#I feel like I’m committing some kind of crime here

[lil-als]

idea: assign the antebellum guys TM and current living presidents ( carter, clinton, bush ii, obama, trump ) as kpop positions ( https://www.themarysue.com/positions-in-kpop-explained/ )

Disclaimer: I don’t know Kpop at all so bear with me here as I work with the article

Leader: obviously in our antebellum guys ™️ group it’s Henry Clay. The article says that the role (if there is no other leader) is fulfilled by the oldest so Carter in the president group I guess.

Center: in our antebellum guys ™️ group this is Calhoun. No idea why but it’s him. For the presidents, I imagine it’s Clinton

Lead Vocalists: in our antebellum guys ™️ group Webster and Clay probably. In the president group Obama and Clinton

Dancers: in the president group, Bush and Obama. in our antebellum guys ™️ group Jackson and Van Buren

Visuals: I guess these old ass men Carter, Biden, and Trump are our visuals. Hayne in our antebellum guys ™️ group I guess

I’m really sorry

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Spencer Reid x Stripper!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: it was supposed to be a case like any other, an undercover operation like a thousand others he had done but when Spencer sets his eyes on that dancer for the first time suddenly everything fades into the background.

• Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, homicide case, nudity, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, sex, use of condoms (ALWAYS WRAP IT!!!), cursing, dirty talk, basically Spencer being a ✨man✨, tell me if I missed anything <3

• Word count: 7.6K

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. This was written in 3rd person. I had this idea for a while now but didn’t know how to write it but now here we are you have no idea how much time it took 😭 I promise I’m still working on the requests please don’t hate me I’m just trying the find the motivation to write again. I really hope you like this one please let me know what you think and comment, reblog and like ❤️ Thank you for your kindness and constant support xx

Spencer had never felt as uncomfortable as he did in that moment, surrounded by germs and all kinds of bodily fluids.

He was disgusted and couldn’t wait for this to be over soon so he could get out of there.

Damn you, Derek Morgan.

He cursed his colleague for forcing him to go in that damned place. He was in a strip club, pretending to be a normal customer so he could talk to some of the strippers and the head of the club himself about an investigation. The BAU was in fact following the case of a serial killer who lured his victims and killed them.

Since the victims – who were about four – were all affluent straight males in their thirties and there were no traces of drugs or signs on their bodies that they’d been forced to follow the killer, the team assumed the unsub was a female in her mid-twenties.

After digging into their pasts to study the victimology, the team discovered all four victims committed sexual crimes which however had somehow been attempted to be covered up. So there was no doubt those killings were about some sort of justice.

The unsub would kill them by slicing their throats with a single and precise movement, a cut so deep it was easy to say she was an expert. There was no way the four victims were her first ones, but nothing came up after Garcia searched for other murders with the same modus operandi.

After leaving their bodies on the bed of a hotel room, the unsub would also write a short note on the wall with a deep purple lipstick – a particular color – which wasn’t found on the victims’ bodies, so the team thought she wouldn’t wear it, she was carrying it with her with the sole purpose to write those simple short sentences.

The BAU had interrogated the victims of these aforementioned sexual assaults but all of them had airtight alibis so there was no real suspect. After interrogating the victims’ families and friends, they realized there was a common denominator between those four men: the Sinful Lust.

And that’s how Spencer ended up there.

He didn’t understand why it had to be him who had to be in that place. How could they think it’d be a good idea to have him to deal with strippers and people having sex around him?

Anyone could see from a mile away how uncomfortable he felt sitting there, even people who weren’t profilers. Spencer continued to look around, almost dazed by the club’s strobe lights as he tried to mask his disgust at noticing his surroundings and the intense smell of alcohol.

He never hated Derek so much.

He knew it was just his sadistic way of making him feel uncomfortable, despite the encouragement from the rest of the team though who were sure Spencer would make it.

His palms sweated with every passing second as he rubbed them on his black pants before fixing the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t used to wearing these kinds of clothes, he felt caged, in a body that didn’t belong to him.

Every woman in that place wasted no time winking at him, shooting him languid glances to which he responded with a tight and totally false smile. Some of them approached him and he had to fake interest in them by engaged stupid and languid conversations.

He couldn’t help but think about how Morgan would’ve enjoyed that situation and how he wouldn’t have wasted time making all the women in that damn club fall at his feet.

Spencer really envied him sometimes. He envied how his friend was always so easygoing and extroverted, especially with women, with a joke always ready, how he always knew what to say and when.

Suddenly the club lights dimmed and focused on the stage, stopping his rush of thoughts and indicating the strippers were about to begin the show.

Numerous tables and seats were concentrated near the stage, populated by hungry men who couldn’t wait to feast their eyes and spend their money and Spencer noted with disgust many of them were even married.

Poor wives.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding only to gasp again as some music started and the strippers began to dance. He didn’t recognize the music and the words, preferring classical music; however, his mind wasn’t focused on the bass vibrating through the room but on analyzing the scene.

But it was so damn hard when women danced sensually in front of him half naked. It’s a physiological reaction, he kept repeating to himself, it’s normal, focus Reid, do not deconcentrate.

The dim lights only added more tension to the evocative atmosphere, interrupted every now and then by men standing up and cheering to hand over their money they had probably earned with so much effort.

Spencer moved into his seat, picking up the glass of some type of liquor he didn’t know and pretending to sip before placing it back on the table, wanting with every fiber of his being for the unsub to reveal herself.

But he knew it couldn’t be that simple. If killers had written on their foreheads they were actually killers, he wouldn’t even have a job anymore.

He wondered if she was there.

Who knew if she had already chosen her next victim.

Spencer’s eyes met with one of the three dancers on the stage and a vice gripped his stomach when he realized she was already looking at him.

Her hips continued to move sensually to the rhythm of the music as her fingers played with the buttons of the skimpy top she was wearing and for an instant Spencer thought if he wasn’t mistaken or having a hallucination.

But he wasn’t wrong.

Her eyes were fixed solely on him.

She bit her lip as she winked at Spencer, and he almost melted into that chair like snow in the sun. He tried to keep his expression as casual and neutral as possible but in reality, every single cell in his body was on fire.

She turned her body and walked sensually towards the pole and Spencer’s eyes went hungrily and impertinently down her body, making him feel no less dirty than the rest of the men present.

But he couldn’t control himself as his eyes seemed to have a life on their own and he couldn’t take them off her.

His gaze traced every exposed inch of her skin, focusing on her ass covered by a skimpy short skirt, the mere sight of her making his pants tighten around his crotch. His mind began to wander with fantasy, unable to help but imagine his head buried between her legs.

Spencer shifted in his chair dejectedly, resting his hands on his lap and covering his erection as if someone was there to notice. Nobody would’ve noticed, all eyes were on her and the dancers.

He didn’t even look at the other two women on the stage, his eyes was fixed only on her, her hips, her beautiful and smooth legs, on her body that spun with disarming ease around the dance pole.

He wondered what it’d be like to feel his fingers squeezing her hips as she rode him into oblivion and this image alone almost made him come in his pants.

He was totally mesmerized.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but every cell in his body seemed to have lit up and inflamed, his fingers were trembling with desire to slide them over her sinuous body.

But it was when her eyes met his again that Spencer felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He couldn’t quite make out the color, he was too far away to be able to do that, but just the way she was looking at him made him shift in his seat again and his aching dick erect even more.

He was paralyzed, he didn’t dare move a single muscle. He didn’t know why but he was afraid if he moved everyone would find out who he really was. That she would find out.

His eyes never left hers, a small grin painting her face as she continued to dance sensually. Spencer felt arrogant enough to assume this dance was just for him.

The show eventually ended and the lights dimmed in the club again, although Spencer managed to track the silhouettes of the dancers coming off the stage. His heart jumped into his throat when he noticed a person approaching him and not just any person but her.

Spencer’s eyes followed her every movement although the light was so low he couldn’t really make out her beautiful features. He shifted in his chair again and tried to keep his concentration up when a cloud of her scent hit him square in the face, short-circuiting every single neuron in his brain.

This was the perfect opportunity to gather information regarding the case, but at that moment Spencer seemed to have completely forgotten the reason why he was there.

“Come with me.”

That was all she said and even her voice was so sweet it mesmerized him even more, as if it was a siren’s song luring the poor sailors into her clutches. He stood up without even being asked twice, his mind trying to convince itself it was just to gather the information he needed.

At that moment, however, the only thing controlling his body was the blood rushing to his penis and not the rationality that always distinguished him.

She walked through the club ignoring everything around her while he followed her like a puppy, unaware of what was coming and what she was up to. A small, tiny part of his brain kept screaming to be careful, that she was a stranger probably looking for the money – or worse to kill him. He knew he needed to focus on the case but Spencer was too attracted to her to even listen to those voices.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. He would’ve never thought of following a stranger to who knew where without an ounce of information.

They entered a room and Spencer quickly scanned it, deducing it was her dressing room. His attention, however, immediately returned to that woman. Under those lights, he could finally look at her in all her splendor and the air was sucked from his lungs as his eyes traveled along her body and analyzed her face.

She was breathtaking, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t itching to touch her.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice broke the silence. Spencer didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on her cleavage and the way her chest rose and fell. Only when he brought his eyes back to her face and saw the mischievous smirk on her lips he realized she had said something to him and that he must’ve looked like a complete idiot.

“What?”

She chuckled and that simple sound traveled through his body, causing his blood to rush and his penis to harden even more.

What is she doing to me?

She slightly tilted her head, her eyes vibrant as she watched – no, analyzed – Spencer.

