kind with square hands and deep voices and war behind their eyes. You’ve grown used to being invisible in your softness, to letting sharp, pretty girls handle the face-to-face work. You know your place: smart, reliable, and firmly in the background.

But now—

Now Nikolai is watching you with a wolfish kind of patience. And Price hasn’t taken a single step back.

“It’s alright,” Nikolai says, voice smoothing out into something velvet-soft. Knowing he can see your thoughts written all over your face is embarrassing enough, but then he adds, “Some of us like a girl with a little more to hold onto.”

Your mouth drops open.

Behind your chair, Price lets out a quiet exhale, something too short to be a laugh. “You want to finish the briefing, love?” he asks mildly, acknowledging nothing of what Nikolai said.

It doesn’t feel like an invitation. It feels like a test.

Reeling, you swallow hard and nod, trying not to show how your palms have started to sweat. But your voice wobbles. Your fingers smudge the paper. And when Price leans down again— this time placing one firm hand on the armrest beside you— your whole body tenses like it expects to be chastised for taking up too much space.

“Easy,” he says, low and close. His breath stirs the fine hairs near your ear. “We’re listening.”

You take a steadying breath, nod again, gratefully latching on to the opportunity Price provides to pretend this situation is still completely normal. Because to acknowledge the strangeness is to acknowledge your discomfort, your insecurity— your shame— and everything in your body rebels against the idea.

Yet, tangled up with those are other feelings. And now, you can't meet Nikolai's eye for a different reason. Not with your cheeks burning, your thighs pressed together under the desk, and— you realize with a flash of mortified heat— your cunt pulsing low and traitorous between them.

Oh, sweet, soft you. Once again, you try to steer the conversation, keep it focused on the mission, you really do try. But something has shifted. Your body may have begun to betray you some time ago, heating under their stares, under the ghost of Price’s breath behind your ear, but now, it's impossible to pretend you’re unaffected.

When you finally drag your gaze from the papers on your lap, you see that Nikolai has already set his glass aside and leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees, the shape of him loose but intent. Not lounging anymore; still smiling, but quieter now.

“You’re sweating,” he murmurs, like he’s noting the weather.

You blink, embarrassed all over again. You hadn’t even noticed, but he’s right. All at once, you can feel the inside of your elbows are damp, the band of your tights sticky against your lower belly. Unconsciously, you press your thighs together again under the folder in your lap. You don't notice the way the motion draws their eyes— fluid and silent, like the swing of a trap that's already set.

“It’s warm in here,” you explain quickly.

“Mm.” Price's voice rumbles behind you. “Or maybe you're just feeling the pressure.”

You turn your head slightly. Not enough to meet his eyes, but enough to make him out in your peripheral vision.

“I’m fine,” you say.

It's clear they aren't convinced.

“Let’s take a break,” Nikolai declares, already rising from his seat. “You look like you could use a breather.”

“I’m okay,” you say again, reflexive, hands tightening on the folder like it might anchor you.

“I didn’t ask if you were okay, kotyonok kitten,” he replies lightly, stepping toward you. “I said you could use a break.”

He extends a hand, rough-worn and lined. A soldier's palm. The offer, paired with more Russian he has to know you don’t understand, makes your brow knit tight. With what emotion, you don't quite know. But the feeling hovers there just like his hand, quiet and yet unignorable.

You look up at him.

His shirt is fitted but open at the collar, unbuttoned too far down, showing off a gold chain cradled in a dark nest of hair; his sleeves are rolled, more carelessly than Price's, his thick forearms lined with more of that dark hair and prominent veins. Your eyes dart back to the v at his collar, watching as his chest rises slow and steady, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you.

And behind you, you feel the air change, and know without checking that Price has shifted— a slight movement, but enough to remind you that you're surrounded.

The pretense of your composure— your ability to act like nothing is happening here— finally falls away.

“I—I should stay focused,” you say softly, almost pleadingly, like a final attempt you don't really believe will work.

“You’re trying too hard,” Nikolai counters, his voice gentle, his eyes gleaming. “You’re not under interrogation, sweetheart.”

The word lands like a thumb on your tongue.

Sweetheart.

“I just want to do a good job,” you mumble, not sure why you say it, or why your voice breaks on job.

“You already have,” Price says. You feel the weight of his hand land firmly on your shoulder; feel both comforted and trapped by it. “We’ve got everything we need.”

“That’s right,” Nikolai murmurs, taking another step closer. “You’ve done beautifully.”

His eyes drop, tracing the curve of your breasts under the blouse, the cinch of the waistband over your rounded stomach, the heft of your thighs where they press outward beneath the hem of your skirt. He doesn't hide it. And for the first time, you realize there’s something like hunger coming off him.

“It’s a rare thing,” he goes on. “A girl like you—”

“What kind of girl?” you ask defensively— a cornered cat, hissing and spitting right before it gets scruffed.

That makes both of them pause.

And smile.

“Soft,” Nikolai says. “Shy. Looks at her own body like it’s a burden.”

“And has no idea,” Price murmurs behind you, thumb brushing once against your collarbone, “how fuckin’ pretty she is when she’s trying not to squirm.”

Your heart thunders in your throat. You want to speak, say something, but your mouth has gone dry. Nikolai’s fingers touch your chin, lightly tipping your face toward him again. With those storm dark eyes looking down on you, and Price’s solid warmth at your back, he says,

“Let us take care of you.”

The words seem to hang in the air. They’re less coaxing than how he sounded before; maybe even, you think, closer to a command than an offer. Again, something in the back of your mind squirms, twisting away from that sour note, even while the heat simmering in your belly flares at the prospect.

It’s confusing; it’s too much. You don’t reply, and the silence that follows is heavy.

Price is the one who steps back first, just enough for his hand to lift from your shoulder and the heat of him to ease off. Finally, you can breathe— sharp, sudden, almost dizzy with the room’s stillness, like you only became aware you were starving yourself of oxygen once you gasped it in again.

“Up you get, then,” he says casually, voice still low but not unkind.

“What— why?” you ask, the question reflexive, almost petulant.

“You haven’t taken that breather. And you look like you need it,” Nikolai says mildly, stepping aside as well, leaving you a narrow path between them. And in that gap, set back against the wall, you see the front door to the suite.

They give you space the way wolves might give a deer a final glimpse of open forest— calculated, careful, almost gracious. But your limbs are too heavy with heat and noise to bolt for it.

Something in you folds instead of flinching.

Slowly, you find your feet. You stand, and your skirt creaks at the hips as it adjusts; your tights cling uncomfortably to the undersides of your thighs now that the fabric has warmed with your body. You feel heavy, clumsy in your own skin. But still, you don’t run.

“There,” Nikolai murmurs, watching you rise. “Better, isn’t it?”

You open your mouth to answer but gasp as fingers brush the fabric of your blouse, just beneath the swell of your breast.

You look down to see Price’s hand there, his thick, squared fingers pressing into the delicate green of your clothing.

“Shirt’s damp,” he says, like he’s pointing out a detail on a map. Like he hadn’t given you that breath of air just so he could press in tighter somewhere more tender. “Warm in here, you said. In’t that right?”

His thumb drags upward, slow as sunrise, pressing into the soft give of your breast through the fabric. You try to step forward, away from the touch, but Nikolai is already there, closing the small gap he’d allowed you like it’s nothing. His hands brace your hips lightly— barely there, but unmistakable.

“I—I really should go,” you whisper, voice thready. “I didn’t think this was… part of it.”

“No? Funny,” Price says, sounding a touch darker now. “It suits you.”

His thumb finds your nipple. Presses once. Not hard, just enough for it to stiffen, traitorous and obvious through your blouse. You suck in a quivery little breath, trying to grasp at the shreds of your composure, to figure out how to get out of this room unscathed, unchanged.

But you’ve already failed in that.

“Sensitive little thing,” Price mutters. “That all it takes?”

You don’t see him move, but you feel it: the weight of his presence peeling away from your back, only for a moment, before he reappears in your periphery. His knuckles graze the side of your throat, calloused and unhurried, as he rounds you with the slow certainty of a turning tide. The shift is subtle, but it leaves you suddenly exposed at the back, your balance teetering.

“She’s shaking,” Nikolai observes, amusement thick in his voice. “Poor thing doesn’t know where to look.”

He's behind you now— when did he get there?— his hand splayed low across your spine like a paperweight, his thumb rising to press at the dimple just above your ass, a barely-there pressure that makes your stomach lurch.

He’s right.

You don’t.

Because Price is right in front of you now, his fingers plucking, teasing the stiffened peak of your nipple through layers of fabric. And Nikolai’s hands are sliding lower— over your hips, down the supple curve of your lower belly, until one snakes under your structured black skirt. It pushes up and makes a home between your legs, cupping, palming the heat that has soaked through your tights. His breath ghosts over the shell of your ear: deep, gravel-warm, and horribly smug.

“You’re wet.”

It isn’t a question.

You whimper.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, flexing his fingers, his palm shifting, rubbing so subtly you could almost be imagining it. “You’re doing so well.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” you start, shame rising hot in your throat.

“You want to be good, don’t you?” Price asks, pinching lightly again. “That’s why you came here, all dressed up. All trembling and sweet. Trying so hard to be professional with a soaked cunt under your skirt.”

“No! I mean, I—”

“Ah, ah,” Nikolai purrs, hand tightening just slightly. “No need to lie. Not to us.”

You can feel yourself unraveling— stomach bunching, breath shortening, thighs twitching to close but held wide by the press of Nikolai’s thick thigh.

“You don’t get looked at like this, do you?” Price asks softly. “Not usually.”

You shake your head before you can stop yourself. Both of them hum.

“Shame,” Nikolai whispers. His middle finger presses more firmly than the others, right along the seam of your tights. “They’ve no idea what they’re missing.”

“But we know,” Price adds, leaning in, the bristles of his beard feathering against your cheek. “Don’t we, love?”

They haven't even taken off a single piece of your clothing, and you already feel stripped bare.

Nikolai is a solid wall behind you, his palm spread over the heat between your thighs, cupping you like it's his. Price stands before you, crowding you in, still thumbing lazily at the stiff peak of your nipple through your blouse. The fabric is growing more damp now, darkening visibly where sweat gathers under your breasts, under your arms. You clench your jaw to keep from making any more noise, lock your knees to keep them from folding.

Despite your efforts, your body betrays you, trembling anyway. And that's when Nikolai’s voice dips, lilting and coaxing, into your ear.

“Let’s see you, darling.”

“What?” you breathe. Panic floods your chest.

“Off,” Price says simply, nodding once to your blouse. “All of it.”

You freeze.

And, though their gazes press in on you, they don't move— don’t poke, or pull, or push. They just wait, almost insultingly patient, letting silence grind against your nerves until your mind finally catches up with the inevitability they already know:

What you're going to let them do to you.

Your chest rises with a deep breath— bracing, for courage — and Price leans back, giving you space.

It doesn’t feel like mercy; it feels like stepping into a snare.

You unbutton your blouse first, fingers fumbling now, and you hate that they can see how nervous you are, how clumsy you become when eyes are on you. The fabric pulls at your chest as you work down the row, then peel it away with a sound like tearing paper. Your bare arms catch goosebumps instantly, not from the air, but from being so wholly seen. Quickly, as if to distract yourself, your skirt follows. You slide the zipper down and wriggle it past your hips, your thighs rubbing as it falls around your ankles. The tights cling more stubbornly— sticky with sweat, dragging over every curve, every soft fold of skin. Your eyes stay on your feet as you step out of the bundle, the goosebumps now racing down over your midriff and the backs of your thighs.

“Weren’t planning on anyone seeing those, were you?” Price says.

Your head snaps up to see he's looking directly at your bra and panties; automatically, you look down at yourself, too.

Your underwear don't match. The bra is blush pink, one of your older ones— worn and plain, a little too small, so that the band bites into your back more tightly than usual. Your panties are dark blue, cotton, and stretched more than you would want them to be. They hug the crease where your belly meets your thighs and dig just slightly into your hips.

No, you weren't planning on anyone seeing them, and that made you a bit sheepish to begin with. But the fact that he’d say it—

“Pulled from the drawer in the dark, was it?” he adds. His voice is light, teasing, but still a little mean— poking a sore spot, for what? His own amusement?

Your whole face burning, you cross you arms, cinch them tight around yourself, like you could cover everything at once—your stomach, your tits, the deep, soft curve of your inner thighs.

Why would I wear these?

Why didn’t I check?

Why the fuck am I still here—

You take a step back, reaching for the blouse you’d dropped on the floor.

“I shouldn't have— I should go,” you grit, feeling utterly stupid and small. Your throat is tight with humiliation over it all— being the last-minute replacement on this job, losing your composure in front of these two men, being so unprofessional that you actually took off your fucking clothes, and especially— the part that cuts the deepest, makes the sting of angry tears finally rise behind your eyes— letting yourself believe that they would truly mean those pretty lines they fed you.

Would actually want you.

“Fuck this,” you whisper, fumbling for the blouse with shaky fingers, ready to tear it on— tear yourself from this snare and retreat to lick your wounds alone.

But before you can lift it, Price’s palm lands flat between your shoulder blades.

“Bend over.”

Your lips part to protest, but you never get the words out.

He presses, and you fold.

The edge of the table hits the juncture of your hips, sharp and unyielding; your arms fold forward to catch yourself, tits flattening against your forearms. You barely have time to inhale before the flat of his hand cracks down between your legs.

A spank, right over your soaked panties.

Crack— and your knees buckle.

Oh my God—

Your gasp is a ragged, dizzying inhale.

It isn’t the pain that leaves you reeling. It's the wet sound it makes, echoing in your ears like a shot; the fact that he’d aimed straight for your cunt; and the blinding, inexplicable heat that blooms instantly between your thighs.