His muscles froze as she took two steps toward him, never taking her eyes off him.

He returned her gaze with a courage he had never had and didn’t even know he possessed. Her eyes were bright but there was something particularly intense about them, something he absolutely wanted to discover and he couldn’t even name.

His breathing quickened and he prayed she wouldn’t realize how intense the effect she had on him was. She looked at him with an intensity that made him weak in the knees, with an intensity that no one had ever looked at him with.

She hadn’t torn her eyes away from his for not even a second, and although that confidence further intrigued Spencer, it scared him at the same time. He knew she was trying to get inside him, into his soul and discover his deepest secrets.

“I asked what you’re doing here.”

“You told me to come.”

She licked her lips and Spencer’s eyes flicked to her mouth, causing him to react in a way that resulted in the further restriction of his pants. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets to avoid doing something he’d regret, but damn it was so hard.

This was also the moment he understood the true meaning of the phrase ‘blue balls’.

He was so fucking horny it hurt.

“I’m well aware of that,” she replied with a smirk, probably noticing the way he was staring at her lips. “But don’t act stupid, you don’t look like one. What are you doing here?”

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, using the shred of rationality he had left to think of an answer. But the way she was looking at him, as if she wanted him to take her right then and now, was enough to make him no longer even remember his name.

I’m an FBI agent investigating a murder case and you, like every other dancer here, could be a potential suspect.

He couldn’t say it, but damn it if she kept coming closer to him, he wouldn’t even bother giving her his wallet and bank details.

“What all the men are doing, why don’t you go ask them?”

Well done.

“I’m asking you.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulders with a single but graceful movement of her head, leaving her neck and shoulder exposed. Spencer’s throat bobbed up and down again, his mind filled with images of him sticking his tongue out and licking and tasting her skin, sucking it and leaving marks.

Dammit Reid, get a hold of yourself.

“I’ve been watching you,” she spoke, her tone calm and sensual. “You looked like you were going to vomit when you came in and I know you would’ve never come here of your own free will; so why don’t you tell me the truth pretty boy?”

Fuck yeah keep calling me that.

Why doesn’t it sound so good when Morgan calls me that?

Stop thinking about Morgan.

“There’s a first time for everyone, don’t you think?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that made him feral.

Please somebody help me.

It was only then she took her eyes away from his and let them wander slowly along his body.

She studied and analyzed him and with every inch that passed under her eyes Spencer felt his skin catch fire, especially when her gaze focused on the huge bulge in his pants.

The beautiful stranger brought her eyes back to his and Spencer didn’t miss that lustful glint in them and the way her breathing had quickened, indicating she was as affected by him as he was by her.

“What’s your name?”

“David,” Spencer replied, congratulating himself on the way he had managed to control himself and not give away his real name.

“David,” she repeated, slowly, as if wanting to taste what his name felt like on her tongue. She took another step, closing her distance and her scent hit his nostrils. It was a mixture of vanilla, coconut, innocence and sin and he was going crazy.

“I’ll pretend you don’t think I’m that stupid, David,” she winked and Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat for the third time, trying to keep his breathing to a normal pace even though his heart was pounding wildly inside his rib cage.

They continued to look at each other for an almost infinite time, the air more tense and warmer with each passing second. Spencer tried to think of something to say, anything, but the way she looked at him paralyzed him. His eyes roamed and traced the lines of her lips imagining what it’d be like to feel them pressed against his, what it’d be like to feel them wrapped around his dick and just the thought almost made him come in his pants.

I can’t do this anymore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice so low he almost didn’t hear her. Spencer had the impression she wanted to say anything else, but she had refrained from doing it, like if she had opened her tightly closed lips she would’ve told a terrible secret.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he replied, taking his hand out of his pocket and bringing it closer to her face. His fingers played with a lock of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, it was as if his body was acting on its own and had completely disconnected from his brain. Her breathing quickened at that contact and that time he was the one to smirk. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me yours.”

“It matters to me. And I did, it’s up to you to believe me or not.”

She cocked one eyebrow up. “Why does it matter?”

“I want to know whose name I’m going to moan when I’ll think of you with my hand around my dick.”

Spencer almost chocked on his own words.

What the fuck?

Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

What was he doing? What was going through his mind? He completely lost his mind but he didn’t care, not when she looked at him like she wanted to tear him apart and burn him right then and there. And the worst thing was that he probably would’ve let her do it without objecting.

He could see the way she was holding back, the way she tried to appear casual but after all it was his job to know what people really felt, what they thought. He knew it from the way her pupils were so dilated they covered almost all the color of his irises, from the way her skin was flushed and the redness on her cheeks, from the light layer of sweat covering her forehead, from her rapid breathing, the stiffness of her muscles, from the way her hands clenched into two fists as if she was leveraging on herself to not let go.

But why?

Spencer wasn’t an expert in that world, but he really thought she’d try in any way to get some money, to seduce him and then leave him broke, but then why did she hold back? Why was she rejecting him? Why did she ask him to come with her if she wasn’t trying to do anything?

In other moments he would’ve investigated more but in that instant everything had taken a step backwards, Spencer didn’t seem to be focused on anything other than putting his hands on that stranger who was hypnotizing and bewitching like no one else ever did. He had never felt anything like this, being consumed by the desire to kiss her, touch her, run his tongue over every inch of her body, he never felt that raw and primordial desire to have someone.

And he wanted her.

Fuck the consequences.

“You don’t really want this,” she whispered and it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that she wasn’t sure of those words either. It was Spencer who closed the distance between the two that time, feeling the heat of her body envelop him and attracting him like a moth to flame, as every part of her skin was screaming to be touched by his fingers. Her words repelled him but the way she looked at him said something else.

“Why did you ask me to come here then?”

Her eyes looked at him with a look that even him couldn’t decipher. She was hiding something, she was battling herself and he wanted to know why.

“You don’t belong in this place.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered as her gaze kept alternating between his eyes and his mouth. He wet them with his tongue, pleased when he saw the way her breath hitched.

“I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Spencer may not be very experienced in the women’s game, but he could see the passionate hunger in her eyes, that glimmer of lust and desire that left him breathless.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

Those two single whispered letters were enough for Spencer to destroy what little shred of control he still possessed. Before he knew it his hands were cupping her face and his lips were pressed to hers in a searing, electrifying kiss.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he couldn’t even recognize himself at that moment. As her mouth devoured him and her tongue tasted his, he couldn’t let go of the feeling he was watching everything as if he was an outside observer, like he wasn’t the one commanding his actions.

He couldn’t believe what was happening, that he – the man who was terrified of even shaking hands with strangers for fear of germs – was kissing that beautiful, sexy stranger who had invaded his senses ever since she set her feet on that stage. And to be honest he didn’t even care, Spencer was only focused on the world in which she was devouring him.

Their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance as their deep breaths and sighs blended into each other. There was nothing sweet about that kiss, about the way he fisted his hands around her hair, the way she had her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, the saliva mixing. It was animalistic, raw, sloppy, messy, a kiss so deep they felt their soul being sucked out of their body.

The tension and electricity in the air was clearly palpable as time seemed to stop around them, leaving them engulfed in the fire of passion and making them both forget who and where they were.

While Spencer’s hands roamed along her body, squeezing and groping every inch of her skin he could reach, sucking in and swallowing every sigh that escaped her throat, he no longer thought he was an FBI agent who was there because he had a job to do.

And even his name was forgotten as her fingers began frantically unbuttoning his shirt, her fingertips leaving fiery marks on his skin as they slid down his chest. They both began taking slow steps, their mouths continuing to devour each other and only breaking away when Spencer’s legs touched the sofa in the dressing room. He sat with his legs apart and a very painful erection in his pants, his gaze on fire while his hungry eyes analyzed and looked with meticulous attention at the stranger.

Never more than in that moment was he grateful to his eidetic memory, because he knew he would never forget that divine image in front of his eyes. Her breasts, legs, hips, her waist, everything seemed to scream to be touched and worshiped and Spencer couldn’t wait to do it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered more to himself than to her, his hands resting on his thighs as he continued to let his gaze wander down her body.

She smiled and Spencer almost fainted. And it wasn’t a mischievous grin but a real smile, one of those that weakened the knees and made everything more beautiful and brighter. One of those he’d never forget.

He took her hands and pulled her towards him making her sit on his lap, her legs tightly straddling his thighs. He groaned as his hard dick collided with her core, relieving that feeling of pressure and pain even if for just a few seconds.

Before he could say or do anything she had pressed her lips on his again, starting to sensually move on him, shamelessly grinding herself and unleashing obscene sighs from both of them that sounded like they were coming from a porn.

Spencer’s hands cupped her ass, pressing his fingers so hard into her skin as he followed her movements while her hands instead continued to roam his chest, her nails pressing into his skin until she leaves red marks on it.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” she breathed into his lips and he let out a particularly loud groan when she bit his bottom lip, sucking it. Her lips parted from his, leaving wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, sucking, biting, nibbling at his skin.

Any trace of whatever indecision she felt was gone and he couldn’t control himself anymore. His body seemed to move automatically. Lust and desire had clouded his mind, that sublime mind that had done everything to prevent these moments from happening but that had given into the most primitive of instincts. Sex.

His hands went up to the skimpy top she was wearing, ripping it off without even thinking twice before dropping the broken material on the floor, soon joined by her bra as well. His hands cupped her breasts, teasing and pinching her turgid nipples that so recalled his mouth.

Spencer obeyed that wish, wrapping his lips around one of her breasts sucking it while he continued to grope the other. Her hands threaded through his hair, curling into fists and pulling, causing another groan from Spencer. He didn’t even know he was into this. His hips jerked up, continuing to grind against her for some relief.