“There she is,” Price mutters, his voice low and pleased. With the hand that spanked you, he palms your ass cheek, kneading it like praise.

“Now be a good girl for the captain, pet,” Nikolai purrs, “and let him see all of you. Hm?”

You don't move. You don't cry. You don't think about your bra and panties, or the job, or the pretty concierge from downstairs. You lay there for a moment with your arms folded up under you and your chin pressed to the wood of the table, just… existing in your body. It's gone molten and heavy in a way you've never experienced before, trembling from deep within, your cunt slick enough now that you can feel it beginning to soak through the fabric, cooling against the air on the back of your thighs.

You know, then, that from the moment you set eyes on Captain Price and Nikolai in the doorway of their hotel suite, you were never going to leave without taking what they would give you.

Your bra comes off first. You unclip it slowly, hands shaking from adrenaline and anticipation, and your breasts bounce free, sagging under their weight, your nipples already stiff from the rush of blood beneath your skin. You see Price’s gaze flick lower. You see him smile.

Your panties follow. You peel them down carefully, trying to avoid any awkward movements, but there is no elegant way to undress with your thighs and hips and belly, all of you so soft, so unhidden, every inch of you marked by your body’s honest weight.

Price doesn't flinch; neither does Nikolai. They look at you— all of you— and move in.

They have you on your back, laid out on the table, in seconds— Price guiding you down, Nikolai lifting your legs by the backs of your knees. They don’t speak to each other, and don't seem to need to. In silence, your arms are gently, firmly pressed to your sides, your thighs parted, your body arranged.

You lay there, rendered limp by the ease of it.

They unbuckle slowly, almost leisurely, and through it all, you don’t move a muscle out of place. You just watch as they ready themselves: shirts coming unbuttoned or being shrugged from shoulders, hanging open; belts sagging, zippers parting, trouser waists falling slack but held up by the thickness of their thighs. Boxers being tugged down or pushed aside, fabric parting to free what's underneath. The scent of them fills the space— soap, sweat, something like musk and leather. Hair scatters across solid bellies and wide chests, one a shade darker than the other. You look between them and can't decide, from this angle, which of them is stronger, denser, hairier. They both look like more than just men. They look like grizzlies made bipedal.

And they're about to fuck me. The thought makes your head rush in the most wonderful, horrible way.

Then Price steps into your view.

You look down the length of your body—over your jiggling belly, your splayed thighs—and stare.

You'd felt his hand on your shoulder, your waist, your breast; you're acquainted with its width. To now see the way he grips his cock with that hand, how the head stands out from his pale fingers, red and blunt and already glistening as he glides his fist from the crown to the base and back again…

He's stupidly, devastatingly thick.

The sight brings back a sense of reality, of practicality, and with it, a surge of nervous anticipation rises within you. When he steps closer, you grasp for sense. “What about— D-do you have a condom?” you stammer suddenly, voice higher than you mean it to be.

And Price laughs.

He laughs.

Before you can even register it, Nikolai’s fingers are skimming along your temples, thumbs stroking down your cheeks to your shoulders. Gentle. Possessive.

“Don’t worry, kisa kitty,” he croons from above you. You look up at him, see his face upside down, leaning over you. As you stare into his storm-dark eyes, his fingertips press into the hollows of your chest, just below your collarbones— subtly holding you down. “You won't be needing that.”

It's all the warning you have before Price pushes in.

The head of his cock breaches you slowly— hot, silken, impossibly thick, somehow thicker even than it looked. Your cunt seizes around him instinctively, like your body is trying to push him out even as it pulses to pull him deeper. You cry out, the sound punched from your chest at the feeling of him splitting you open. And yes, there is pain, but it's not sharp. Not bad. Just a molten stretch that burns through your whole lower body, stealing your breath as he carves room inside you.

You feel your thighs twitch, your belly rise with each shallow breath as he keeps going, slowly but ruthlessly filling you by inches— dragging his cock through your tight, clinging heat like he’s mapping every dip and fold. And then, finally, you feel his thighs press against the underside of your ass, and know you've taken him to the root.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, flexing his hips to press even more firmly against you, drawing another little cry from your lips. “Grippin’ me like a fist.”

“She’s clenching?” Nikolai asks, voice above your head bright with interest.

“Like she thinks she can stop me.”

He chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

All at once, there are fingers at your lips: Nikolai’s, tapping gently.

“Now, moy kotyonok my kitten,” he says, “let’s keep that mouth busy, mm?”

Attention stolen by the thick, deliberate push of Price’s cock, without thinking, you open.

Nikolai presses in.

It’s awkward at first. The angle is strange; your head is tipped back over the edge of the table, and you can barely flatten your tongue properly. Mercifully, his cock enters slowly, warm and slightly salty, the skin soft but the shape firm. You can feel his foreskin drag against your tongue, unfamiliar and smooth, shifting each time he slides in and withdraws only to come back, pressing further once again.

Your moan around him is wet and open-mouthed— half a sound, half a reflex.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking your jaw as his cock fills your mouth. “Just like that.”

Between your legs, Price starts to move. Tiny thrusts at first, shallow and probing, like he's testing the push and pull of you from the inside. Even that little friction drags fire through your cunt— stretched and slick and full, your pussy gripping around him in twitching, helpless pulses. Every inch he takes and then gives back makes your breath catch, makes your mouth slacken around Nikolai’s cock, makes your thoughts fly apart into something raw and dirty and shameful.

“Told you she’d take it,” you hear Price say, his voice closer now, one hand braced on your belly. “Didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you now,” Nikolai chuckles. “Look at her.”

He pulls back, just far enough to rest his cockhead on your bottom lip. You pant against it, spit-slick and open, your lashes fluttering. A small, sensible part of you tries to make sense of what they mean, until their cocks chase it away again.

“Open,” Nikolai says, looking down at you as he lifts his cock slightly.

At first, you blink at him, confused that he's taking it away from your mouth. Then you feel his hand under your jaw, tilting.

“Open wide for me. Show me how grateful you are the captain’s fucking you so well.”

You obey— mouth wide, throat raw from taking him deep, your tongue falling out like a wet, pink cradle to welcome him back to you. Nikolai lifts his cock and presses it against your chin, then down.

Then he brings his balls to your mouth.

Soft and heavy, they settle against your lips, spreading over your chin, the underside of your nose. You whimper and lick, trying your best, awkward and heat-flushed as you lap at the seam of his scrotum, the sweat-slick skin dusted with coarse, wiry hair, and the firmer swells within it. The salt and warmth of him fill your mouth, your lungs as you work at him. Your thighs shake; your nose knocks gently against his sack as Price fucks you, forcing you to chase Nikolai with your tongue, try to suck the skin between your lips only to lose it again the next second.

But Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind. “There’s a good girl,” he croons, cupping your neck with his other hand, the first slowly jerking his cock against your chin. “So polite. So obedient.”

Price’s thrusts deepen. He grunts low in his throat, hand splayed over your soft belly, pinning you as he fucks up into you harder.

“Jesus, she’s fucking soaked,” he says, almost to himself. “Can feel her fluttering around me. Like she’s trying not to come.”

“She doesn’t want to make a mess,” Nikolai replies; you can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “She’s still trying to be professional.”

They both laugh.

“Darling,” Nikolai says sweetly, brushing your spit-slick cheek with his knuckles. “You’ve got a cock in your cunt and another on your chin, with your face buried in my balls. I think that ship has sailed.”

You barely have time to register how that makes you feel before Price abruptly pulls out of you; the slick, wet drag makes your back arch from the table.

“Switch,” he grunts, wiping his cockhead along the soft underside of your thigh.

Empty now, you whine, cunt twitching helplessly around nothing, already clenching as if begging him to come back. But Nikolai is there immediately, knocking your knees aside with the width of his torso.

And he doesn’t wait— he just presses in.

He is a smaller man than Price, but not by much. Though not quite as thick, his cock is longer, and he doesn’t try to ease you into it, just thrusts into your cunt with a sharp, sure rhythm that rocks your body on the table. The wood squeaks against your shifting softness; your tits bounce with every firm smack of his hips.

“There’s my good girl,” he hisses, wide hands gripping your waist harder than Price had, pressing into the ample give of your body. “Taking us in so nicely. Like you were made for this.”

You can’t answer, distracted as you are, because Price has moved to your head.

His cock hovers above your mouth— wet with your arousal, flushed dark and veined, the crown slick from where he’d just fucked you.

“Open up,” he says, his hand spanning you from jaw to cheekbone. “Want you to taste the mess you made on my cock.”

Mouth slack, eyes heavy lidded, your body buzzing like never before, you don’t hesitate for even a second.

You just obey.

The taste hits you immediately— bitter, musky, salt layered over something slick and unmistakably yours. Embarrassment and arousal tangle inside you until you can't separate them, bouncing you between them just like these men fuck your body from both ends. Driving you quickly toward a precipice that, all things considered, should have been much farther away than it is.

I’ve never come like this, you think wildly, even as your stomach begins to tighten with that familiar feeling. I don’t even think I can—

Nikolai’s cock pistons into you faster, harder, his solid hips slapping against the backs of your thighs. His pubic hair scrapes the tender skin of your folds, his balls plapping rhythmically against your ass. There’s no angle you can squirm into that doesn’t bring pleasure, no breath you can take that doesn't make you whimper.

“She’s shakin’,” Price murmurs, his voice a low hum above you as he holds your head still and fucks your mouth. “Think she’s close?”

“She shouldn’t be,” Nikolai laughs breathlessly. “Haven’t touched her clit.”

He’s right— they haven’t even grazed it accidentally. You’ve had nothing but the constant grind of cock inside your holes, the friction of your back and ass against the table, and the thunder of your own heartbeat in your ears.

And yet—

Your thighs keep twitching. Your cunt spasms around Nikolai with every thrust. Your nipples have drawn tight despite the warmth building in the room, dark with blood, scraping the air with every bounce.

“That it, sweetheart?” Price asks, cupping your face with both hands, digging his fingers into your scalp and canting his hips to drag his cock more firmly against your tongue. “You gonna come just like this?”

You whine, your whole body wound tight, your hips twitching to meet Nikolai’s thrusts, so fucking close—

He pulls out.

You cry out in sharp dismay, the sound garbled around the cock still in your throat.

“Switch,” Nikolai pants, his voice a touch more hoarse now. “Not done with her yet.”

They do it again: Price at your cunt this time, his girth stretching you anew, driving a brutal rhythm into your already swollen hole.

You moan in relief, your eyes scrunched closed, too glad to have someone hitting that spot inside you again to react to Nikolai tapping your lips with his cock. He lets the tip smear prespend across your lips and chin instead, chuckling, “Look at her. Fucked stupid. Face a mess. Is that her mascara?”

“Was,” Price mutters.

“Desperate little kitty,” Nikolai croons at you. “Crying just from cock.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until he said it, but now you notice your face is wet from every angle— saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth over your cheeks, tears streaking black through your ruined lashes, catching in your hairline. Your mouth has gone puffy from effort, jaw sore and slack. And every time they edge themselves— pulling out, groaning, trading places— they drag you closer too, without even trying.

It’s torture of the most exquisite kind.

You want to scream, beg, tell them to just keep going, to fuck you through it—

But your mouth is full again.

“That’s it,” Nikolai purrs, sliding his cock back into your throat. “Just like that, pet. Show us how grateful you are. Show us what that fat little mouth was made for.”

Price thrusts harder into you, his grip on your thighs tightening. “She’s ready, Nik,” he grits, his voice rough from affect and effort. “Pussy’s fuckin’ beggin’ me to come, mate. Drippin’ all over the goddamn table.”

And you are. It pours from your cunt in strings, smearing his thighs and yours, soaking the wood beneath you. You can feel how wet you are, how slick your skin has become with sweat and arousal; can imagine how far gone you must look, used and wet-faced and wrecked. Laid out across the table, bookended by their masculine frames, twitching and writhing on their cocks like a thing possessed.

Then Price hits something deep, something bright. You squeal helplessly around Nikolai’s cock, a broken, animal sound.

And that makes things escalate quickly.

Price snarls something low and wordless, slamming himself fully inside you, and you scream— muffled, guttural, the sound pulled from the depth of you. Your whole body jolts forward, the force flicking your jaw upwards; not quite a bite, but enough to scrape against the meat in your mouth, which promptly slips free.

Nikolai pulls back with a wet pop, breathing hard. Startled, with a flash of worry, your eyes pop open to see his tip, slick and flushed, hovering above your face as he fists his cock roughly at the base.

“Teeth,” he pants, drawing your wide-eyed gaze to his face. His dark brow is furrowed and sweat-slick, but more from exertion than annoyance. He flashes you a teasing smile. “Didn’t want to ruin my fun just yet.”

Reassured, you manage a nod, gasp in air— but not for long.

Because his balls are suddenly in your face again, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

You latch.

Tongue sloppy, drooling, tasting every inch of him, you suck and kiss and lick with no rhythm, no grace— just sheer want. Your arm even snakes up next to your ear, your hand wrapping around the back of his thick, hairy thigh, urging him closer. You chase the salt and musk of him like you’re starving for it, lavishing him with unspoken praise— a wet, messy, earnest worship.

“Fuckin’... Christ.” You feel Nikolai’s broad hand cup underneath your skull, keeping your mouth pressed close to him. “Filthy fuckin’ thing. Sovsem s uma skhodit. Completely losing her mind,” he mutters, the words slipping rough and low. “Little animal.”

Your hips react to the affect in his voice, bucking out of rhythm with Price’s thrusts. “Hold still,” he growls, voice sharp with effort. Your ankles kick out once, uncontrolled, before his grip steadies your hips again, pressing you down against the table almost hard enough to grind your bones.

He drives into you now like he’s trying to knock the orgasm out of you with brute force, the sound of flesh meeting flesh loud and constant. Your tits bounce violently with the impact, the table underneath you jerking in time with his rhythm. Your softness is everywhere— your belly rippling with every thrust, thighs quaking with the force of it, skin slapping loud and wet in the heat-thick air.

If you weren’t flesh, your body would break into pieces.

You can’t think, can’t make a sound; can barely even breathe. You feel it coming— a white heat blooming in your pelvis, a deep, unbearable twist building in your gut. You whimper again and again, high-pitched and frantic, against Nikolai’s balls, nose buried in the sweaty skin, tongue flattened and desperate. Your toes curl, cramp, slip uselessly against Price’s legs, searching for purchase so you can try to bring your orgasm forth yourself if they decide to take it away again.

If they do… you think you might die if they do.

Please, you wail wordlessly. Please—

“Now,” Price snarls, low and final. “Fuckin’ give it to me.”

You shatter.

It rips through you like a crack in glass— fracturing something fundamental, white-hot and irreversible. Your body stops being yours to control, overtaken by the force of it, the raw inevitability.

It’s not graceful. It’s messy; ugly with need.

Your breath punches out of you in sharp, stuttering gasps, everything pulling taut from the inside out as your cunt clenches in violent pulses around Price’s cock. The sounds you make… you don’t know if you’re begging or thanking or praying. You just know it’s pouring out of you, choked, wordless, and raw, against Nikolai’s sweat-slick skin.

But Price doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even slow down.

His hands lock around your wrists— one in each fist— and pull.

You jolt, your spine dragged flat against the table again with the momentum of it, and realize with a broken sob that he’s using your body for leverage. Hauling you down into each savage thrust so you don’t slide up from the sheer force of him.

Quickly, your arms begin to ache, stretched taut between them. Your body bucks, tits jerking wildly, belly rippling, thighs slapping wet and slick against his hips. He’s fucking you through the aftershocks like he needs it— like he’s wringing your orgasm out by the root, forcing every last tremor from your cunt.

And your mouth is still on Nikolai’s balls.

The pleasure within you peaks. Your head swims; your vision blurs. You’re licking and moaning around Nikolai’s balls with a mouth too full to close, slick and open, your tongue insistent and hungry. You don’t notice him shift until the angle changes— his hips tilting just enough, the muscles in his thighs flexing against your cheek—

And your tongue slides lower.

Past the seam.

Past the curve of his perineum.

Right to a part of him you never expected to reach.

You realize it at once. But you don’t stop.

You just lick— broad, deliberate, right over the tight heat of his asshole— and the reaction is immediate. Nikolai lets out a stunned, guttural sound, his hand clenching hard in your hair.

“Ohh,” he gasps, his body shuddering.“Ebat’. Bozhe moi. Fuck. My god.”

The Russian makes you freeze, unsure how to interpret it until he adds, voice thick and choked, “Good girl, lyubov’ love.”

You do it again— sloppier, more eager. Nikolai groans low in his throat, the sound almost drowning out the wet shlick of him working his cock. “Good girl,” he repeats. “Just like that— eat my ass.”

You feel Price falter; his rhythm staggers.

“Well, fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, trying for flippant, but his voice is rough, threadbare. “Didn’t even have to be told.” He doesn’t stop thrusting, but now each movement feels heavier, more ragged.

“You know how to pick them, kapitan,” Nikolai throws back, though the words stutter, barely held together as he fists himself faster now.

Because you’re panting through your nose, tongue working desperately to fuck deeper between the clench of his cheeks, your spit gluing your mouth to his skin in wet, filthy strings. You’re so far gone, aching for more of him, any part of him; licking him like you want inside. Like if you can just press a little harder, he’ll let you in.

And then you feel it. With a stifled curse, his thighs tense against your ears, and a hot pulse splashes across your tits.

You gasp, dazed, and keep licking. Keep worshipping. Nikolai grunts again; another spill lands across your skin.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he pants. “Just like that, sweetheart. You’ve earned it.”

He shifts forward, dropping his cock between your tits, gathering them in both hands. Your soft flesh spills through his fingers, slick and shining with his come as he rocks his hips, dragging himself through the heat and weight of you with a low, broken groan.

“Perfect tits,” he murmurs. “Perfect, filthy little tongue.”

A pause, breathless.

“Perfect,” he repeats, and something in his voice makes your lungs pull tight. “Moy kotyonok. My kitten.”

It makes you want— not for you, but for him. He’s still dragging his cock through the come-slick heat of your chest, slow and indulgent, and now, your hands come up to join him. You cover his, your smaller fingers slipping over his knuckles, urging him to squeeze harder, tighter, pressing your breasts together around him. Giving him everything he wants and more.

The effect is immediate.

Nikolai moans low, and you feel the tremble in his thighs as he fucks your tits with slow, indulgent thrusts, each one slicker than the last, the mess of him smeared thick between your breasts.

And Price— he falters. You hear it in the hitch of his breath, feel it in the sudden jolt that interrupts his thrusts. A low curse breaks from him, shaky and raw.

“Fuck,” he mutters. Then, like he’s losing the fight against himself:

“Jesus— fucking hell.”

He surges forward, hips snapping once, twice, before he drives in deep and stills.

The noise he makes when he floods you is nothing like the others— less a growl, more a sound torn out of him. With it, you feel the thick heat of him spill inside you, the rhythmic twitching of his cock as he comes. Reflexively, your walls pulse around him, spent and soaked, clinging greedily to every drop and drawing yet more sounds from him until they finally subside.

And then it’s quiet.

Everything stills except the pant of breath, the tremble of muscle, the soft, sticky sounds of skin parting from skin. Your mouth slips open where it rests against Nikolai, swollen and wordless. When he lifts himself off you slowly, carefully, you gasp in a lungful of air as the weight of him finally eases. The cool air hits your wet skin; you shiver, utterly spent.

Yet, through the haze of exhausted satisfaction that covers you, there’s one last thing you still want.

Your fingers twitch where they lie on the table— reaching, searching. Your mouth opens a little wider, your brow pinching in subtle supplication. Your throat is too raw to form words, but you try to make your intentions clear: you lift your chin, eyes fluttering shut again as you whisper out a breath, a faint hum of desire.

Nikolai murmurs something in Russian; you can’t understand it, but the words sound soft, indulgent, almost amused. Then you feel sticky, heated skin against your lips— his cock, one last time. You hum, mouth twitching into a brief smile, pleased he understood what you were asking for. He presses closer for you, and you suck lazily at the head, tasting the mess you helped make.

Then Price— grunting quietly, still catching his breath— guides himself to your mouth next. You lick at him too, slow and grateful, until he hisses through his teeth and pulls away.

“Insatiable,” someone mutters. You can’t tell who; you’re too tired to even consider opening your eyes.

Helpless, blinded by the dark of your eyelids, you feel hands on you again, gentle this time. You’re dead weight, limp and satiated as you are, the soft rolls of your skin fever-warm beneath a sheen of sweat and spend. Yet they lift you from the table with surprising ease. You feel like a wisp as strong arms gather you close, cradling you against a chest that smells like smoke and salt and sex, the steady thrum of a heartbeat echoing dimly through your cheek.

As you rise, your head lolls, weightless, to the curve of a shoulder. Something ticklish like whiskers feathers your temple; a blunt nose presses to the crown of your head.

With the tiniest of sighs, you slip under— weightless and willing.

—

You wake to the sound of movement: the low rustle of fabric, the metallic clink of gear, the murmur of voices pitched low with purpose. Boots thud softly against tile, measured and unhurried. Somewhere nearby, a strap cinches tight; the teeth of a zipper rasps into place.

You stir, slow and disoriented, your body aching in that deep, satisfied way that makes time feel irrelevant. Your skin is tender-warm, sore and slick, and for a long moment, you can’t place where you are and why the air smells thick with something primal.

Then it returns in a rush— everything they’d done to you, everything you let them do. The hours between then and now blur into a molten wash of sensation, so thick with memory that it almost hurts to breathe.

You sit up too quickly, a dull throb blooming through your thighs. “Shit— I should’ve gone— hours ago—” you murmur, scrubbing shaky hands over your face, trying to wake yourself quicker. “I need to check in, find out what’s next, Laswell’s probably—”

But before your feet can hit the floor, Price is there. He crosses the room in two strides and presses a steady hand to your shoulder, keeping you down with ease.

“No,” he says, quiet but certain. His blue eyes—sharp and unreadable beneath the edge of his lashes—hold you fast. “You’re staying here.”

You blink up at him, still trying to clear the sleep from your head. “But I was only meant to make contact—pass off the intel. I wasn’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he asks, one brow lifting ever so slightly.

You open your mouth, but the words stick behind your teeth. Heat creeps up your chest, writes itself into your expression before you can stop it.

“I didn’t think I was meant to stay,” you finish, weakly.

A second shadow enters your periphery, and then Nikolai crouches in front of you, balanced easily on the balls of his feet. His sleeves are rolled, forearms bare, eyes lit with something almost like humor.

“Darling,” he says with a tilt of his head, “you think you’re getting up and leaving after that?”

You hesitate, brows furrowed, unsure if you should be embarrassed or offended. But he only looks entertained— pleased, even. It catches you off guard. The room has become a different world since you first entered it; now, somehow, you aren’t sure where you’re meant to go next.

Your mind, still hazy, circles back to a line that had confused you when you first heard it— something said while you’d been too far gone to question it.

And you didn’t think she’d take it. Look at her now.

The words bloom with new weight now, taking root.

You look between them, a slow unease beginning to knit itself through your ribs. “You said—” Your voice catches, then steadies. “Back when I was… when I had your cock in my mouth. He said you ‘didn’t think I’d take it.’” Your gaze catches on Nikolai. “But… when—?”

You don’t need to finish the sentence for him to catch your meaning: When could you have said it that I didn’t hear?

Price is the one who answers, offering you the faintest smile. “Laswell called,” he says. “Told us about the change. Jacobs was out; you were in.”

Lightly, Nikolai remarks, “Called us before she called you, I believe.” Your eyes cut back to him, wide and stunned as he grins, sharing a look with Price.

“She said you were solid. Smart. Reliable.”

“Said you looked sweet.” Nikolai’s mouth curves. “That was the part we liked most.”

You don’t know what to say. Your mouth opens, and when nothing comes, you let it fall closed again.

“And,” Price adds mildly after your silence, “you did take it.”

Nikolai chuckles. “The second I saw you at the door, I knew. You looked like the type who would.” His grin sharpens just slightly. “Soft little thing. Polite. Looked like you’d do what you were told.”

“And you did,” Price echoes with finality. “Right from the start.”

Your heart is pounding again, but not from panic. The heat curling low in your belly is too thick, too delicious for that.

Then Price steps in closer, and suddenly his hand is under your jaw, guiding your chin upward with one rough knuckle. “Get some rest,” he murmurs. “We’ll be back before morning.”

A second later, Nikolai leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth— brief, but deliberate. The kind that lingers long after it’s gone.

And then Price kisses you— slower. Firmer. His mouth claims yours like punctuation, sealing the moment with a heat that startles, even after everything.

You sit there motionless after they pull away, already moving with purpose— jackets zipped, weapons checked, movements efficient and quiet. But before reaching the door, Nikolai turns back.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he says lightly. “We’ll lock up. No one gets in but us.”

Price glances back too, expression unreadable save for the faint edge of something like amusement behind his eyes.

“And you don’t need to go anywhere, darling.”

You just stare at them, blinking, still reeling from the feeling of their mouths on yours. For the first time, you realize, and the knowledge burns through you, leaves you breathless.

“Wait here,” Price finishes, slinging his rifle into place. “You’re ours now.”

There’s no smirk in it— no hint of smugness, no flourish or performance. Just the certainty of a man saying something he considers self-evident.

Like it’s fact. Like it’s always been.

And maybe it has.

When the door clicks shut, you touch your fingers to your lips. They’re still tingling. And they keep tingling as you sink slowly back into the sheets— to relish the scent of your men still on your skin, and wait for them to come home.

[strawberrykidneystone]

a quick stop

vi x female reader

summary: while at the brothel fresh out of jail, vi needs a little pick me up from her favorite working girl. and it just so happens that this time is on the house

a/n: WHO’S READY FOR ARCANE SEASON 2‼️‼️‼️

tags: smut, implied past relationship, prostitution, vi wears boxers bc i said so, making out, grinding, scissoring

ao3 version

the iridescent pink beads hanging down from the top of the door frame clacked together as a scarred hand pulled them to the side. y/n looked up from the pillows she was lounging on and gasped, sitting up tall as if seeing a ghost.

“vi?”

“hey princess.”

the two had originally met while they were both locked up, y/n had a much lighter sentence than vi did. still, they had pretty similar childhoods growing up in the undercity and bonded quickly, in more ways than one.

vi smirked as she strutted over to her former cellmate. she kneeled down and cupped y/n’s cheeks in her hands, looking over every detail of her face.

“just passing through, getting information.”

“that all?” y/n said breathlessly, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes.

“mmm maybe i wanted to see my favorite girl too.”