“Please…” He let go of her breast, throwing his head back and fearing he’d explode right then and there. He wanted to know that stranger’s name, he desperately wanted to moan it and he equally desperately wanted to tell her his, just so he could hear it screamed by her beautiful mouth as he fucked her. “I’ll come in my pants if you keep doing this.”

She giggled and this was a further shock to Spencer, who thought he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Her hands fumbled with his belt, undoing the button and pulling down the zip of his pants. He let out a sigh of relief when, after slightly lifting his hips, she lowered his pants along with his precum stained boxers, finally releasing his erection.

“Shit…” he hissed a curse through gritted teeth as her hand wrapped around his dick. It started to move up and down with it and he closed his parted lips as he tried to suppress his moans. His eyes were glued on that stranger’s hand who gave him pleasure, a vision he’d never forget. Her hand was so delicate and perfect, in stark contrast to the sinful and dirty action she was doing.

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear you moan for me, okay?”

Spencer met her gaze and nodded, not trusting his own voice. She lifted herself from his lap and knelt between his spread legs and if Spencer hadn’t already been sitting down, the mere image of her on her knees with her hand wrapped around his dick would’ve made him fall to the ground.

“Is this okay?” She asked and Spencer found himself nodding again, this time with so much enthusiasm that she chuckled.

“Yes please…” he breathed as she continued to masturbate him, alternating fast and slow movements and making him lose his mind even more, if that was even possible. Her thumb drew imaginary circles on his red, wet tip, making him gasp against his will.

He placed a hand on her cheek, her skin hot against his palm, his thumb caressing her lips. His breath hitched in anticipation when she wrapped her lips around his thumb, her eyes never leaving Spencer’s as she sucked on his fingertip. “I’m dying to have this pretty mouth around my dick, do you want to show me what it can do?”

Spencer had no clue where this confidence was coming from, but he was too horny to think about shyness and what to say.

She let go of his thumb and stuck her tongue out before tracing the shaft of his penis with a single, excruciatingly slow lick from the base to his tip. He let out a deep, loud groan, throwing his head back as he felt his silky skin against her tongue. It was an aphrodisiac sensation and if Spencer was to believe in heaven and an afterlife, her mouth would definitely be his.

“Shit just like that,” he moaned as her tongue drew imaginary circles on his tip, sucking and taking away every trace of precum. His soul nearly left his body when she encircled his tip with her lips, sliding his length into her mouth until his dick hit the back of her throat.

She placed a hand on his bare, hairy thighs, dragging her nails across his skin as if to draw his attention to her and Spencer granted her wish, lifting his head and looking down at that sin dressed as an angel who was sucking his dick.

Fucking hell I don’t even believe in angels.

It was immoral, the most unethical thing he could’ve done, something for which he could’ve even be kicked out of the team but Spencer couldn’t care less, not when that mouth was sucking him like her life depended on it and making him feel a pleasure he couldn’t even think was possible to feel.

“You’re so good little angel,” he praised her, placing a hand on her head threading his fingers through her hair and a little spark lit up in her eyes. She definitely had a praise kink. “This mouth will be the death of me.”

She hollowed her cheeks, picking up the pace as her head bobbed up and down and her tongue licked circling his dick. Spencer felt like he was already one step away from exploding in her mouth, but he didn’t want to come, not before being buried deep inside her. “Dammit… Stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet.”

He cupped her face pressing his lips to her swollen, wet ones while simultaneously pulling her on his lap again. He kissed her as if he wanted to suck her soul out of her body, resting his hands on her smooth, bare thighs as his fingers pressed into her skin, teasing her but never touching that magical spot where Spencer couldn’t wait to sink.

“For fuck’s sake touch me,” she hissed impatiently pulling on the young man’s hair, earning a small grin from him.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck, inhaling deeply that scent he knew would torment him for the rest of his life, that scent that drugged and marked him in the span of very few seconds. His thumbs kept drawing circles on her inner thighs, dangerously close to her pussy as she squirmed under his touch and Spencer was loving every single shred of the desperation she showed.

She wanted him.

She wanted him desperately.

Spencer never had someone who wanted him so badly, sure he had his experiences with women – albeit very limited ones – but he had never felt anything so deep, animalistic and visceral. He had never had any woman looking at him with that fire in her eyes, as if he was the only man who existed for her, as if he was everything she wanted, as if she could die at any moment if he didn’t give it to her.

But that stranger did.

And damn it felt so good.

“Please, I want it… I want you…” she cried out in an impatient and desperation tone and that was music to his ears. If there was some divine entity Spencer thanked it for making her wear a miniskirt.

His fingers slipped into her panties, moaning to himself as he felt the amount of fluids wetting her pussy. “So wet… You’re going to kill me, you know that right?”

She didn’t answer, she threw her head back while Spencer looked at her with hooded eyes and one of his fingers wasted no time in penetrating her. Her hips moved in rhythm and he trembled with anticipation, imagining her walls squeezing his dick.

“Fuck yes…” she moaned loudly, her hands in Spencer’s hair as he inserted a second finger inside her, watching her reaction and how her body writhed in pleasure.

“You’re so tight little angel, I can’t wait to be buried deep inside this wet pussy,” he murmured with pleasure before taking one of her breasts into his mouth, too temptingly as he sucked and licked it. His other arm went around her hips, holding her in place and keeping her from squirming away. “How many of them did you let fuck you mmh? How many have made you feel this way?” He licked her chest, her collarbone, every inch of skin he could reach before he began torturing her other breast.

“No one…” she breathed, unable to finish her sentence due to her heavy panting and moaning. Her thighs were shaking, her hands gripping his hair. “Nobody… Holy shit…” She trailed off again, her body contorting forward if it wasn’t for Spencer’s arm holding her and he knew his fingers had hit her G-spot.

He actually had no idea what he was doing or how to move but he was an attentive observer. His eyes glued to her studied with careful attention every single breath, the intensity of her moans, the way her muscles trembled, the way her pussy clenched, the way she held him, studying her body and quickly adapting to her reaction.

“Oh God yes, yes, you’re so fucking good keep going…” she cried out and then looked down at him. Her thumb traced his lips and – just as she had done earlier – he wrapped them around her finger, sucking on it as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her. Her walls clenched his wet fingers and if the vision of her coming over them didn’t make him lose his sanity, then he didn’t know what else would.

Spencer left her no room to catch her breath or strength after her orgasm.

“Open.” He ordered, bringing his fingers that until a few moments before were inside her, close to her lips. She didn’t hesitate to lick Spencer’s wet fingers clean, making him dizzy as her eyes watched with adulation and lust at the way his tongue sensually moved her fluids. “Yeah little angel, just like that.”

He was going crazy. He seriously thought his vessels were going to explode from how horny he was.

She let go of his fingers and sloppily kissed him, making him taste her juices on her tongue. “Fuck what are doing to me…” She whispered and something told Spencer she didn’t mean to say those words out loud.

“If you think I’m anywhere near done with you, you’re completely wrong,” he murmured against her lips. “Show me how a good girl you are and sit on me, let me see how this pretty pussy soaks my dick.”

Good job Dr Reid.

I’m really proud of myself.

“And here I thought you were a virgin,” she chuckled before getting up and taking a condom from one of the drawers in her closet, but not before taking off her panties. She settled down by straddling his thighs again before slipping the condom onto his painfully hard dick. She lifted her pelvis and wrapped her hand around Spencer’s dick, letting herself be penetrated until she found herself completely sitting on it. “But I know behind this cute pretty face you’re so dirty, filthy enough to fuck a stripper whose name you don’t even know.”

Spencer clung to every ounce of strength in his body to concentrate on anything other than the warm, wet walls of that stranger’s pussy or he would’ve come instantly.

He had even forgotten how good it felt to have sex after so long and remembered why people were so obsessed with it, why his team pestered him to get laid.

Her pussy engulfed him so perfectly it seemed to have been made just for him.

“You feel so good god…” she breathed out a moan interrupting her sentence as she slowly raised her hips and lowered herself again. Spencer couldn’t control a deep groan as she continued to tease and torture him with that slow motion, rolling her hips on his dick.

Spencer’s fingers found themselves on her ass for the second time, groping and spreading her ass cheeks trying to maintain control but it was so damn hard when all he wanted to do was fuck her brains out of her head.

“F-faster… You’re torturing me…” he panted brokenly, his chest quickly rising and falling as if he was running a marathon.

Instead, she kept going with her slow, destabilizing pace, lifting her hips again and slowly lowering herself on his raging dick, torturing him further as the sounds she let out filled the room. Those alone would’ve been enough to make him fall into the void and never be able to get back to the surface.

“Beg me.”

“Please, please… Make me feel good little angel, make me come,” he obeyed, not caring about sounding pathetic. The smirk that formed on her lips was the manifestation of the most pure form of sin, a sin for which there was no absolution or redemption.

Luckily Spencer didn’t even believe in these things.

But if there was a definition of heaven and hell, if they ever existed, it would’ve been her.

Her and those eyes that looked at him like they wanted to capture what was left of his soul, those eyes that would’ve made Spencer thrown himself off a cliff if she had asked.

Her and those hands that held him and touched him, causing him sensations he didn’t even know the meaning of, and this said something for a person who knew the meaning of every single word written in the dictionary.

Her and her deadly mouth that continued to kiss him until there was no air left in his lungs, her teeth biting him, her tongue licking his skin and sucking his tongue.

Her and those moans and gasps she couldn’t hold back and that Spencer was absorbing one by one, imprinting them in his memory so he could repeat them again and again.

“Look at you, aren’t you a desperate little thing? So hungry for me,” she sensually whispered in his ear and biting his earlobe. Fulfilling Spencer’s wishes, she began to increase her pace, placing her hands on the back of the couch for support.

Nothing resounded except their moans, pants, grunts mixing with each other, the sound of their skin rubbing and flapping and their lips smacking with each kiss with the smell of sex, sin and prohibition filling their nostrils.

Spencer’s eyes were glued on her, on her parted lips and her head thrown back, her eyes half closed, her tits bouncing in rhythm with her thrusts which he didn’t waste time taking into his mouth and sucking them, biting the nipples until they were numb.

She fisted Spencer’s hair again, pulling it and forcing him to tilt his head back to look at her. That gesture made him grunt and aroused him even more than he already was, and his hips twitched against her, giving a particularly deep thrust that made her curse.

“I can see how you’re holding back pretty boy,” she sighed, continuing to ride him but slowing her pace this time causing a pathetic cry to escape his lips. She kept brushing her lips against his without kissing him, with the sole aim of torturing him and driving him crazy. As if she hadn’t already done it. “Don’t hold back, I can see how much you want to ruin me, how much you’re dying to destroy me.”

“Fuck.” He cursed and something snapped inside him.

He thrusted his hips so deep into her she choked out a moan and he was sure she felt it in every corner of her pussy. His long fingers continued to press into the red, heated flesh of her ass holding her still while he jerked his hips forcefully, taking command even though she was still on top of him.

His dick kept pushing in and out of her, engulfed by her pussy as it tightened around him. Spencer knew how fundamental the importance of using protection was, especially with strangers, but he wished he didn’t wear that damn condom so much, so he could feel every wet corner of her around his dick.

“Oh fuck yes… Just like that,” she loudly moaned and he was sure that by now everyone had heard what was going on in that dressing room but had chosen to ignore it.

Spencer didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He needed to come but he didn’t want to, he didn’t want this to end.

That’s why he made her get up off him, earning a confused expression before flipping her onto that couch and laying on top of her. He opened her legs and positioned himself between them. He left her no room to say anything as he aligned his dick with her entrance, penetrating her in one motion.

Her legs encircled his hips, her heels pressed against his skin as he fucked her on that couch like his life depended on it, with hard, deep thrusts that made her eyes water.

He had completely lost control.

His hand went around her throat, a gesture that happened spontaneously and that Spencer didn’t even realize until he saw the smirk and expression of pure ecstasy on her face.

How long has he been into choking?

That damn woman would be his downfall.

“Is this what you wanted?” he groaned, his fingers tightening sideways around her throat, being careful not to press on her windpipe. Some strands of hair fell in front of his eyes but she removed them, almost making him faint at that sweet gesture, in stark contrast to the animalistic way in which they were fucking.

“I knew there was a little devil inside you pretty boy, God you’re so fucking sexy,” she gasped, biting hit lower lips and making him increase his pace. “Yes, yes, yes I’m going to come… Keep going fuck yeah…”

His thrusts were deep, messy and although he tried to keep himself from coming, wanting to prolong that feeling of ecstasy as long as possible, it was impossible as her pussy kept clenching around him, moaning “I’m coming” in his ear so sexily it made him come. Spencer exploded and with one last thrust he let himself go into a mind-blowing orgasm that made his body tremble and his eyes blind for a few moments as he poured all his sperm inside the condom.

There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the panting and deep breathing of the two as they caught their breath.

After the ecstasy of the orgasm, Spencer stood up, noticing out of the corner of his eye that she too was trying to get up but her still shaking legs prevented her from doing so. He tried to hold back a smirk, giving her a hand and helping her to get on her feet before earning a feeble “Thank you.”

What the fuck did I just do?

I just had sex with a stripper who could be a potential witness/suspect while undercover.

I’m so screwed.

He realized the enormous mistake he had just made, not even imagining the consequences. He thanked no one in particular for not having worn the microphone or, holy shit, that would’ve been difficult to explain.

Spencer didn’t say a word and he was grateful that she didn’t either, too dazed and groggy to be able to face a conversation.

They both cleaned up in silence and after throwing the condom in the bin, Spencer tried to tidy himself up, tucking his shirt into his pants after buttoning it.

His profiler nature, however, couldn’t help but notice the way how her demeanor completely changed, going from that sexy vicious woman to a silent shy one. She hadn’t so much as glanced at him, he noticed how her shoulders were tense while she moved frantically as if she was trying to vanish from that dressing room as quickly as possible.

She was nervous.

But why?

“You still haven’t answered my initial question, you know?” Spencer broke the awkward silence, before he could stop his tongue.

Damn it Reid why do you want to complicate things so badly?

She turned her head towards him, looking at him with a confused expression trying to make up her mind.

But then a small smile spread across her features before she closed her backpack and placed it on her shoulder. “No one’s been lucky enough to get in here,” she replied, effectively giving the answer Spencer was looking for and for some strange and absurd reason he believed her. “Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.”

Before he could answer she gave him one last glance and left the dressing room. He was supposed to be relieved, there would be no question he couldn’t answer – especially after she realized David wasn’t his real name – but for some reason he couldn’t let go that sinking feeling in his stomach.

He was good at analyzing other people’s emotions, every facet and change of expression, but he wasn’t as good with himself.

He was tempted to follow her, at least to know her name, to find out who the woman who had fried his brain was, but before going out he noticed a small object near the door, probably fallen from her backpack before she went out.

He knelt to pick it up from the ground, but his blood froze in his veins and his heart stopped beating for a millisecond when he realized what the object was.

It was a purple lipstick.

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[darkdemeter]

KNOW YOUR RHYTHM

◤✘BUCKY BARNES SERIES/AU'S | CATALOGUE Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Dance choreo! Female Reader ISSUE NO.#1

NOTES: ↳ Seeing the responses on the original post was really cool and I’m glad to finally put this simple brain concoction of mine into a fully written fic. Enjoy readers <3 WARNINGS❕ ↳ Mafia related topics -- some profanity -- mention of blood and violence and stuff -- mob boss Bucky who just thirsts for reader HARD -- bit a spice and flirting -- I think that's it? SUMMARY: ↳ He is the king of crime, the one mob boss nobody wants to mess with. Funny how you end up here, hired as a dance choreographer for his new club. It was meant to be a simple paycheck, nothing more. But Bucky Barnes wants you.

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@mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @blackhawkfanatic

↳ BUCKY BARNES TAGLISTS

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 You’re too stubborn to retire the rhythm and hang up those dancing shoes. No, you fight for what’s yours, that’s how you were brought up, and you committed so much to lead this life to escape another that loomed over with a darkened destiny. 

  Even then you had your limits. Though it seems those limits would be tested as of today. A promise that undoubtedly falls in the blurring of lines. 

  “The Crimson Star Nightclub,” you say with a click of your tongue that audibly pops on the other end of the call. “In… that territory of New York.” 

  You swear you can feel her grimace of regret through the phone.

  “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I just— I told him that you’d just be perfect for the job.” Your friend and student wasn’t pleading herself a forgivable case here, you scowl outwardly as you toss your bag atop the nearby railing, sifting through its contents for a moment.

  “I taught you everything I know, babes, why’re you struggling?”

  She’s silent for a minute before she groans, “I just don’t have what it takes to teach, like you do. You’ve got the drive for it! C’mon, he’s willing to pay triple your usual rates. Besides… I’m kinda scared he’ll kill, gut and dump my body over a bridge if you don’t come.”

  That last point shakes you more than you’d like but you quickly dismiss the arrival of dread that falls on your shoulders. You grapple your wallet from your bag and begin to hail a taxi, a gloved hand raised high, the familiar fluorescent yellow swerving to a stop at the curb with a screeching frictional drag of its tires. “What’s the address?”

  She’s smiling, you just know it as she rains down a thousand thank you’s, her heels clapping loudly in the background. 

  Pulling up to the joint made your stomach turn over a hundred times. Exiting the cab, your heeled boot scrubs against the pavement with a leathery rumble as you take in the building. A big establishment from its outward appearance. Peeling off the cover of your sunglasses, you study the freshly reinstated brickwork absolved of any form of gang graffiti. A havenous roofing overheads the entrance where guests would line up in wait with complimenting stanchions. 

  Atop the two – or maybe three story – building is the unlit title, Crimson Star Lounge and Nightclub, and the most flattering of all: a giant red star with a blackened silhouette of what you believe to be either a nude or lingerie clad woman sat within on an invisible seat of some kind. 

  With a hum, you bet a personal wager against yourself that the neon sign’s simple display would articulate the upper leg that hangs over her other to kick up as she arches herself back, accentuating her body more.

  You cannot help but chuckle to yourself. Oh, you’re definitely in for a treat you shouldn’t have let yourself be lured in by. 

  You walk up to the entrance where a large hulk of a man stands idle, his long, blonde hair tied back and out of his face, his browline shifts awkwardly to frown at you behind a thick layer of facial hair. Gruffly, with a low baritone, he speaks. “Club’s not open yet, sweetheart, and we’re full on resumes. Come back in a few months.”

  With a fashionable tilt of your head, a smirk presses into the corner of your lips as you grin.   “Oh, I know you’re not. The star girl doesn’t have her legs spread open for business.”

  From the ease that follows his features with a bashful grin to boot, you continue, “A girl named Tam is inside? She called me, asked me to come and meet the big boss man for a potential dance choreographer job.”

  He grins a pearly smile at you. “A woman with your attitude, he’s gonna have no choice but to give you the job. Right this way, Miss.”