“oh yeah? i like the sound of that,” y/n grinned and leaned forward, pressing her lips desperately into vi’s. vi chuckled into the kiss and returned her kiss, nipping at her bottom lip with her teeth before plunging her tongue into her mouth. vi massaged her tongue against y/n’s, deepening the kiss. she ran her hands up and down y/n’s waist, slipping down her lower back before settling onto her ass, cupping the cheeks in her hands. y/n snaked her arms around vi’s neck, gripping the back of her jacket. vi leaned back and extended her legs out in front of herself, pulling y/n to straddle her lap with her thighs on either side of her hips, squeezing her cheeks in appreciation.

y/n rocked her hips back and forth, moaning into the kiss as vi bucked her hips up to match her grinding.

vi pulled back from the kiss, panting heavily with her face flushed. y/n whined and chased her lips, giving her one more peck on the lips. she kissed down the strong woman’s jawline, mouthing at the side of her neck. vi hummed and leaned her head to the opposite side to give her as much skin as she wanted. y/n sucked softly on her neck, letting her teeth scrape against her rough skin.

“hey hey, no biting.”

“you’re no fun.”

vi snorted and shook her head, grabbing y/n’s waist and flipping the two of them around so that she was on top with y/n’s legs naturally wrapping around her waist. she pushed her lips back into hers, tracing her hands up her ribs and squeezing her breasts. y/n arched her back and pressed her chest into her hands, kissing her deeply. vi slipped her hands under y/n’s shirt and pulled it over her head, quickly unhooking her bra too. the pink-haired woman leaned down and latched onto y/n’s nipple, twisting the other between her pointer finger and her thumb.

y/n mewled in pleasure, wordlessly tugging on vi’s jacket. vi took the hint and slipped off her jacket. she took her undershirt off, leaving her chest wrapped up with the flesh-colored reusable athletic tape. she then unbuckled her pants and stripped down to her boxers. while she was busy, y/n unwrapped her legs from around vi’s waist. she slipped off her own skirt and panties in one fell swoop, completely bare to the woman on top of her.

vi paused for a moment and studied the woman underneath her, licking her lips hungrily, “so pretty, so so pretty baby.”

y/n blushed deeply and looked to the side in embarrassment at how wet she already was. she reached forward and rubbed her thumbs into vi’s hip bones. she hooked her fingers under the fabric and pulled them off, admiring her toned thighs. vi grinned at her enthusiasm, slipping the boxers off of her legs.

she hooked her leg over y/n’s and held y/n's leg up, hooking her ankle over her shoulder. she lowered herself so that both of their vulvas touched, a gasp escaping both of their mouths as they touched.

vi rolled her hips against hers, gripping y/n's calf with one hand and stabilizing herself with her hand on the group with the other. y/n palmed her own breasts, rocking her hips with the little movement she could make with the other woman on top of her. suddenly, vi's clit rubbed against y/n's just right and vi turned her head, biting into y/n's calf to muffle her moan. she picked up the speed gradually, letting more of her weight down to have their bodies as close to each other as possible. she kissed the spot she bit, finding just the right stop to grind down on, "baby i'm close."

y/n was a moaning mess under her, mindlessly nodding and babbled out, "m-me too vi!"

vi kept the same pace for both of them and suddenly her hips spasmed as she reached her orgasm, leaning her head back in a wordless scream. y/n reached hers shortly after, moaning out vi's name as her fluids mixed with the woman on top of her.

the two panted in their post-orgasm haze, vi carefully getting up since they were both sensitive and cleaning them up. vi hastily got dressed, barely slipping her shirt on before y/n looked down at her calf and raised an eyebrow, looking up at her, "no biting huh?"

vi smirked and leaned down, cupped her face in one hand with her fingers on one side and her thumb on the other. she kissed her softly and drew back to look into her eyes, "i never said anything about me not biting baby."

y/n rolled her eyes and sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. vi draped her jacket around y/n's shoulders and pushed her hair back from her forehead, kissing her brow.

"i'll see you around pretty girl. stay out of trouble, there's an influx of enforcers coming in."

y/n blushed lightly and nodded, pulling the jacket closed over her chest, "bye vi, and good luck."

vi reached down into her pocket to pull out her cog fee, but y/n put a hand over hers to stop her. vi stopped and looked down at her, tilting her head curiously. y/n smiled and patted her hand, "this one's on the house."

vi smiled and raised her hand up, kissing the back of it. she strode away and saluted her from the doorway, walking out and heading to the front desk to do what she was originally here for, finding powder.

a/n: first time writing scissoring, pls lmk if it sucked /hj

[whatsnewalycat]

mindfuck

Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Dave hypnotizes you.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warnings: hypnokink, not entirely good praxis of hypnosis, humiliation, implied infidelity, praise, smut, unprotected piv, D/s dynamic, dom dave, literal mind fucking so like a bit of body horror get into it

Notes: For @iamasaddie kinky May writing challenge. Prompt was hypnosis + Dave York. I found a lot of inspiration for this from a post in r/EroticHypnosis about mindfucking (can find again if anyone wants the link - lemme know!). Posting this in a hurry bc I am late to a thing so hopefully not tooooo many missed mistakes. OK THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

[ my masterlist ]

-------

All your life you wished you could turn off your thoughts at will. 

Growing up, on those nights where your crowded head wouldn’t let you sleep, you would imagine twisting off the top of your skull like a jar lid and plopping your brain on the nightstand. It even worked sometimes, too, if you tried hard to convince yourself. When reminders of an upcoming math test or images of that cute boy in class crept into your purview, they had nowhere to go. They evaporated, and you slept. 

Dave says you’re too smart for your own good. Sometimes when you’re lost in thought, he tells you he wants to empty that pretty little head of yours. Not in a condescending way, although you can see how someone might interpret it like that. 

What he means is that he wants you to be with him when you’re with him. What he means is that he wants you to be present. Not thinking about the past or the future. Not reminding yourself of deadlines or analyzing the data stored in your brain or wondering what you mean to him exactly. 

The first time he suggested hypnosis, you balked. Even after he explained how it worked, you were hesitant enough for him to drop the subject. 

When he brought it up again, though, your skepticism swayed. You asked him for more details, so he dispensed the pros and cons and the step process. He could do it for you, he said. He knew how. He said he could rattle the bees from your buzzing honeycomb brain. All you had to do was trust him with this power. 

So you did. 

And you do. 

Your valiant beekeeper meets you at this hotel every other Tuesday night, except on holidays. This isn’t the only one-on-one time he dedicates to you, but it’s by far the most reliable. He doesn’t always hypnotize you, either. 

Regardless of whether he puts you in a trance or not, this standing date always starts the same. He slips you the keycard at some point throughout the day, only after he’s adorned it with a vase full of seasonal blooms and laid out something for you to wear. 

Tonight he left you lilacs and matching lingerie. Intricate floral appliqués embellish the pastel nightie he laid out on the bed. 

Opulence becomes you when you slip it on and pour a glass of champagne from the bottle Dave left to chill on ice. You mosey around the spacious high-end suite, sipping frosty bubbles as you admire the birds-eye view of downtown, the tall buildings and bustling city life all drenched in golden light from the setting sun. 

As the time nears eight o’clock, you empty your champagne flute and make yourself comfortable on the plush bed. Crystals hanging from the chandelier fragment soft white light into dazzling tiny spectrums, sparkling rainbow when the door to the suite opens, then closes. 

Dave enters the room with an air of authority that makes you straighten your spine and draw back your shoulders. After chucking off his jacket, he empties his pockets on the dresser and loosens his tie, then turns around to meet your gaze. 

His stern expression melts as he looks you over, seeming to appraise how your body fills out the lilac nightie. Heat sparks in the middle of you when he greets you, “Hey beautiful.” 

“Hi.” 

He approaches your side and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt, “Comfortable?” 

Nodding, you sit up to pull him in for a kiss. His plush lips respond without hesitation, firm but generous as he slips a wide palm around your body and brings you even closer. 

When he pulls back, he asks, “Are you ready?” 

“Ready.” 

He cradles your jaw, searching your face with blatant admiration before separating his body from yours. You lay back into the soft embrace of the pillows and wiggle around until you find the sweet spot of comfort while Dave drags an armchair to your bedside and sits down. Once you’re both settled and still, he begins. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You close them. 

“Take a deep breath in…”

You take in air until you can’t. 

“…and slowly release it.” 

You exhale, rationing your metered breath through a straw-sized ‘o’ formed by your lips. 

“Good. Take a deep breath in… two three four… and slowly release it. Deep breath in… two three four… now slowly release it.”

Behind closed lids, you concentrate on the rhythmic ebb and flow of your lungs contracting and expanding. His warm voice surrounds you. Envelops you. 

“That’s it. Keep breathing just like this. Each time you inhale, draw the life from your breath, and exhale the rest. Notice how cleansing it feels to let it go. How the tension melts from your muscles every time you take a deep breath in…”

You inhale. 

“…two three four…” 

Hold it. 

“…and slowly release it.” 

Then exhale.

“Perfect. Keep doing that. Now imagine that every time you take a deep breath in, a warm wave washes over you… and as you slowly release it, the tide carries away tension, allowing your muscles to soften and relax…”

Each big lungful heats the tar holding your body together. You dissolve into the mattress as Dave’s deep, honeyed voice resonates through you. 

“Again, take a deep breath in as the warm wave of relaxation washes over you, two three four… and slowly release it as the tide carries away your tension, allowing your muscles to soften and relax. Concentrate on my voice. Recognize it as a touchstone. If your mind starts to wander, have it return to the touchstone, return to my voice, and relax even deeper.” 

Trees tower above you, stretching high into the pale blue sky. The moss-covered rock before you glows as he speaks. 

“Notice how relaxed you feel. Notice that every time the warm wave of relaxation washes over you, two three four… tension melts from your body as you allow yourself to sink deeper and deeper into the sensation. Allow the relaxation to seep from your muscles into your bloodstream… to course through your veins and calm every cell in your body.

“Focus on your face. All those tiny little muscles in your forehead and around your eyes, notice how relaxed they are. Notice how the relaxation melts the muscles in your cheeks and jaw, letting your mouth go slack. You might feel as though you want to speak, but find yourself so relaxed that you can’t. That’s ok, because it feels good and safe to let the words dissolve on your tongue. Doesn’t it?” 

When you try to respond, your lips don’t move. This fact doesn’t bother you. It feels good and safe in the forest, staring up at the treetops. 

You realize you’re floating in a pond. You hear birds peacefully chirping and know it’s just you and them and the touchstone for a million miles. 

Everything feels profound, but simple. You are small and big like a speck of dust or a galaxy. You are safe. You are at peace. 

“Doesn’t it feel so good to relax, darling?” 

Your fingertips rest against the soft moss of the touchstone. 

“Yes, it does,” you tell it. 

It glows with a satisfactory hum that vibrates through you.  

“Perfect. Continue to focus on my voice. Soon, I will ask you to open your eyes, then close them. When you close your eyes, you’ll notice a warm wave of relaxation washing over you, turning knots into snarls and snarls into strands, every muscle in your body gently untangling as you allow them to go limp and heavy…”

You understand and follow his instructions. 

“Open your eyes and take a deep breath in, two three four… and slowly release it, closing your eyes, letting the warm wave wash over you and pull you in deeper. 

“Soon, I’ll ask you to open your eyes again. When you close them, you’ll notice the warm wave of relaxation wash over you even stronger than before, pulling you even deeper. 

“Open your eyes, two three four… and close your eyes, sinking deeper and deeper. Good job. We’ll do it one more time, and when you close your eyes and relax, sink as deep as you can, all the way to the bottom. Open your eyes, two three four… and close your eyes.” 

You’re lying in a meadow of wildflowers outside the forest, looking up at the serene blue sky. The earth beneath you is solid and brings you an immense sense of comfort. 

“I want you to think about desire. Think about that warm, lush longing inside you. Concentrate on how good this sensation feels in your body, pleasure swelling thick at the center of you.”

His voice surrounds you, but you don’t see its source. The soothing timbre resonates from the wildflowers and the earth and the sky, from everywhere and nowhere all at once like how you imagine God sounded to Old Testament prophets. 

You bring your focus to desire. It does feel good. Amazing, actually. Tangible like a glowing ball of heat between your thighs that throbs with each syllable he speaks. 

“Allow the sensation to grow. Let it stretch and pulse and heat your skin. Let your mind empty of everything except this arousal. When thoughts arise, you let them fall away and arousal fills the empty space. You’ll let this happen over and over again until your head is empty of everything but arousal. Do you understand? You can speak now, darling, go ahead and answer.” 

“Yes.” 

“Try it for me.” 

You acknowledge the cognitions that populate your mind. When you think about how you need to put gas in your car, you imagine the reminder dropping away, then imagine the warm wanting glow of desire branching up through your body to take its place. You think about a work project, but it loosens and falls into an abyss. Desire floods the space in its wake, a thick hot liquid that glows with light like lava, spreading to each new vacancy with ease as the thoughts drop from your consciousness. 

“How does it feel?” 

“Good,” you breathe, voice faint on your tingling tongue. 

“Do you like how it feels, being horny and mindless?” 

Your husband’s face appears, taking up your whole mind, then falls away. Rich, bubbling pleasure surges through you to fill the gap. You have to suppress a moan to respond. 

“I like it,” you nod, “Fuck, it feels amazing.” 

“Good girl. Now, you might notice something interesting happen when I ask you a question. You might notice that when I ask you a question, you’ll try to form a thought to answer. When you do this, you’ll feel my cock enter your mind. It’s bigger and harder than you’ve ever seen it, swollen and thick and so fucking ready for you, darling. When you try to form a thought, it pushes forward into the wet hot folds of your brain, severing the connections that typically allow you to think, preventing a response from forming. My cock pulls out, and slowly thrusts forward again, pushing out the thoughts, over and over for as long as you consider a response to my question. It becomes impossible to focus. You might notice that this penetration feels like it would in your pussy. My hard cock rutting in and out, sending waves of arousal through your body, fucking the thoughts from your head. Every time my cock moves, you’ll try to respond but cannot make yourself focus. It feels amazing. You give in to the sensation, allowing it to overtake you completely. When you’re fully saturated with arousal and nothing else, my cock pulls out of your mind.” 