  He steps aside and gestures with a muscular arm for you to continue in and with a curt nod of your head, you stalk down the dimly lit hall until you reach the wide expanse of the club.   An elevated platform is guarded by a railing of dark steel to oversee the ground level, the second floor is cut off some feet away from the T shaped stage. Along the back wall that’s closer to your right shelters a pristine, obsidian marble counter with a set of modernised saloon doors behind, leading off into what you assume to be a backbar. 

  It appears that the second floor acts as some sort of VIP section with the barely visible wall of booths pinning into the wall in an orderly fashion, a few booths decorating the first floor and located closer to the bar, the remaining space reserved for the dance floor and tables. 

  Already you begin to piece together the potential air and radiance the club is looking to create, but it helps your workload when asking whoever is in charge what it is they’re trying to achieve. 

  The brighter, overhead lights blare down to make life and work in the dark a tad more tolerable, so employees shuffling around, going about their duties, many don’t spare so much as a third glance your way much to your relief. The last thing you need is anyone recognising you from your prior glory days. 

  Falling into a slow crawl of a stride as you explore your new surroundings, your potential new work space, a voice is sudden to drawl over the glassy rim of an auburn-hued shiver on the tongue, ice swaying with a chorus of clinks. “Club’s closed, sweet—”

  “Alright, I can’t make the same comment twice. I’ve got a thing about repeating myself.”

  That comeback rings as a shocker through the atmosphere. Turning himself to press his side into the counter, glass in hand, you take in the numerous glimmers of gold adorning his fingers, one of which tells of who exactly this man was. What he was.

His chin dips down to peer over the tint of his glasses. “Sharp. I like it. What’d you want?”

  You take a step forward, head craning to look around you before you turn back to the man, plucking your gloves off your hands to discard them into your bag. “Sightseeing clubs that aren’t open,” you scoff, “I’m looking for the boss of the joint. Tam’s voucher.”

  His shoulders rise and roll back, most likely sensing the cutting way you get right to it through your charade of jest. He flashes you a grin. “You’re funny. Tony Stark, pleasure to meet you.”

  He extends his hand forward and you reach to shake it, your throat scratchy and dry from even looking at the ring on his pinky and its embossed insignia. Tucking his hand away into the pocket of his dress pants, he cocks his head awry. “The boss is kinda in a meeting right now.”

  Your lashes flutter in a flurry, eyes rolling skyward into your skull with an exasperated sigh. 

“Do you guys get off to wasting a girl’s time? Honestly, that’s what makes it harder to please us in this day and age.” 

  “I have my ways.” 

  His voice is a fine contour, rich and smooth, you cannot help the chill from running up your spine. Your heel pivots and your body follows, hands situated on your hips as your chin tilts up and up to meet the fiercest pair of winter blue eyes you’ve ever seen. A layer of dark stubble hides little of the smirk plastered on his pink, soft lips as he leans, arms straight and pressed to the railing until his muscles beneath his flex and the veins in his rough hands budge. 

  “Are you the big boss I’ve heard so much about?”

  His cheeks flex under the weight of his thinned smile and nods. “The one and only, dollface.”

  Shaking yourself from momentary stun, you face to realise that the club’s owner was the top mob boss of New York himself. Of course Tam had to bury you six feet in this mess. It had been bad enough that the establishment itself resided in mob territory. Now, as it turns out, the mob king himself owns the place. And your possible contract and paycheck. 

  How fucking fitting. 

  “Right so… what’s the big idea? Tam said something about you needing a choreo instructor.”

  You almost find the way his lips pull to reveal a row of pearly teeth endearing. Almost. You dare not forget who you’re talking with. 

  “Yes, she said you’d be coming.” You don’t miss the way his words care to articulate the words, their enunciation versed with a seductive purr. You scoff at the comment that fails to filter his lewd mind. Still, he has one hell of a smile that can surely make any woman swoon.

Though you don't very much care to be one of those women. You much prefer to stay very much away from that. From him.

  “She told me you were her dance teacher and that you’re the best of the best. Showed me a few demo tapes of your work.”

  You give a simple shrug of your shoulders to ease the flush that rises in your blood. “And?”

  He moves like a wolf on the prowl and maybe because he very much is. Your eyes watch him with careful calculation, the way the bulk of his body swaggers down from his throne on high to meet you on the bottom level. 

  “I’d like to take her word for it and take you on,” he rumbles lowly. 

  His eyes rake up and down your body slowly, undoubtedly sizing you up like a meal. The waft of his cologne is powerful, a stern odour of expensive luxuries only affordable by his wallet. It overpowers your sense of smell like some love spell that you find half a mind to tilt your axis away from his reach; now beginning to worry that those illustrious women draped on his arm in printed magazines and articles may have been victims to a fling they were entrapped by. 

  You have to keep your posture strong and sure to recover from that relapse, however, given that your action may be interpreted as weakness. These men thrive and feed off weakness. He extends a hand forward. “Bucky Barnes. But I get the feeling you already knew that.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Nevertheless, you take his hand and shake it, reluctantly giving him yours in return. He tastes it for the first time and, by the way his tongue runs below the risen quirk of his lip, revealing his incisor, enjoys the way it rolls off. 

  You walk with him as he shows you around the club and accommodates you with the knowledge of how he wants this little business joint to succeed in its intended market. You meet the girls who would be under your charge, your attitude taking a noticeable shift from its standoffish tone to one much lighter, friendlier in terms of interacting with the dancers. 

  Returning back to the main stage and dismissing the girls off, Bucky turns to you, broadly puffed out from chest to shoulders that the suit strains slightly against the expanse of muscle. 

  “Right, I’ll need to browse around for a hirable studio and give you the info to give the dancers,” you note first and foremost, running your hand over your mouth, your demeanour now lessened and eased into one more befitting of contemplation. Bucky can see and even admire the spark of dedication to the job in your eyes.

  “Can you pull it off?” 

  You gasp, a tad and touch higher in your defence than you should have let on. But ultimately, you meet the dark, playful challenge in his raised brow and wicked smirk. 

  “Outstandingly so for the interesting logo for the club.”

  “Ooh,” he winces behind pursed lips, “tell me what you really think.”

  Tongue unsheathing from your cheek, you turn to face him, stepping forward one step and then another, standing barely chest to chest with him. The fog of his cologne is a whirlwind intending to knock you loose of your inhibitions. You thinly smile through it. “Well, it certainly follows the saying.”

  His brows move higher to his forehead, almost cocky that you don’t fall into betraying yourself and believing he means anything sincere as he asks coolly, “what saying would that be?”

  And quickly you answer, “sex — or the appeal of it — sells.”

  His face leans in closer until his lips hover over yours some inches away, invading the presence of personal space, uncaring to the way your body goes rigid; caught in fight or flight mode, knowing damn well between the two of you that you’re stuck and fucked by either response. “And just how much do you sell for, I wonder.”

  His words are soft, low and oh-so laced to be seductive. The striking allure of those blues moving to take in every aspect of your features as if to engrain them into his memory. 

 Just before he can ever dream of letting his lips close in any more, you take initiative and move back, flaunting a huff that eases his ego down, his features faltering visibly right before your eyes. 

  “I’ll send you an invoice tonight, Mr Barnes…” Your words inspire hope within him as he slowly grins, only to fall. “But don’t excite yourself. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” 

 You send yourself off in the direction of the exit with a measured wave, but his words leave with you and have your stomach in a strange flutter. 

 “You sure? Because I see potentially a lot of pleasure in this contract.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

  It’s cruel to watch you, knowing that this is your last rehearsal with the girls. After this, the doors will promise an opening night to remember. But if you’ve given any hints, you don’t exactly intend on seeing it. 

  And for Bucky, that is just plain torture for him. Over the past three months, you have been working your pretty arse off creating a whole show routine, expertly weaving the backbone of the club’s entertainment and allocating the playlist to fit the atmosphere Bucky and his club managers wanted. 

  Lounging in the VIP section, the raised loft that oversaw the club’s dance floor, stage and regulars bar, Bucky still cannot take his eyes off of you. Why of all nights did you have to go racing off to another job so soon? He had paid you generously, far more than any hired choreographer could ever dream of, and yet that still didn’t seem enough to convince you. He hovers like a shadow, leaning to the dark steel railing, his ring-lined fingers drum against the dark steel as he contemplates his next move. 

  He barely pays any mind to his captains who take their place in the sleek, refined office that are the booths, sipping at their drinks and chatting about the club’s interests and rates. Shit that he tunes out. He can’t focus on anything when you move like that, your body arching this way and that; sinful and cause for impossible. But you prove him wrong. There are many positions he’s fantasised taking you in mid rehearsal. And once, when it was just the two of you in the club during a routine practice, he almost had the chance. But it – you – slipped right through his fingers.

  Your body is pulled into the music itself. A process many seem to struggle with, but for you, it’s as easy as breathing. At first, it’d been a gamble of who to hire for the job, now Bucky cannot dream of regretting choosing you. Renowned as a star dancer, you’re credited with awards from around the globe, in solos, duos and exceeding the numbers. Competition after competition, your name became well known. Your prodigy, dear little Tammy, had been a resourceful source that he later forwarded onto his boys, ordering them to dig up more information about you. 

  A nasty red line was found in your record, as Bucky had his men find, and though the exact details are still unknown to him, it’s given him an indicator that something hit rock bottom. Some time afterwards, however, you resurfaced as a dance choreographer. 

  And if you were still the best of the best, then he’d take you for the job. But now, he wants you for good. Dressed to the nines in outfits he’s spent on all his cards, riding to events together and having the envy of every man and woman’s eyes upon you. Hell, he’s already contemplated the venue and diamond ring. All he needs now is that chance you refute at every turn.

  “Chins forward, eyes open,” you call in correction, gaze set straight ahead of you in the midst of a spinning twirl before planting your heeled stiletto hard into the stage floor with a resounding boom. 

  Bucky’s eyes trail then upwards, the dark colour of your pantyhose hiding your skin that he’s desperate to bruise and leave his fingerprints on. His fingers curl harshly into the railing while his eyes continue to admire while simultaneously undress you, your body hugged in a very form-admiring bodysuit. 

  Dropping down low with the girls following suit, your hips move on beat with the music, grinding into the floor. That, of all moves, is when you make the grave mistake in glancing up at a striking pair of blue eyes, dark in their passionate longing and so bright you’re quick to force your eyes away. 

  But not before you flashed him a toothy smile. A smile that kills him every time. Heat rushes through your veins and rises higher into the surface of your skin, in your core it feels electric with pulsating need, but you carry on with the routine, to save face from what Bucky Barnes did to you. Unbeknownst to you at this moment of what you did to the mob boss, he groans at the tightness surrounding his clothed cock as you rock your hips back and forth, suggestive in your choreographed manner. But so dismissive in how it affects him greatly and his ability to conduct business. 

  No. You can’t let yourself fall into that sort of mess again. Focus. Rolling onto your back, your back arches so beautifully off the floor, it almost has Bucky gasping. The pointed pink of his tongue’s tip darts out to wet his lips. 

  Completely and utterly mesmerised by your rhythm, he growls like a feral animal when Steve’s voice interjects his still continuing list of how he plans to ruin you and save you.

  Now at the end of your routine, you wave for Torres to cut the music and your shoulders fall heavily with an exerted sigh.

  “Good work, girls,” you applaud with your friendly smile, clapping for their efforts. The girls in turn repay your praise with bashful smiles and compliments of your mentorship. 

  You had this way with people, and especially those under your study, you were kind and playful but remained an air of professionalism to ensure your students or your time wasn’t wasted. 

  Bucky feels his skin crawl and his heart drop a thousand yards into his stomach. From the lavish watch strapped to his wrist, he inspects the time. End of rehearsal. End of your contract with him. 

  “Well, they learnt from the best.” Your head turns fast, vision momentarily blurred, there again is that feeling - that spell - he has you under as he saunters down the stairs and towards the stage where you stood, hands pressed idly into your hips. 

  His tongue runs over his teeth, groaning inwardly as his eyes sink and rise in study of your entire form. He could see you being his queen. You’ve a powerful stance, that much he can see, and you possess a quality that has the attention of anyone and everyone on you. A commanding presence. 

  “You’re too kind, Mr. Barnes.” Your cheeks redden more. Praise from your clients always makes your heart flutter with adoration and joy. For them to express their gratitude in the ways they do, it’s good to know you have succeeded in your job. 

  But when Bucky praises you, you become a giddy girl that gushes and yearns to hear more. He sees the way your face shifts to reflect that professionalism, all to hide the reality of what he does to you; what he could do to you if you just gave him the chance. 

  “I could be much kinder, doll.” His voice has lowered into a velvety purr, the callous massage of his fingers shoot a blaze of electricity through the thin fabric of your pantyhose and into your skin like ice, a simple touch over your calf, teasing you further as his palm encloses around you as well, sliding up and down gently. Despite your position above him, a sight he’ll never grow tired off, his up-tilted chin reaches level just below your stomach. Right at the apex of something dangerous. He sees the inner turmoil of conflict flash in your eyes, a battle he’s sure he can win if he plays his cards just right. 

  “VIP access tonight to start?”

  You scoff, shaking your head. But the furrow in your brows betrays your true, raw disappointment. You can’t hide it. Not from him. “I can’t. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

  And just like that, you refuse him yet again. His bottom lip rolls in and over his teeth, tongue pushing hard against the thickened fold of intruding skin in his internal flare of anger, eyes darkening with a single promise he cannot keep; because he can’t have you to make it. You attempt to step back only for his hand to curl tighter around your ankle, keeping you in place.

  “Make an exception this one time for me.”

  Your eyebrows crease between the middle, a frown tugging your lips into an unamused sneer as you tug at your leg that Bucky refuses to let go. 

  “Mr. Barnes, this is extremely unprofessional—”

  “Your contract has expired. We can be as unprofessional as we want. No consequences. No regrets.” He coats his words heavily with a honey of seduction. One that is awfully tempting… one you must deny. 

  You swear this man would kiss the ground you walk upon if you asked him to. Would paint and drown the streets red with blood if you wished it. And that’s what frightens you. Beneath those adoring pools of blue hide a darkness to a world you seek escape from, therein his eyes hides the nature of a killer who’s not only dangerous to those who cross him because of who he is as a man; but also dangerous because of you. 

  You know that love — and lust — are a powerful motivator to a man. It can and will make him do anything. The impossible, the reckless and the most horrid of things. 

  No matter how softly he pleads, you must not say yes…

  His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, streaking locks of dark brown fall loosely to frame over his brow, highlighting an innocence that isn’t there. You pull your leg away again and he allows you to leave him though with the exception of those eyes faltering from yours. Like a kicked puppy.

  “I’ll come tonight. We’ll need to talk about my payment before I leave.”

  There it is, that bright spark in his ocean hues again, a grin pulls his lips wide that battling a smile of your own causing your lips to quiver is half won. Hopping down from the stage his eyes follow after you, watching you gather your belongings, your sights meet one another and he nods to you.

  “See you tonight, beautiful.”

  Scoffing with a shake of your head, this time that smile graces your lips wholly and Bucky feels the air in his lungs flatline. What he would give, who he would kill to see that smile forever on your face. 

  “Right. Tonight. See you then, Mr. Barnes.”

  How you say his name in a manner of such proprietary has him a certain way, but what often has him throbbing and hard is the thought of you moaning his name, skin hot in a sweaty flush pressed to his as he has you on the verge of climactic euphoria and promising that you will be his, that you will never leave his side. He’s left only to his imagination of how you would sound, how you would feel around his hard and thick cock, in his strong and passionate grip that would never let you go — let you falter. 

  He wants you so badly it’s driving him insane. 

  Bucky takes the time to admire your form that currently flees for now, but soon enough he guarantees otherwise, paying particular attention to the wondrous body of your arse right before you pull your coat over your shoulders. 

  He pulls out his phone from his suit pocket and with a few minor taps of his thumb, he holds it to his ear, the receiver on high alert to his order.

  “Get her ticket reimbursed and have the jet on standby, just in case.”

  If you had known he’d send a car to pick you up, you’d have thought twice on a decision you should have said no to at the very beginning. From your seat, you eye the neon title and star, indeed the female figure doing just as you thought. A provocative display to allure its target audience. Right on command, Sam arrives, strutting out from the main doors to your door and pulls it open for your exit. The once dark tinted window shielding you from the envious stares of those stuck to line up on the velvety carpet. 

  “Looking good, princess. C’mon in, Bucky’s waiting for ya.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” 

Sam’s allegiances may have set prejudice to keep you from trusting him or any of the other boys under Bucky’s command, but he was kind and attentive to you the more he saw you around his boss and the club premises. 

  You do well to keep your eyes forward and your focus straight, ignoring the few whispers of a gaggle of women clad in colourful, sparkling cocktail dresses, dolled up faces contorted into spiteful sneers as Thor granted you unrestrained access much to the shagrin of the female pack whining and complaining. 

  You weren’t here for the explicit pleasures that they were after on the inside. You’re strictly here to see what it was you accomplished, hoping that these business partners of Bucky will be entertained by the routine and show you poured hours of soul and heart into, then collect your paycheck and leave. That’s it. 

  Sam commands to part the crowd ahead of you, allowing you a clear path and direction up the stairs to the upper floor, smirking and ushering you off when you press him with a sceptical raise of your brow. But at his insistence that you don’t fall into the same category as the guests, you head on up, climbing each milestone with a heeled step that draws you possibly closer to the very man who you cannot seem to get away from. 

  Atop the stairs and rounding along the railside, you press your stomach to, overseeing the crowd below, streaks of red lights beaming from the rafters above to illuminate the dark, sensual aura of the club, the music a thriving beat as the dancers on stage perform their routine. 

  Life on the stage… there are days where you miss it. With a drag of a sigh parting your lips, you straighten a little from having leant on the railing a little during the show. Your body bristles instantly as something large and warm presses into your back, almost nuzzling the diamond cut out of skin, his long arms coming into view to cage you between him and the cold steel, his hands rest over your own. 

  “Glad to see you made it,” he hums deeply against the curve of your ear, nose gentle to nuzzle against your neck. “My business partners love the show, they’ve been asking for you.”

 “Trying to drum up business for me, Mr Barnes?” you muse with a pout, voice offering a sickly sweet mockery of appreciation only for him to snort and direct you towards the booths where several men sat within a cloud of cigar smoke and breath of pure alcohol.

  “Gentlemen, this is the woman I was telling you about.” He introduces you and your hand traverses into numerous exchanges of hand shakes as you greet each of them.

  “Have to say, little lady, your vision for performance is immaculate,” a man of rounder physique appraises with a grin, half burnt cigar jammed between two fat digits and his dark brown eyes sparkling with hopeful aspiration for your future. 

  “Pray tell that Bucky will allow us to perhaps offer you a longer term contract?” His question ends with the butt of his cigar popped into the o of his mouth and huffing.