Your skin feels static and warm when you imagine him pushing his smooth, throbbing length into your brain. A shaky whimper croaks in your throat. Your heart thuds heavy within your chest, circulating desire, warm and wet, to every cell in your body. 

“You might notice that when I ask you another question, any attempts at thought or sensations that come up except arousal will be fucked from your head until you surrender to the arousal. It feels good to be dominated in this way. To let pleasure consume your entire being.” 

Licking your lips, you nod to show you understand.  

“Now when I ask you a question, you’ll allow your subconscious to follow my instructions. Are you ready, darling?” 

“Yes.” 

“How was your day?” 

When you try to recall your day and formulate an answer, the tip of his cock pierces the equator of your brain, splitting the hemispheres. He drives forward slowly, steadily, making you moan as he stretches you apart and tears all those delicate tissues that generate thought. Still, you try. 

My day, how was my day…

He drags his cock out, then drives it deeper inside you. 

Day… how was…

Your nerve endings buzz as he pulls out, gooey arousal shines on the shaft of his thick cock. He plunges forward into the hot center of you. You work your hips and whine. You can’t remember what he asked. It doesn’t seem as important as the pleasure clinging to your insides as he fucks you, so you give up. 

His cock pulls out of your mind completely. 

“What’s the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?” 

You consider the question. The tip of him breaches your brain, forcing out forecasts and clouds and sunshine. Fragments return as you attempt to answer again. 

The weather tomorrow…

He pumps in and out of you, obliterating whatever it was he wanted to know. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the insatiable pleasure thrumming through you as he rubs against all your hungry nerves, giving them what they want. 

“Oh my god,” you hear yourself gasp. 

“How often do you think about fucking me?” 

Seeds of embarrassment sprout the tender beginnings of thought, then he fucks them out of your head until you’re rolling your hips, moaning and nodding for more. 

“Do you make yourself come when you think about fucking me?” 

Only a loading screen appears before he’s inside you again. His perfect, thick cock pumps you full of this throbbing heat. You wish it would never end. You want to feel this and only this forever. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So horny and mindless for me. Letting my cock push deep and hard into the folds of your brain, fucking out all your thoughts, leaving your head empty to stuff you with arousal until you’re swollen and ripe, nothing else left but how fucking horny you are.” 

“Sssooooo fucking gooood,” you slur. 

“How would your husband feel if he saw you like this? In this hotel room, all dressed up in lingerie I bought for you, moaning and writhing on the bed?” 

A thought starts, and he pounds it out of you, merciless in its rhythm as each thrust pushes you higher and higher. Horny and mindless, that’s all you are. Nothing matters except this.

“Do you really think we’ll run away together? Do you really think I’d leave my wife for you?” 

A rotten sensation tingles in your chest before you feel him enter you from both ends, the cock in your mind working in tandem with the cock in your pussy. You choke out a moan and nod, body vibrating with a thick, hot sensation you can’t find the beginning or end of. 

“Fuck fuck fuck, holy fuck—” 

He groans, rolling his hips faster, fucking your entire being so hard and fast that you become pleasure itself. It’s everything and everywhere for eternity and you gladly accept this fact, wanting to forever exist in this moment. 

“That’s so good, darling. So fucking good. You want me to let you come, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically as the edges of you start to fray.

“Go ahead, come for me.” 

His permission completely unravels you, ripping away the last delicate thread holding you together. You sob as you fall apart into a thousand pieces. His hips stutter and he moans, giving you a few deep thrusts before pulling out. 

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. You float in the peaceful pond, staring up at the towering treetops that kiss the sky. 

“Now in a minute, I’ll bring you back to your normal state. When I count to four and tell you to wake up, you’ll come out of the trance relaxed and refreshed. Your mind will feel spotless. You’ll know that I adore you and hold you close to my heart.”

You hear birds peacefully chirping. You know it’s just you and them and Dave for a million miles. You are small and big like a speck of dust or a galaxy. You are safe. You are at peace. 

“And one two three four… wake up.”

[littlefoxwithbighat]

Details I noticed/ liked on my NPMD rewatch

[ ] In High School is Killing Me, Grace covers her mouth during the swears, Richie shakes and taps his pen while writing his exam and Ruth covers and uncovers her chest which is ironic considering what she later does to Max. Also, this isn't a detail, but Richie's (Jon's) wolf howl is astonishingly good.

[ ] I think someone else on here mentioned this a while back, but Pete's green and blue plaid bowtie and suspenders match Steph's flannel. However, it's not only those costumes. Later, he has a check diamond pattern on his jumper like the check on her flannel. Then, at homecoming, his red bowtie matches her dress. Stephs prom boots are also grey like Pete's waistcoat.

[ ] The blue white and green on Petes bowtie and suspenders also kind of match Richies hawaiian shirt. (They're friends and both losers). Then when Pete moves towards being popular he no longer matches Richie (hes no longer a loser anymore, or so he thinks).

[ ] Not a parallel but the dance moves Max (Will) does in Literal monster is SO on point for every awful jock i ever met in secondary school

[ ] People do pray for Max in literal Monster, like he implied he wishes they would after he died as he kills Richie, but not because they love him because they fear him and dont want him to hurt them. He later dies with his arms out like hes being crucified. hes the only one to break the 4th wall (stay in your seats) in this song. Lots of God imagery with this dude. Grace also tells him to "pray along" in Dirty Girl and then shes the one who takes over the god complex controlling murder role.

[ ] Jasons chestbump with Max sends him flying bc Max is so strong xD. Max also says he wont rest until he has sex with Grace which is what happens.

[ ] Richie hides behind another student before encountering Max in the hallway, and Stephanie before entering the bathroom (I think he also does at one point in the Waylon place but its hard to tell with so many super close ups). Anyway boy is a super scaredy cat at all times.

[ ] Ruth and Max both have the line "watch some porn! You'll see!" Cementing the idea that the nerd label is imposed by other people and not an inherent traits.

[ ] Grace's parents actors NAIL the awkward suburbian super christian vibe.

[ ] In the Waylon Place, Grace says the Waylons used "demonic rituals and SEX MAGIC" which sound like her being puritical but what does she do to banish Max?

[ ] There are a lot of fun mannerisms all of the cast inject into the characters. Pete scrunches his shoulders and puts his hands up, tends to point a lot or reach his hands out for emphasis, stands slightly bow-legged, often goes bug-eyed, and does a lot of small sarcastic or disbelieving "huh" laughs. Ruth spins a lot, crosses her arms, holds her arms slightly out from her body, rolls her eyes a lot, and usually stands at a lean. Richie is always nervous scratching, tucking his hands into his armpit, or scunching his fists close to his body, and when hes super stressed, putting his hands to his temples, grimacing with his teeth and shutting his eyes. Stephanie lifts her hand slightly in a "what?" gesture a lot, or puts her hands behind her back (she also moves and gestures a lot less than everyone else). Grace gestures a LOT, frowns really strongly with her eyebrows, clenches her jaw and tends to stick her chin up slightly (or in dramatic moments slightly down).

[ ] Ruth and Pete both make Star Wars references independently so theyre both fans :]] maybe they watched it together

[ ] Similarly, Richie is offered "tapes" (filming) and knows a lot about it and Ruth is a stage and lighting tech so they clearly have a shared interest in the technical aspects of media production.

[ ] Richie makes anime poses in both Bully the Bully and Literal Monster.

[ ] Ruth's backpack has a dino pattern on it :]] thats fun

[ ] Richies backpack has a wing on it and hes the bird mascot

[ ] Stephs backpack is black and white and Pete's is grey, matching monochromes.

[ ] Grace might know Ruth is bi (as she says when she declares Ruth is in hell) because she overhears Ruth telling Steph she might be in love with her

[ ] Richie keeps trying to set Ruth and Pete up because he thinks it would make them both happy to get laid lol

[ ] Pete says the costume he's wearing makes him look like Lin Manuel Miranda and then later had a bullet being shot at him in slow motion a la Hamilton

[ ] Pete reaches for Steph to make sure shes ok when Grace suddenly spins her around

[ ] Ruths little high pitch screech when Max shoves her away sounds exactly like Richies when Max uses his Ghostie Force Powers to throw him across the room the second time

[ ] Max bows to Ruth rather than vice versa: maybe because hes such a jock he doesnt understand theatre. Also hes spesifically complimenting her on acting, the opposite to before he kills her.

[ ] This one is maybe obvious bc Richie literally points it out but they actually do make Max piss his pants like they planned from the beginning. When Richie points this out, Pete gives him the universal "stop not the time" gesture, Ruth mouths "stop" at him and Grace makes a "no!" gesture.

[ ] Max emphasises his heart is beating fast RIGHT before he falls and it slows and then stops (we also see Steph take his pulse to double check)

[ ] Max's eyes actually roll back like when people really die before they close (Will is very good).

[ ] Richie is the only one who Grace doesnt ask to do something in Bury the Bully even though everyone gets a role in Bully the Bully (maybe because hes freaking out too much or maybe because he didnt film the fall and therefore screwed them over so she doesnt trust him)

[ ] Richie also says he has asthma and later dies after trying to run away for like at least half an hour and then drowning, ouch.

[ ] Grace is an UNBELIEVABLY smart and quick planner to think to use the plastic from the camera film straight away to cover the body and bury it in the floor. How does she know to do all this. She is SO scary.

[ ] Cannot be overstated how big of a freak Ruth is 😭 she is unbelievably enthuiastic about stripping Max's corpse and cutting his nipples after they've just killed him and is immedietly certain nobody will find him. No hesitation. No regret. Only concern with Max dying is not having sex in jail. We know Grace is unhinged but its causing us to underestimate Ruth's power.

[ ] Grace also seems to cheer when Ruth cuts off his nipples, whereas Richie groans in disgust and Richie, Pete and Steph all look away.

[ ] Pete and Steph should have advovated for saying he slipped more strongly, they might not have even got jail time, they had a pretty strong case for it. They presumably had audio from the camera of all him falling even if Richie didnt capture the fall visually and there was a giant hole in the floor where he fell and wood planks in his chest. Even if the police thought they set him up to fall the audio would prove they didnt ask him to stand anywhere. But then the Hatchetfield police do seem crazy. Pete is also the one who advocates most strongly for them to turn themselves in.

[ ] Richie seems to be the most enthusiastic about pranking Max and yet one of the most disgusted/ horrified by his death.

[ ] Richie and Pete have very differing views on nerddom: Rich believes the social order is immutable and theres no point trying to mess with it and any attempt would just bring more grief whereas Pete wants to climb the social ladder. This then changes in Go Go Nighthawks when Max is gone and the nerds are more accepted by their peers and Richie says he wants to social climb, so presumably fear of Max was holding him back.

[ ] Similarly, in Go Go Nighthawks, Richie is mentioned to be finally be on time and making an effort to be on time which might mean the reason he was chronically late before was because he was trying to avoid seeing Max or the other bullies in passing period. His lateness is probably also the reason the nerds didnt notice his abscence on Monday morning

[ ] This ones obvious but they mention they are free of the fear of swirlies... right before Richie is tortured and then drowned in a toilet

[ ] Richie is offered to join the swim team... before he is murdered by drowning. He's also dressed consistently in blues (his socks, backpack and parts of his shirt and sweatshirt) and I believe Jon said he wanted him to have blue hair.

[ ] Richies fall from when Max holds him up in the air and then suddenly drops him is INSANE physical acting from Jon HOLY SHIT. To hold all that tension in your tippy toes and then suddenly collapse that suddenly and smoothly.

[ ] Ghost Max can shut and lock doors, throw people and things telekenetically and also apparantly later split people jn half, slow down time and snatch bullets. Richie and Ruth had no chance.

[ ] (Richies death is really awful Vil N. Melling has a great video on it )

[ ] Stephanie is reading back over her test results sitting on the bleachers in the scene immediately following Max's death, probably because she's in disbelief that she got a passing grade

[ ] Bryces range between the cheerleader, the nerd and Det. Sharpiro is INSANE im so glad she got a leading role after this

[ ] Grace's relief after it turns out Richie was dead, so Max's body hasnt been discovered makes her looks SO cold she bursts out grinning. She also only seems to care about Ruths death in that it means she might be next and it undoes her plans. No regard for human life, this girl!

[ ] Grace's theme (the one you can hear at the start of Bully the Bully just before and and as she spins) gets faster and more uneven melodically as the play progresses and you can hear it everytime she comes up with ideas

[ ] You can also hear the Nightmare Time theme before Richie and Ruth die and the Show Me Your Hands theme whenver the police are involved

[ ] In Hatchet Town they call Hatchetfield hallowed ground... which as we learn from the black book, it kind of is

[ ] Ruths character in the BBQ monologues ends with them giving away their tap shoes and Pete later mentions he took 4 years of tap so he can dance with Steph... he almost fulfills that wish for her. Its also possible they took tap together and that "I used to dance" was literal for Ruth

[ ] Paul and Richie both tend to "uhm ackshually" people and assume they know better than others (Richie with Petes date and the physics joke, Paul with the neighbourhood watch and perp line) so maybe there is a family connection there.

[ ] Pete mimes swinging a bat... for the football team. Hes such a nerd he gets baseball and football mixed up.

[ ] Steph hides behind Pete for a moment during the summoning

[ ] Although Graces favourite colour is probably pink (her hairpins, backpack, shoes and duvet are all pink) both her prom and school outfits are blue and white... white for purity and blue like Mother Mary she is a Christian girl through and through. The blue and white also parallels Max who she desires and eventually turns into. Her hairclips after Max is banished are blue: she has fully embraced this part of herself. Also Jason has a blue tie to match her outfit when she goes with him to prom ;^;

[ ] Max says he knew high school would be his peak and used to worry his life would be over after high school, and then he lives suspended in his highschool state forever.