  It hits you like a freight train going a hundred miles an hour, your jaw unhinges only to clamp shut, bouncing between the motion as you tend to this new revelation. “I–I uh…” Eyes glancing to Bucky who stands at your side, chest puffed out with a smirk twisted into his lips, he cocks his brows at you. 

   “A kind offer but I have another job already lined up in Chicago. It’ll conflict too much, I’m afraid.”

  The men hum and sigh in their disappointment but offer you wishes, the man then plucks a card from a silver plate box and slides it towards you. “Of course. I admire your commitment to prior contracts. But don’t hesitate to call us if you change your mind. Mr. Barnes here has put in a good word for you.”

  “Oh, has he?” You draw the words slowly with care, but the hint of suspicion has Bucky’s eyes pinned to yours for a moment until he looks to the men, bidding them to excuse him a moment as he takes to lead you away from their table. 

  Once in the private hallway that leads to Bucky’s office, your words choke behind a scoff, “What the hell was that all about? I– I told you, I have a flight to catch tomorrow and– Bucky this is too much, even for someone like you, to give to someone like me.”

  He leads you to the door and opens it, beckoning you to enter before shutting the door promptly behind you both. All you can do is watch the broad span of his back as he struts over to his desk, merely gesturing a hand for you to sit. 

  “Doll, check your bank account.” 

  The way his voice maintains a firm timbre almost spawns concern to spur you to run out that office and never look back, but you do as he says, checking your bank account. Your eyes blink widely. 

  “My ticket! Bucky you—”

  “You deserve better than living in some slum studio apartment, living to survive on paycheck to paycheck,” he rasps hoarsely as if the words and very idea of your situation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he continues, “A forty-five grand monthly salary to start, upgraded living in a penthouse and a licensed studio all of your own and signed to your name.”

  A poisonous drought covers your tongue and coats your throat, your eyes peer down at the white card, font pristinely spaced and organised, minimally professional. Bucky faces you now after having realise that you didn’t sit down upon his request – or what you assume order. Your eyes then raise to glower at him, narrowing sharply. 

  “And your agenda behind this?”

  Can you trust the way his brows relax, bending to curve in a manner of sympathy as he reaches you, chest to chest and his calloused palms come to hold your jaw between them, nursing in his hand the one thing he desires above all else. 

  His head bows lower until his lips graze over yours, causing your breath to hold and you feel the form of his lips curl into a small grin and with a hum he connects the kiss. At first he is gentle to test the waters until he is consumed by that fire, heat ensuing to take hold of the kiss, he groans lowly like a ravenous animal. 

  Your stomach turns into knots and your thighs push together when the threat of arousal pools between them, a gasp teetering on your voice, your own lips meeting his as your hands manoeuvre over the curvature of his muscles that tense beneath you. The kiss grows hotter, heat forces its way to burn in your lungs like embers and ash searing the fabric of your soul that when you pull apart, your chest expands to brush against his as you breathe deeply. 

  “Be my girl, doll. Be m—”

  You cut him off with the delicate pillar of your index finger as he intends to sweep in for another kiss. You know for sure that if you allowed him, you would agree to his terms. 

  That cannot happen. 

  You pull yourself away from him until your distance pits your back against the office door, hands lingering on the knob and twist. His  hands that once held the apex of your hips flush to his body fall to clench at his sides. You still choose to refuse him yet again.  “Sorry, Barnes… but mama always told me, papa always warned me, don’t hang around with boys like you.”

[pretzel-box]

Hello ●♡●

Do you mind if request a pregnant!reader who gets sent down into Hadal Blacksite?

She was arrested for being associated with a famed drug dealer (you may pick) and was now sent to life in prison. But Hadal picked her up and sent her to retrieve the crystal.

Eventually she meets Sebby, from that point on you can drive the story ^^

Sorry if this sounds weird. First time requesting someone 😅

words: 1,1k

tags: pregnant! female reader, comfort

The sound of the facility’s massive gates clanging shut echoed in your ears, the final barrier between you and the world you once knew. The cold, harsh reality of the Hadal Blackside settled over you like a shroud, suffocating and oppressive. You had heard the stories about this place—the darkness, the desperation, the things that lurked in the shadows. But nothing could have prepared you for the weight of it, the feeling that you were truly, utterly alone.

Except you weren’t alone.

A hand instinctively rested on your stomach, where a life grew inside you. The life of a child whose father had betrayed you, framed you for crimes you hadn’t committed. The memories flooded back—the frantic nights, the lies, the realization that the man you had once trusted with everything had set you up to take the fall for his empire’s sins. You hooked up with a man, knowing he had money and you would be financially secure till he used you and you found out about the truth behind his business. Blinded by drugs, money and criminal motivation he blamed you and exposed you in front of the police and now, you are here, sent to this hellhole with no hope of return, carrying his child.

You wandered through the winding, decaying corridors, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty. The facility was a labyrinth of rusted metal, flickering lights, and shadows that seemed to move on their own. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something far more sinister yet metallic, something that made your skin crawl.

It wasn’t long before you stumbled upon a small shop tucked away in one of the darker corners of the facility. The space was cluttered with all manner of items, some useful, some strange, all scavenged from the depths of this godforsaken place. Your eyes fell on the shopkeeper, a tall, serpentine figure with fluorescent blue eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His long, coiled tail was laying casually over the slight wet floor, and his gaze was sharp, assessing you with a mixture of curiosity, caution and unmotivation.

“You look lost,” he said, his voice smooth and surprisingly gentle, given his intimidating appearance. His large claw-like hands rubbing against each other as he kept staring at you.

You hesitated for a moment, the reality of your situation crashing down on you all over again. You didn’t know who to trust, if anyone, in this place. But you were desperate, scared, and you needed someone—anyone—to help you.

“I…I was sent down here,” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Framed for something I didn’t do. And now…” You paused, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach again. “Now I’m here. Alone. And I’m pregnant.”

The shopkeeper’s expression shifted, the hard edges softening as he took in your words. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you with those piercing blue eyes. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved forward, his tail shifting with a sinuous grace as he approached.

“My name’s Sebastian,” he said, his tone gentle now, almost kind. “And this is my shop. My wares are on my tail, batteries on the table next to me…” He paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he took in your exhausted, tear-streaked face. “And you can rest here, free of charge.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of kindness that you hadn’t expected to find in a place like this. The offer of refuge, even just for a little while, was more than you could have hoped for. A small, shaky breath escaped your lips, and you nodded, the tightness in your chest loosening just a bit.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice still trembling slightly.

Sebastian nodded, gesturing to a makeshift bed in the corner of the shop—a crude but inviting space with blankets neatly folded on top. “It’s not much,” he said, almost apologetically, “but it’s better than most places around here. You should get some rest.”

You glanced over at the bed, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing heavily on your shoulders. The idea of lying down, of letting your guard down for just a moment, was terrifying. But you were so tired—tired in a way that went beyond physical fatigue. Your heart ached with the burden of your situation, and the weight of your unborn child felt heavier with every passing moment.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian studied you for a moment longer before reaching out, his clawed hand hovering near your shoulder as if he was unsure whether to offer comfort. “This place…it’s not for people like you. It's even a surprise that they send you down here.,” he said quietly. “But you’ll find that most of us down here have our own stories. We all carry something.” His gaze flicked briefly to your stomach before meeting your eyes again. “Some more than others.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. The enormity of your situation, the betrayal, the fear for your unborn child—it all came crashing down on you, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Sebastian moved closer, his presence unexpectedly reassuring despite his fearsome appearance. “You’re safe here, for now,” he said softly, his voice like a balm to your frayed nerves. “At least as safe as you can be in this place. I’ll help you, as much as I can.”

You didn’t know why, but something in his words, in the way he looked at you, made you believe him. Maybe it was the way he seemed to understand without needing to ask questions, or maybe it was simply the fact that he was offering help when you felt most alone. Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Sebastian nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ll be okay,” he assured you, his tone firm but comforting. “We’ll figure this out, together.”

As you stood there, the reality of your new life beginning to sink in, you realized that for the first time since you had been sent down here, you didn’t feel completely alone. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as you looked up at Sebastian, the man who had so unexpectedly become your lifeline, you felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within you.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a future for you and your child in this dark, twisted place.

[edenmemes]

baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2)

part 2 / ? .