[ ] Also although Max sucks he offers to carry Graces books when he hits on her (thats far nicer than most mean jock flirting) and doesnt force himself on her and when he thinks the house is haunted his immediete instinct is to protect Steph and his immediete reacts to the nerds prank is being flattered and pleased by the attention and effort. Like, hes still obviously a person who has done awful things but its also clear his dad messed him up.

[ ] Grace puts her hair up in a ponytail just to take it down dramatically to flirt with Max... was she spending the 5 minutes she disappeared considering how best to approach him and what to say because shes never flirted before? Grace's hairdo also evolves throughout the show from bunches and hairpins, to a half ponytail with hair pins, just a half ponytail, a ponytail and then fully loose: her hair unravels with her.

[ ] The spins they all do after "and you believe in me" are SO clean they got MOVES

[ ] Jons other school character and Wills other school character in prom go together DIVERSITY WIN

[ ] Also laurens wig and dress are so pretty in this scene

[ ] Fencecollapsed made a fantastic video on this, but this ending is so sad for Grace in a way? The thing she values most is her chastity, not a person like Steph or Pete; she doesn't have that kind of external bond or trust. Shes clearly the outlier within the nerds themselves. She busts into most conversations unwanted, and she wins no new respect for saving the whole world from Max. She has to betray her religion (a religion she recently discovered isnt even true because there are actual other real terrible gods that have appeared before her and talked to her) and give up what she most valued having sex with a guy who kept hitting on her unwantedly (yes she has fantasies about him but fantasies doesn't mean its something she actually wants in reality) and she has to hide it from her parents and community in order to maintain any of their respect or love. Do Graces parents like her because shes their daughter, or because she behaves like a perfect christian girl? If they found out about it, would they still love her? Her ending parallels Max, yes, she did awful things already, yes, but like Max with his dad and death, she's acting out to regain a sense of control and purpose that she has lost.

[readychilledwine]

can i please request something with azriel where reader has a voice kink? like when he whisper something in her ear her, she gets goosebumps and can’t focus, literally like his deep, dark voice turns her on. He could be asking about the laundry and she’ll literally blush bc pls it’s azriel. And he notices this immedietly 👀

I'm sweating. Are you sweating?

Whispers in the Dark

Summary - Azriel is ever the opportunist when it comes to using a recently discovered fetish against you.

Warnings - Auralism, dom/sub dynamics, implied smut/sexual situations, implied edging and teasing, Azriel being a daddy and playful

"What's wrong, starlight?" You could feel him smirking against your ear, his scarred hands running up and down your arms as chills broke out around them. "Why are you so distracted, hmm?"

Your eyes fluttered shut as he placed a kiss and then a gentle nip to your pointed ear. "Stop it," your voice was shaking. "I need to get this done for Rhys. I promised him I'd have his desk organized by the end of the day."

Azriel licked your ear before pulling away. "Fine. Have it your way." The shit eating grin on his face, the way he left the room without turning his back to you, all of it had wetness pooling between your thighs as you went back to organizing Rhysand's countless reports and separating them by who should be handling them.

Azriel had figured out three months into your relationship he could get you off on his voice alone. He had asked you one day about laundry and mending a shirt Cassian had torn turning a sparring matching, and he said it was your face that gave it way before the scent of arousal did.

He said you gave him that pretty glazed over eyes, mouth slightly parted stare he normally only saw during intimate moments. "That's new," he had said gently. "What am I supposed to do with information, starlight?" And the torture began.

He'd use that deep timber in hushed bedroom tones while asking you the most mundane things, simply to keep you on edge for hours at a time until you two were finally alone and that ache would become too much.

Then he'd use that same tone, praising you for how well you sucked or took his cock, how pretty you looked being obedient for him, blushing for him, and calling you the dirtiest names as he thrust into you long into the early hours of the morning.

He could get you off with his voice and fingers alone. And the cocky bastard knew it, too. Hed make you sit there, naked and backed against his chest with one of his long fingers circling your clit as he whispered in your ear all the things he'd be doing to you later, if you were just a good enough girl to cum.

Today was exceptionally horrible. He had been gone for month with nothing but his own hand to please himself with and the second he saw you in that pretty black dress, that blue topaz necklace dangling perfectly between your breasts, he knew he had to have you within the next few hours.

He had stopped at nothing. Sending his lust down the bond, sending his shadows to play underneath that tight dress, and finally pulling the last card he had, his voice. It'd been an hour of speaking to you about nothing and everything all at once. And now he waited, feet prompted up on his desk, truth teller in hand, and shoulders relaxed.

The second his shadows warned him you were coming, he set it out to look like he was working by pretending to read over some mission updates from the twins. You entered his office, shutting the door behind you with a soft click, and waited. "Do you need something, my starlight?" He smirked, hidden behind the report, as he watched you shiver.

You'd be here, caving to his every whim and nasty desire in a few minutes. The constant tug on the bond followed by wave after wave of arousal crashing down on him ensured that.

"I need you," your voice was laced with desperation. "Please."

Azriel continued speaking to you, that husky low voice doing exactly what he was intending. "I thought you needed to take care of Rhysand, hmm? I'm sure he can help you with your needs."

Your breathing had hitched, eyes slightly shut. He would not cave to you until you told him exactly what you needed. "I need your cock, sir."

"Oh? Is that so, starlight?" You nodded as he finally looked up at you and dropped the papers. "Then come have it and take what's yours."

[glassjoeandgreattigersssimp]

👻🎃Punch Out Halloween Headcannons!! 🎃👻

(Not doing colored text anymore bc it's frustrating to do on a phone bruh)

Glass Joe 🥐🇫🇷

- Dressed up as a mummy, but you're forgiven if you thought he got into a bad accident

- Along with the candy, the nurses at the WVBA helped with his costume (he's close to them - dude's a boy best friend to them)

- Not going out, is staying inside and watching old horror movies

- Giving out candy the WVBA nurses lended to him, which consist of tiny lollipops and hershey kisses (if he likes your costume, he'll give you a little croissant he baked that morning)

- Got pranked by Kaiser's boxing class/Aran around 2am! They basically trapped him in his own costume (wrapped into a real mummy) and locked him in his closet. Aran wrote "french fry shelter" on the closet before inevitably leaving him. No one found him until the next morning

Von Kaiser 🔩🇩🇪

- His boxing class is going around, pranking everyone alongside a certain Irish boxer

- Didn't dress up, is just wearing a cutesy (of corny) halloween t-shirt

- Not trick or treating, he spends all night by the door, awaiting kids (he doesn't wanna get surprised by them)

- Giving out toothbrushes and raisins, like bruh, you're German ffs give out chocolates or something /j (borrowed this hc from @bucketspammer4life )

- Was informed about his students pranking the other boxers by Hondo. They're all running extra laps tomorrow morning

- Was the first to find and free Joe the next morning

- Apologized in-person to every single individual person pranked by his students

Disco Kid 🕺🇺🇲

- Dressed as Abba, sung her songs throughout the whole night

- Actually went trick or treating, but his mom is giving out king-sized candy bars (he will happily tell anyone this information)

- Visited Joe and freaked out, thought Joe was seriously hurt.

- Pulled an all nighter (zamn, again, Disco Kid??)

- Ran into Aran and the boys at some point, took a selfie with them, and left them.

- Managed to score the most candy out of everyone that was also trick or treating

King Hippo 🦛🏝

- Not trick or treating or handing out candy

- Literally scaring anyone he stumbles across (halloween is new to him)

- Dressed in a hippo onesie

- Stole as much candy as possible whenever he found a "take one" bowl

Piston Hondo 🥊🇯🇵

- Group costume! Him, Heike, and Tiger are dressed as Sailor Moon characters. He's dressed as Sailor Jupitar (his fave)

- Heike is dressed as Sailor Mercury

- Even Yuki (the cat he owns) is dressed as Artemis

- He's at his apartment, standing near the door, expecting trick or treaters

- He's handing out generic candy, snickers, reeses cups, milky ways, etc. If he loves your costume, he'll give you a piece of his secret stash of Japanese candy

- Got his door painted pink because of Aran and his squad of pranksters. He informed Kaiser about this immediately

Bear Hugger 🐻🇨🇦

- Posted a poll online about what he should wear. His fans wanted him to go as Freddy Fazbear...

- "Erm, what's a Frederick Fast Bear?"

- Learned about the fnaf lore

- Dressed up as Freddy Fazbear (har har har har har) and his wife, Lomasi (an OC of mine, exclusive to my SU) dressed up as Chica

- Spruce (his squirrel) is dressed up as the cupcake, but it is implied that the squirrel gave consent (pls someone get this joke ;-; )

- By far, the best boxer to visit. Bro is giving out full sized pancakes and waffles

- Thankfully, didn't get pranked bc lives far from the other boxers

Great Tiger 🐯🇮🇳

- Dressed up as Sailor Uranus to match the Sailor Moon theme. His clones are dressed as the other Sailor Senshi

- He's out trick or treating while his clones give out candy

- Got a decent amount of candy; He's willing to trade anyone for the candy's that have nuts in them

- His clones are giving out only m&ms in a variety of flavors... and the occasional small toy once they ran out of candy

- The real Great Tiger gets pranked by Aran and the boys! They steal his magic gem and refuse to give it back unless Tiger performs out one of those in def transformation scenes from the Sailor Moon anime. They record it, and it goes viral

Don Flamenco 🥀🇪🇸

- Dressed as Prince Philip, and Carmen is dressed as Princess Aurora. It made for a cute pic on social media

- Wanted to go trick or treating, but Carmen threatened his li-- nicely said to him that someone should pass out candy while she goes out trick or treating with her friends. She promises to share her candy with Don

- All of Carmen's friends are dressed as the other Disney princesses

- He's giving out WAY too much candy... half the kids in Brooklyn Heights (the place in my AU where Don and Carmen live) are all on sugar rushes now. He's giving out the good stuff too... like, full on individual bags of candy.

- Keeps getting catcalled by lonely women and moms... and Aran Ryan.

- Got pranked by Aran and his gang of kids! They stole his toupee and threw it in a tree.

- Spent half the night trying to get the toupee back

- The next morning, he learned that Carmen did not save him any candy from her trick or treating (dw Disco Kid will spare him some candies)

Aran Ryan 😈🇮🇪

- Dressed as himself and spent the entire cold night only wearing his boxing shorts.

- Left a candy bowl outside his place, but that candy bowl is placed within a bear trap... no one knows if it's real or fake.

- Even if you get past the bear trap, the candy Aran placed out will mostly likely have razor blades in them (the candy ain't worth it, it's just those gummy cheeseburger's that Lil Mac's hiding in his gloves)

- Met Kaiser's boxing class of kids while trick or treating and bribes them into pranking other people in exchange for candy

- They egged 18 houses, tp-ed 21, and mugged at least 66 trick or treaters of varying ages

- Ransacked Joe's apartment for all of his candy and his morning croissants. He basically robbed Joe using a tiny army of minors

- Also pulled an all nighter

- Somehow managed to get one of the kids (some nerd named Mason) arrested

- Didn't share any of his candy with the kids (he'll pay for this eventually)

- Stopped his pranks at 7am after attempting to smash a jack o lantern on Bald Bull's doorstep and failing after Bald Bull charged at him

Soda Popinski 🍾🇷🇺

- Had no idea what to go as, so he placed some goofy mimimi pajamas on, and said he was "tired" (dad joke)

- "Bruh what are you dressed as?"

- "Oh me? I'm tired."

- Not trick or treating because he looks goofy. He's staying inside, listening in on Macho Man's halloween podcast

- Giving out tiny soda cans since everyone already knows him as a soda fanatic

- Very careful about pranksters targeting him for his past alcohol addiction... straight up pretended to not be home when Aran and his gang of minors pulled up

Bald Bull 🐂🇹🇷

- No candy, not dressed up

- Literally just vibing, going on a fun scary movie marathon with his nephew and niece.

- He carved a few pumpkins earlier and displayed him outside his place, but otherwise wants to be unbothered

- Heroically placed an end to Aran's halloween reign of terror

- Fell asleep listening to Macho Man's podcast

Super Macho Man 🌊🇺🇸

- Dressed as a lifeguard, specifically a lifeguard character he played as in one of his past movies

- Hosted a failed live halloween podcast where he tries to meet up with fans... this fails hard. Only 5-7 people join his podcast.

- Going trick or treating, but he's really just going out to visit fans... and failing at doing so.

- Got a hefty donation from "ATallGlassOfVictory70" for no reason

- Got bullied for "being fake" by a bunch of children... and Aran Ryan.

- Didn't leave candy out. Instead, he left out a bowl of sticky notes with his name on them. Only 1 autograph per person!

Mr. Sandman 💤🟢

- Didn't dress up. He's not even wearing a Halloween shirt. He wanted to dress up as a Kirby character, but his trainer/boss, Mr. Dream said he would look stupid and unprofessional

- Didn't go trick or treating, and thinks he's too old for it (he's wrong /gen)

- Giving out above average candy... mainly fruity/sour candy

- Unintentionally scaring most kids by his mere appearance, especially really young ones

- Aran and his gang didn't bother pranking him

- Can't eat any of his candy, as it isn't in his 24/7 training diet regime that he has

Thanks for reading guysss :33 Happy Halloween!

[reijisteacup]

imagine a blonde sacrificial bride and reiji is talking about how dumb shu is and she says “duhh its bc hes blonde!” and then she remembers and is like, “oh!!” how would the boys react LOL

LOL

================================================================================================

Sakamaki's

Shu Sakamaki:

He hears it from the other room. Yells, “I HEARD THAT, YOU DUMB BARBIE.” Then shuffles in, lazy grin, flops down on your lap. “You and me both, huh? Guess we match~” He 100% starts calling you his “Blonde Clone.” You’re never living it down.

Reiji Sakamaki:

He’s mid-lecture, glasses glinting with righteous rage, until you drop that bomb. He stops. Stares at you. “…Are you implying you’re also intellectually inferior, then?” He says it dryly. Like he’s begging you to take it back. You don't. You just blink. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters, “Unbelievable. Two blondes. Double the suffering.” Still makes you tea five minutes later like nothing happened, but he’s pouring it aggressively.

Laito Sakamaki:

GASPS. Overly dramatic. “Ara~ Bitch-chan!! Are you saying we’re both… dumb and sexy~?” Pulls you into his arms. “We should form a blonde alliance and destroy the smarties.” Absolutely turns it into a roleplay scenario later. “Oops~ I forgot my homework, Sensei~” You unlocked a new kink and a new inside joke.

Kanato Sakamaki:

Slow head turn. “…You’re blonde. And you just said that.” He’s silent for ten seconds. Then starts giggling. A weird, unsettling giggle. “Maybe Shu should take you to his dumb corner.” Threatens to dye your hair brown while you sleep. Do not test him.

Ayato Sakamaki:

Bursts out laughing. HARD. “PFFFT! Chichinashi, did you just roast yourself?! HA!” He points. Teases you for days. “You’re lucky you’re cute, dumbass.” But the minute someone else calls you dumb? Ayato’s suddenly grabbing collars and growling, “Only I get to call her that, got it?!”

Subaru Sakamaki:

He stares at you like you just admitted you eat glue. “Did… did you seriously say that?” You nod sheepishly. He puts his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I fell for a blonde bimbo…” …But he’s blushing the whole time. Still squeezes your hand and mumbles, “Don’t say that around the others. You’re smarter than Shu. Barely.”

Mukami's

Ruki Mukami:

His soul leaves his body for a full five seconds. “You…” he mutters slowly, looking like he’s re-evaluating your entire existence. You wait nervously. He finally sighs. “…I suppose beauty has its price.” He immediately starts assigning reading material to help you “balance your radiance with intellect.”

Kou Mukami:

Laughs so hard he drops his phone. “Oh my god, Babe, you really are my sunshine idiot~ I LOVE IT.” He makes you a TikTok with a soundbite of the line. It goes viral. He buys you a shirt that says: “I’m Blonde, What’s Your Excuse?”

Yuma Mukami:

Stares blankly. “…Yer lucky I like dumbasses.” Pats your head like a confused farmer petting a duck. Later tries to explain what “self-drag” means while planting carrots. He still doesn’t get it, but he’s proud of you anyway.

Azusa Mukami:

“…That was… deep…” “Wait, really?” “Yes… it’s like… you understand yourself… and accept it…” (the subtle insult lol) He thinks you’re a philosopher now. Calls you “wise and soft.” Probably starts journaling your quotes.

Tsukinami's

Carla Tsukinami:

The air stills. He looks at you with the slow, precise grace of a man trying to determine if you are joking, cursed, or simply… doomed. “…You realize what you just said, correct?” You nervous giggle “Oops?” He closes his eyes. Inhales deeply like a king meditating through the pain of a thousand plagues. “Even a gem can have flaws. Perhaps yours… is simply terminal airheadedness.” He immediately adds “Blonde Logic Management” to your curriculum. You now have logic puzzles and deductive reasoning games every morning before breakfast. Still calls you “my little sunbeam of chaos” when no one’s around.

Shin Tsukinami:

He chokes on his drink. Falls over. Wheezing. “BAHAHAHAHA! You just absolutely destroyed yourself, what the hell!” He’s crying. Rolling on the floor. “Best. Self-own. Ever.” Points at you for the rest of the day and says things like: “Don’t listen to her, she’s on blonde time.” “The blonde hive mind strikes again.” “She’s cute, but you need subtitles to follow her logic.” But, if anyone else dares insult your intelligence? He bares his fangs instantly. “You wanna die, punk? That’s my dumbass. Back off.”

[anxious-witch]

Okay, okay, fine I am doing analysis of Damon Baker's photoshoots 😂

That said, since a lot of people already analyzed Kris' and since Bojan's has less picture, I am gonna start with his. Also obviously, this is totally subjective, I am not claiming this is one true or absolutely correct analysis, just my thoughts on it.

Under the cut bc this will deff get long

So I cropped the pictures so I can analyze them separately

To start off with these two, because I think they were put like this bery purposefully. On the left, we have Bojan with his arms crossed, his expression is, the reminiscent of "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel (I apologize, someone else already did a comparison but I can't find it rn, feel free to tell me in the replies and I'll tag you). Bojan looks almost angry, his crossed over arms showing he is closed off and the spikes on his biceps emphasizes that. It literally feels like a warning sign. His eyes are downcast, as if he is looking down on something or someone. He is something to look at, but not touch, if you don't want to get hurt.

Then we have a smaller pictures right next to his one, that's almost exact opposite. It feels like we caught him in a momen where he was not meant to be seen. His face look tortured, like he just cried or is about to cry. His hair is messy in a way that doesn't feel like it was on purpose, but rather as if he messed it up during his inner turmoil. There is also a cigarette, which implies he is taking it to calm himself. His eyes are pointed upwards, as if he is seeking guidance from someone above him.

I feel like, for me, from storytelling perspective, these two pictures put together like this hint at Bojan's struggle with anxiety.

He is trying to appear tough and untouchable, the way he feels he has to be, but he is struggling internally. This is overall theme of the shoot, I think.

Next we have this shot of his outfit. My first thought when I saw this was "this looks oddly rugged for Bojan". And I do stand by it. The shirt is half undone, half tucked into his pants, but half outside in the back. Like he got dressed in a hurry. Like he doesn't care or perhaps doesn't have the energy to care about how he is appearing. And then, tbe belt buckle with a broken heart. I think, that's the core element in this particular picture. Especially in comparison to Kris' heart necklace. Despite the rugged clothes, there is something fragile underneath all that. His heart.

Then we have this one. And it's such a stark contrast than the previous three, I was genuinely shook. In this one, Bojan is openly vulnerable towards the camera, towards the viewer. Not looking up or down, but directly to the camera. Also the detail that @theraggedygirl11 pointed out about him wearing Damon's "safe sweater" broke me. It's almost as if he is saying, "look, this is how I am when I am allowed to be safe. This is how I am when I am not suffering".

What a contrast to the above outfit! The open shirt only poised as fake vulnerability, when a truly vulnerable Bojan isn't showing off his skin at all here, but rather his face. His emotions, all on display.

Another thing that strikes me as amazing in this particular picture (can you tell this one is my favorite?) is that his pose looks comfortable and his hair falls gently to the side, freely showing off his gray hairs, that are especially visible in black and white.

Then at last, we come to these three, all in color. Unlike Kris, who had water, Bojan has fire as his "element" in this photoshoot. Fire is passion, light, warmth. It entices you, and it's much more noticable at first. But it can also burn you. There is also a reason why we say we "burn out" as well. Bojan holding a literally lit match in his mouth is such an amazing imagery.

We all know that magic trick of a man extinguishing a match in his mouth, for the entertainment of all. Putting himself in a very vulnerable position. Lips, mouth and tongue are so soft, especially compared to fire that burns. And is that not in a way, exactly what Bojan does? He pours out his heart while he sings, leaving it to the crowd to decide if they are entertained with his preformance. And surez ither do it too, but I think we can agree he is the most on display.

The way he is looking at the camera first, as if waiting for a reaction, and then as the fire gets closer, his eyes close too, as if he is too scared to look.

Just....augh, I love the way Damon Baker showcased his personality through these and how he expressed so much through just a few pictures. Also, please feel free to add your own thoughts, I love hear other ppl's opinions on things like these

[dilfhos]

TRAINRIDE

#!WHO; DABI x fem!READER

A! i hope u ignore this cus its stupid but I think dabi/touya being a total scum to huge endeavor fan reader should be a thing

+ (i added my twist to it; at the time this was sent, i was on my dc shit heavy and id already started it)

#!CW: deadoves!n0nc0n, dirty talk, degradation, humiliation, implied exhibitionism, gaslighting, touya arc if you squint real close! dabi has dick piercings bc i said so

tagging: @mostlyheinous @scariusaquarius @dabislittlemouse @nyx--knacks @the-grimm-writer @ectologia

Dabi hated taking public transportation, especially now.

It subjected him to having to conceal his identity for one, blending into the fleeting crowds with dark, long clothing. It didn’t bother him as much had it been any other time, one where he wasn’t on constant guard or easily irritated by familiar phrases and his face.

Dabi only gave a quick glance to the glass behind him, eyeing the way his big hood hung low on his head, hand deep into his trench pocket as the other supported his balance. He drew his hood lower at the glance from a man on his left.

The train eased to a stop and the doors slid open as the crowd swarmed to bring in and send out more people. When the doors closed and the train began to move again, he found himself being thrown forward. A small yelp came from the woman in front of him, turned partially.

He was about to mumble something before his eyes made contact with what she was wearing.

Seeing that you were brazenly adorned in merchandise of the number one hero, he scrunched his nose up at the sight of your complimentary accessories before finally settling on your face. Preoccupied with your phone to notice his oggling, you shifted, body moving with the force of the train as it started moving.

Dabi didnt mean to look, but the subtle quake of your chest piqued his vision and he wished he wasn’t met with those same fucking eyes. How cringe you looked with the familiar navy phone-case you had on the back of your phone to match.

In fact, if Dabi wanted to, he’d stand there and count every one of Endeavor’s paraphernalia and the number could be well over three. You really walk around like that? Parading your favorite hero on your body like a fangirl poster.

He chuckled darkly before rolling his eyes. Yeah, you probably had one or two of them in your room that you fuck yourself to at night to boot.

The train was only a little crowded but not enough to fully obscure your body from his view. You were dressed in jeans, the denim pairing with a snug t-shirt that sculpted your chest perfectly under his gaze. On the back he could see the familiar bright flames. They were disgustingly familiar, completing the stoic features of the hero on the front.

“Endeavor, huh?” You finally glanced up, a bit surprised to find barely anyone on board at this point. A few men sat adjacent, some sleep, others occupied on their own devices and papers or simply dead in gaze as they awaited their respective stops.

Then him, of course.

Turning fully around you face the source of the comment and your heart began to hammer.

Under a subtle glance or two, he didn’t look too out of the ordinary. Dark pants, shoes and a coat on his back, he could’ve as easily passed for some unremarkable human being cold and exhausted from days events. However, under the certain proximity, you had a clear view of his face, unmistakably his metal-littered, scarred face and the dangerously piercing gaze to match.

You parted your lips but he held up a finger, silencing you before you could squeak a sound. He glanced around toward the few other occupants in the car, noting them to be of no significance until his eyes returned back to yours, the silent threat of impending danger weighing heavily in the air around you.

“Are you-are you going to kill me?” You finally said, voice sickeningly timid. Wide eyes peered up at him, height clearing yours as he slowly backed you towards the side of the car.

“He your favorite hero?” Dabi ignored your question, eyes flickering to your chest before his hand followed. You squeaked in surprise as he boldly placed his hand against your breast.

Jerking away, you prepare to to defend yourself when he gripped your wrist.

“To answer the question, I’m not gonna kill you. ‘M just gonna hurt you real bad though,” You’re spun before another word is uttered, the rattling of metal against wheels loud enough to drown your protests.

“Please don’t do this,” His hands were exploring your body, running up your thighs and cruelly pinching at the skin on your sides before settling on the hem of your jeans.

“Please don’t,” You whimpered shakily, meeting the villain’s eyes in the glass.

“I just feel like ya personally insulting me y’know?” He grunted over the sound of his belt clinking. His hand was back on your side now, nails digging into the meat of the exposed skin until drawing a wince.

Dabi shuffled forward until your hands were pressed against the wall of the train, steadying yourself. His other made quick work of yanking down your jeans until they rested around your thighs, panties on display before his hungry gaze.

“D-don’t. I’ll scream.” By now, you’d been reduced to a whimpering, teary-eyed mess, your frantic gaze shifting through the other riders for a witness to what was going on.

But they were all too preoccupied to care.

“Yeah, for who?” The passengers that did notice were the wrong ones.

You met the greedy eyes of the man closest to you and the way his own dropped down to your connected bodies. Dabi was quick to notice that and chuckled before leaning down toward your ear.

“Still your idol, doll? This is his society, you know? The one on your ridiculously, ugly top,” He snickered, his fingers hooking into the side of your panties.

Before you could cry out, his scarred hand clamped over your mouth at the same time as his cock breached your cunt. You tensed, nothing escaping you but a muffled gasp as he shoved himself past your tight ring of resistance. Your eyes were wide, peering back at you in the glass, reflecting off of the pain and horror present.

“Mm, so tight.” He licked the shell of your ear and you release a shuddering sob. He began a snappy, brutal pace, the thick cock dragging heavily through your dry walls. Every time he pulled away, you felt every vein, every metallic orb scraping against gummy insides.

He slammed back into you at the same time the train screeched over rusted tracks, grunting with every stroke, his thin hip bones snapping against your ass.

His grip was bruising as he held onto your waist, his wrist only flicking to push and pull you back onto his dick. His other hand remained pressed against your mouth to muffle your cries and moans. You reached behind to at least try and push him away, alleviate the grating pain he was causing but your attempts were laughable as he only slapped away your efforts.

Dabi sped up, stumbling forward until your front was pressed against the metal interior, body squished between hot and cool. The hand over your mouth dropped to hang loosely around your neck, tilting your head back to meet his. The hood over his head only served to make him all the more menacing with the shadow that casted over his grotesque features.

“What do you think Mr. Endeavor would say if he saw his biggest fan being defiled like this? Probably be disgusted huh? I mean, allowing a complete stranger to fuck you on public transportation.” Your eyes closed as you imagined the twisted look of repulsion on your favorite hero and the image brought you to more tears.

You hiccupped as he trailed fingers down in between your legs to brush against your clit, missing the way his grin widened at the way you suddenly tense up. You released a pained moan at the way your pussy clamped down on him.

“So sensitive,” He chuckled at the way you try and bite down your orgasm. He could feel you start to relax, your cunt pulsating around him as your juices started to slick him up.

Overhead, the sound of the loudspeaker crackling at the next stop had Dabi’s eyes glancing up, as if now aware of the time. Releasing you, his hand fell to your other hip where his blunt nails dug as his pace quickened.

“Stop’s coming up,” He mumbled. You didn’t really hear him though. You were busy trying not to give in to the way his cock was filling you up, the pain parting into pleasure, your juices beginning to fall and squish around his dick.

Your head hung low; you couldn’t even look at your reflection in the glass anymore, at the way your brows furrowed over glossy, blown eyes. The way your wet lips part to release silent moans. You were despicable. You couldn’t call yourself a fan of the great Endeavor anymore, not after this.

Not after him.

Dabi’s feet planted firmly, his hips suddenly stuttering to a halt. He was quick to conceal your squeal with his hand again as his dick twitched in your cunt. Your teary eyes widened as you felt warmth flooding you, too horrified to even move save for your trembles.

He was still going, slowly rutting his nut back into you with shallow strokes. It was only until you heard a chime overhead that he pulled away with a content sigh.

Dabi eyed the way his cum was beginning to seep down your thighs, dripping into your bunched up jeans and an idea formed in his head, one that had him grinning sadistically.

A moment later your trembling legs finally gave way allowing you to sink onto the floor.

He began to fix himself, adjusting the hood on his head. He threw a cocky salute to the man eyeballing him earlier and a final disgusted look down at those eyes on your shirt. He then shook his head with a forming smile, walking away and leaving you on the floor of the cold train. The whooshing of the doors were deafening in your ears as you looked up to greedy eyes.

Back at the hero agency, Endeavor’s phone lit up and a notification from an unknown number had his brows furrowed in confusion at the link. His scowl only deepened after further investigation.

DILFOS. do not plagiarize my content—current or archival.

[butchgambit]

In light of butch gambit (& femme rogue soon #trust) gaining traction (amongst butch versions of many others), I thought it'd be fun to share my rogue and gambit headcanons here! I'll place it under a read more since it's long :]

(little disclaimer: some of them are already in canon but rarely touched on again or is only implied so I've listed them here anyway in case y'all are wondering why something's listed that seems familiar!)

general Gambit hcs:

permanent burn scars on his hands & forearms + faint scars on his palms as well

has moles all over his body + shoulder freckles

has beauty marks all over his face

tan/sun kissed complexion (slightly darker than canon)

eyes glow into his signature pink when he's visibly angry or using a lot of energy of his mutation 

broad shoulders with a slightly curved waist + a little tummy 

hairy body but usually prefers to keep his facial hair to his scruff/stubble

has rounded cheeks but a chiseled chin & nose

has matching scars with rogue from being impaled with her (see: X-Treme X-Men (2001) #16-#17)

has faint scars on his back, knees, & legs

has a crooked/hooked nose 

prefers gold jewelry

had his ears pierced in multiple places (lobe, upper lobe, helix, tragus, flat)

paints his finger nails occasionally

loves to buy cringey matching shirts with rogue to wear around the house

gets matching items for the cats & him

stress cooks/bakes

has slight eye sensitivities to bright lights

tends to be a night owl but makes sure to be awake before rogue to make her breakfast & coffee 

more personal Gambit headcanons: 

intersex stone butch on T 

t4t butch4femme

top surgery scars that formed a flame like appearance

has undiagnosed audhd 

has ptsd & sexual trauma he masks

fidgets with his cards or things he keeps in his duster pockets

cut off the headpiece to the X-Men uniform so his hair would stick out bc he thought it looked stupid 

prefers to keep his hair neck/shoulder length until it starts to bother him 

loves having his hair played with by rogue 

has an intense hair care routine 

has a hard time letting rogue help him with tasks around the house 

has chronic pain in his hands & arms 

gets phantom burning pains all over his body when his antarctica trauma gets triggered

^ gets triggered by extremely cold weather + during the winter but he deals with it better with time & with rogue's help + reassurance

quit smoking but chews on items when he's distracted or stressed 

gets jealous & possessive over rogue but then feels guilty about it 

love language ranking is quality time —> words of affirmation —> physical touch —> acts of service —> gift giving

enjoys taking candid photos of rogue, the cats, & the team + has a general love for photography

keeps a flash of all the photos he's taken in a safe so nothing happens to it 

has rogue help him with doing testosterone injections since he's afraid of needles & medical things due to trauma

general Rogue hcs:

extremely curly hair + dark brown

her white patch of hair covers the top half & flows down into a stripe towards the middle of her hair

her eyes are more of a bright hazel green

has perpetually rosy cheeks

freckles along her nose & cheeks & a few scattered towards her forehead

has pouty full lips

has a warm yet slightly pale complexion due to covering up

light scattered freckles on her shoulders, back, & chest

has dimples & a soft, round face

her nose is less of a button nose & more downturned at the tip

has toned arms & legs but a soft belly & pronounced curves

has a matching scar with gambit from being impaled in the heart (see: X-Treme X-Men (2001) #16-#17)

^ the healing factor she absorbed from wolverine made it not as prominent as gambit’s

prefers gold jewelry & likes to wear some of gambit’s

has faint scarring all over her body from before she had absorbed any healing factor

has beauty marks on her nose & cheeks

wears clip on earrings since they're easier

pretends to hate the cringey shirts gambit buys but wears them more often than he does

stress cleans & bakes

always cuddles with the cats in the mornings before getting out of bed

doesn't talk & only makes noises in response to gambit until she's fully awake/had her coffee

tends to be clingiest (/pos) in the mornings & before falling asleep

attempts to make gambit’s favorites when he's having a bad or rough day until he ends up cooking with her to help

is incredibly stubborn, much more so than gambit

prefers baking & is better at it than cooking

personal Rogue hcs:

nonbinary high femme lesbian

t4t femme4butch

is autistic + has ocd & ptsd

has sexual trauma

even before her mutation she struggled with lots of touch which only then furthered when it manifested

makes sure her gloves are always the right texture

pulls at her hair & fingernail skin when frustrated or overwhelmed

tries to befriend any animal or critter that she can/will let her

doesn't mind getting a little dirty outside but too much can trigger her ocd

her southern accent gets extremely pronounced the angrier she gets

has sensitivities to touch & sounds due to her own mutation & the other mutations she's absorbed

enjoys reading romance, thriller, horror, & fantasy novels

enjoys watching super cheesy & crappy movies

picked up painting as a hobby to help her work through when her mind is busy or through her trauma being triggered

love language ranking: words of affirmation —> physical touch —> quality time —> acts of service —> gift giving

gets jealous & possessive over remy who indulges in it which makes her smug

has a skincare & hair routine when she has the time

makes gambit join her in her skincare routine & got them matching headbands

loves the little touches from gambit either on her skin or over her clothes

buys Gambit cute band-aids to put on him after helping with his testosterone shots

[foundfam2754]

S18e5 live reactions!!!

Spoilers…obviously

sorry for the late post this week! i couldn’t get to it in time last night

last week feels so long ago that i am actually watching the full recap

this scene makes me think jj is going to do something incorrect bc her mind is still not in it yet (understandably)

jaje, be careful.. something feels awry

this person is going to remind jj of herself or something i think

she is definitely one of those people

what kind of doctor is dr.ochoa again?? i forget

side note - jj’s hair looks amazing

basically what is tough for her is that she’s forgetting her instincts and is becoming more reactive instead of proactive — i feel like she needs hotch to talk to

i love how all of JJ’s episodes (her main ones at least), are flashback episodes

i love a good camera angle - this is a cool shot around the round table

i love penelope’s dress!

i like this shot of them walking out one by one from the roundtable room, is so interesting!

“i had to when i was on it” is so fucking funny

i love emily’s outfit!!

i love emily as unit chief, she’s the perfect balance of authoritative and friend - most probably because she’s been one of them

something about “wheels up.” is so comforting, especially when em says it

i honestly think that the lighting issue works for this episode…most of the time it’s kinda frustrating but it adds something to this episode, dark!jj

jemily are wearing matching shirts!

“emotionally constipated group of experts i have worked with” is so painfully accurate that i actually paused to laugh

also the self-awareness of the show this season is nice

okay i think I’m starting to understand the role that ochoa plays - to me she feels like an intentional foil to the BAU, to challenge them

ok so elias remembers a lot - but what he doesn’t remember is the intention, the pain, the anger

not ochoa pandering to elias lol

elias feels guilt now - that’s the difference

lol not her comparing elias and JJ

i love how greenvez are dressed the exact same too

i feel like we haven’t seen a “give the profile” scene in a while!

JJ’s always been WAY too tough on herself

we NEED a hotch-jj moment, he’s exactly what she needs rn

how does he get in?

this is such a cool shot, with JJ in the foreground and ochoa in the background and the transition

lost him when she was 15, like Henry. the loss like Will . EXACTLY like Will

i like they are not rushing JJ’s recovery, grief

aww that’s a great line

i love how this season is really getting to the humaness of everything and of the characters

lol Emily is so damn funny

which you, Penelope? WHICH YOU?

where’s the backstory though? usually they have unsub backstories

careful, jj

if anything, not that it was needed, but will’s death and her grief has only made her a better profiler

we need a badass JJ moment right now, it’d be the perfect payoff

oh that���s why no backstory, because there is none

“it sounds better in Latin”, lol that’s hilarious

oh, she needs to imagine Will. she needs to need to speak to Will, even if not in person

and thus, marks the longest time elias has ever been silent

i’m actually surprised that jj’s allowing herself to be so vulnerable around elias - but i guess it’s a good call back to line that she’s “more open with strangers than people who know her”

luke, penelope and tyler all standing together? okay, the writers are definitely doing this love triangle shit on purpose, and i got to hand it to them, it’s kinda funny

is okay, ty-ty, breathe

ok, he’s definitely lying

he’s not going to recognize him, something’s up

well, i was not expecting a hug, but…ok?

frankly, i loved the slowness of this episode, the intentionality, the way every line and every scene seemed so purposeful

look, i know we don’t always get what we want with this show, and we’re always looking for something between the characters that is implied but never played out, but I truly think that this is one of their best seasons yet - they’ve gotten so good at allowing us to get to know better these people that we’ve loved so dearly for years as well as exploring human nature so openly and explicitly

plus, the acting is just so good, i’m sure this is not the first time i’ll say this in s18, but aj’s just incredible this season

until next time, folks!

- FF

[rosiesdisneydrama]

So, uh, who wants to see some design notes for Izuku's outfit as Sasakia? It's all pencil sketches instead of full color (which I plan to do at some point) but I wanted to share this stage in the design bc I was proud of it.

I had a lot of fun coming up with a design, even if it frustrated me a few times. (The cape and sleeves, mostly.) I don't know why, but I've had the idea for a butterfly-themed musketeer for ages and this just seemed like the perfect chance to put it into play. Unique but also fitting for the universe it's in.

Izuku's costume is very Mahou Shonen (Magical Boy) compared to the general comicbook superhero vibe that ML leans into. Lots of frills and flowy cloth instead of the skin-tight suits. I know I probably could have gone into more details for the design but I like how everything looks rn. I didn't want it to be too plain or too busy. Too simple and it would take away from the purpose of being a disguise. Too busy and I would be driving myself insane every time I tried to draw it.

This felt like a nice fit. (close ups under the cut)

The full body view! Just to get how everything would come together. Izuku has longer hair, a narrower face, and he's supposed to be taller. The clothes help hide his build (without getting in the way) so people can't properly guesstimate what he'd look like outside of his costume.

Everything working in tandom to hide his features while also making him look older than he actualy is.

Mask is rounded instead of the sharp edges that other butterfly users had. Both for the shape of Izuku's magic butterflies (which have the same shape) and to soften how Izuku himself would look.

Sharp edges imply danger, while ronder edges give a kinder/gentler feel. (It's the same logic for why good/innocent characters have round eyes while cool/mysterious characters have narrow or sharp eyes.)

His shirt has the fun double-sleeve thing that historical Musketeers wore. I thought they looked neat when I saw them during my design research and would be another spot to slip in butterfly details. Like an actual wing pattern on the inside of the sleeve!

The capelet is the sourse of Izuku’s wings! Because I just really wanted to give him the ability to fly. Even if I ended up nerfing it later in the actual story to give Izuku more of a challenge. (Still debating that part. If it's free flight or if it's gliding with limited flaps to actually get airborne. Haven't fully commited yet.)

They are made of magic, so they only appear when he's actively trying to fly! That way they can't be damaged in a fight or to ground him when he's trying to make an escape.

Then he can also be all bright and glowy when he's taking off. Bc shiny.

I like the little antennae hairties that ML did. I think they're cute. So Izu gets some.

All the smaller butterflies in the design have wings based on Nooroo’s. Because Izuku and Nooroo are on the same page/working together as Sasakia. So actively including little tributes to the kwami for more than just the theme felt right.

And the glowing purple mask that appears on the Kamiko match Izuku's mask/butterflies. Rounded wings!