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞ ❝ you put the stars to shame. let’s sit here a little while - i want to drink you in. ❞ ❝ i’d tell you not to get in trouble, but i suspect it will find you whether you like it or not. ❞ ❝ well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on. ❞ ❝ i just….need some air…clear my head. ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since i shed a tear. i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had a feeling you’d show up. it’s sort of our thing. like it’s fate or something. ❞ ❝ i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little. ❞ ❝ if that was an attempt at flirting, i should let you know i prefer the strong, silent type. ❞ ❝ no matter how far you come, you’re still on the road to ruin. ❞ ❝ i thought you a hunter. wrong. you’re prey - small. snivelling. pathetic. ❞ ❝ and what am i owed? what about the injustices i’ve suffered - am i not entitled to anything? ❞ ❝ i can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as i look upon you. ❞ ❝ i trust that you will continue to remember who is really on your side. ❞ ❝ better a short life built on truth than immortality woven of lies. ❞ ❝ i won’t make excuses. i can’t make amends. but i want to help, if you’ll let me. ❞ ❝ gods, it’s horrifying…and a touch fascinating. ❞ ❝ there are many names for you --- and all of them inspire dread. ❞ ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ ❝ the gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. a hunger crueller than bloodlust. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ revenge sounds so sweet until you’ve taken it. then all you have is…no one left to blame. ❞ ❝ some mistakes can’t be resolved with an apology. some mistakes, you have to carry with you, forever. ❞ ❝ you’re plotting something, aren’t you? come on then - out with it. ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ think of all we’ve been through just to get to this moment. that wasn’t luck. that was us. ❞ ❝ feel like i should laugh but i’m just too godsdamned tired. ❞ ❝ there is something i lost…no, had taken from me. i want it all back. ❞ ❝ careful - you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. ❞ ❝ one thing i’ve learned - real saviours never label themselves as such. ❞ ❝ less thinking of bad thoughts, and more breaking of bad bones. ❞ ❝ i rather like interfering. it’s kind of my thing. ❞ ❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ ❝ you know, i've been catching myself smiling more lately. i think that's your fault.. ❞ ❝ oh, i’m no innocent. but evil? you tell me. ❞ ❝ i still want to believe you’re better than that. but even i am having my doubts. ❞ ❝ i can’t afford to lose my nerve. safer to just not think, and keep forging ahead. ❞ ❝ when all this is over, will you stay with me? for good? ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? do you have some sort of condition? honestly, it's like you hate good news. ❞ ❝ all of nature’s beauty pales in comparison to you. ❞ ❝ i can’t save you from yourself. it hurts terribly, but i can’t. ❞ ❝ if i seem suddenly flush with hope and soft feeling, you have only yourself to blame. ❞ ❝ is there good and evil within us all? ❞

❝ i’ve been watching you fight. your skills are improving. ❞ ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞ ❝ and you? you’re wholly without vice or sin or the occasional lapse in judgement? ❞ ❝ i wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. but i do. ❞ ❝ one might say you’re paragon of luck. i’ll be there when it runs out. ❞ ❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ ❝ i concealed nothing from you. i simply left out the details that were not pertinent. ❞ ❝ you’re an odd friend. but, i suppose, a friend still. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you do this. i won’t let you win. ❞ ❝ you are my puppet. make no mistake. without me, you have no value. ❞ ❝ well, this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside. ❞ ❝ whoever your enemies are, they have good reason to fear you. ❞ ��� this place is astonishing, a bard’s tale made real. ❞ ❝ i may not regret my actions, but i do regret that they were necessary. ❞ ❝ experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ if this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that there are things in this world more valuable than power. ❞ ❝ a wise man learns from his mistakes, and strives not to repeat them. ❞ ❝ no more hiding things from me. agreed? ❞ ❝ my friend. my companion. i adore you. ❞ ❝ your face is sour. by all means leave, if i am so distasteful. ❞ ❝ careful, it’s dark around here. would be a terrible shame to lose you forever. ❞ ❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞ ❝ you have to know who i was. you have to know who i really am. ❞ ❝ nothing special, of course. you’re only the first person who i truly care for. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ anything you ask, i’ll answer as honestly as i can. ❞

[kurishiri]

I love this art but it be low key a lil scary… is that just me?

like hear me out here.

“go commit a crime” “ok” vibes

ok so maybe I’m totally delusional, that’s also fair. But like,

they chose to make them look into a mirror, something made clear from the bottom; would this suggest Alfons has some sort of “upper hand” or advantage, as he is the one with the mirror curse

for the most part, the background is blurred out, so only Elbie and Alfons are 100% clear in the reflection — this could be symbolism of how much pure trust Elbie puts in Alfons

like to Elbie, Alfons is his world

another way you can tell Elbie heavily trusts Alfons (maybe too much) is look at how close their faces are: Alfons is leaning in from above, and Elbie basically leaning back in from below

now this may be because they are “master and attendant” but Elbie is not fully clothed, while Alfons is. The lack of clothes can symbolize vulnerability, and on the other hand, being fully clothed can represent being closed off

basically, it seems that Elbie may be overly dependent (overly trusting) on Alfons. They said in the relationship chart that they were “childhood friends” and “master and attendant” but, it’s probably deeper and more nuanced and/or twisted than that. And that nuance, I think, is captured in this official art

the pinned blue butterflies in the background are beautiful, but symbolically could represent feeling “trapped” or, at the very least, not free

there’s the juxtaposition of Elbie’s kind of sad?? expression and the bright, sunny background, and Alfons is probably plotting something. I don’t know what, but he likely is, like just look at that smile-

maybe this art is just so beautiful it’s scary /lh

if anyone’s got more insight, I’d love to hear 👀

“go commit a cwime uwu”

“okie”

[clumsyromantic]

NOT ANOTHER RAINBOW LEGACY CHALLENGE

Welcome to this ten generation legacy challenge based on vibrant colors! Inspired by all the other color themed legacies out there, because who doesn’t like basing their sims whole personality on a color (I know I’m a sucker for it lol). I won’t put a long list of rules here, because at the end of the day I want this to be your gameplay and story that you create. I will suggest that you follow each generation, but if something isn’t to your liking, by all means, change it for yourself. With that being said, don’t claim this challenge as your own, even if you tweak it. Remember, though, legacy challenges are all about having fun!

If you play don't forget to tag me here or on instagram @clumsy.romantic or use the hashtag #notanotherlegacy. I would really love to see some gameplay/stories!

Generation One: Licorice.

You never stay in one place too long. As a criminal, you’re always on the run. You don’t commit to anything. The only thing you’ve ever truly loved and committed to is your career. When it comes to actual love, you dip as soon as it seems like things might get serious. You don’t like being that close to people, letting people in like that. You can’t trust anyone, or so you thought.

Traits: Evil, Non-Committal, Romantic. (Additional: Self-Assured, Mean)

Aspiration: Serial Romantic.

Career: Criminal.

Have more enemies than friends.

Have a child with an enemy.

Move to a different world each time you age up.

Only your child(ren) can be your partner in crime.

Get caught cheating at least once.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Mischief, Handiness and Programming skills.

[Packs used: None]

Generation Two: Pearl.

From the time you could hold things, you were coloring, drawing, painting, anything that could help you express yourself. You are the exact opposite of your parent. Maybe you’re like the other one? You wouldn’t know, though. You never met them, nor heard a single truth about them. That doesn’t matter, though, because as soon as you can, you move out of your parents home so that you can start your own life and family. Love isn’t easy, as you don’t truly know what it’s supposed to look like, but with how kind and caring you are, it almost comes easy to you.

Traits: Creative, Cheerful, Family-Oriented. (Additional: Loyal, Good)

Aspiration: Big Happy Family. 

Career: Painter.

Complete the Artist Prodigy as a child.

Move to a different world from your parent.

Marry someone with amazing compatibility (or someone with similar traits).

Have 5 children.

Have a bowling night with the family at least twice a week.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Painting, Parenting and Bowling skills.

[Packs used: High School Years, Growing Together, Parenthood, Bowling Night]

Generation Three: Latte.

You come from a big family, and you’ve always loved every bit of it. However, nothing can compare to the love you have for fitness. As a teenager, you become a simfluencer who models athletic wear and shows off your healthy lifestyle. As a Young Adult, you constantly have dogs. You tell yourself all you need is dogs, until you meet another fitness buff who you end up having a baby with.

Traits: Active, Dog Lover, Vegetarian. (Additional: Ambitious, Outgoing)

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals.

Career: Simfluencer.

Have a good relationship with your parents and siblings.

Go to the gym four times a week.

Change your hairstyle once a week.

Have at least 3 dogs as a YA.

Become a B-lister.

Have a baby with someone you meet at the gym (bonus points if they have the active skill).

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Fitness, Entrepreneur, Media Production, and Pet Training skills.

[Packs used: Cats & Dogs, High School Years, Get Famous]

Generation Four: Dandelion.

It was hard for you to relate to your parents, as they were much more outgoing and sociable than you were. Keeping up conversations and being around people always made you feel drained. You preferred being by yourself with a good book. It was usually a sci-fi book about robots. It’s no surprise that you’re the first in your family to go to university and you end up working in engineering. Your best friend, perhaps lover as well, is a robot you built. Seems like a good life to you.

Traits: Loner, Overachiever, Socially Awkward. (Additional: Bookworm, Geek)

Aspiration: Nerd Brain.

Career: Engineer.

Attend university.

Build a servo bot.

Be romantic partners with the servo.

Woohoo with the servo in the rocketship.

Only adopt or have science babies.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Logic, Handiness and Robotics skills.

[Packs used: High School Years, Discover University]

Generation Five: Emerald.

You want to make the world a better place for the next generations. Everything you do involves Mother Earth. You live off the land, garden and fish for your food. You raise chickens for your eggs and cows for your milk. You also fabricate and make things for yourself, others and your animals. Some of the things you create you sell on Plopsy for income. You have a baby with someone you’re engaged to be married to. But as soon as you can, you pack up and leave them, taking the baby with you.

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Maker, Freegan. (Additional: Green Fiend, Recycle Disciple)

Aspiration: Master Maker.

Career: Plopsy Seller.

Live in Evergreen Harbor (If you don’t already, move there as a YA).

Live in Port Promise, where you must make the eco footprint green.

Additional Challenge: have the Simple Living lot challenge in Evergreen.

Knitted and Fabricated items can be sold on Plopsy when you need simoleons.

Get engaged and try for a baby until one of you is pregnant.

Once you have reached green for the eco footprint; break off the engagement, take the baby and move to Sulani.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Knitting, Fishing, Gardening and Fabrication skills.

[Packs used: Eco Lifestyle, Nifty Knitting, Island Living]

Generation Six: Turquoise.

Growing up on a beautiful beach with your single parent doing everything for you made you into a spoiled brat. The only thing you actually want to do, besides sleep and chill, is fashion photography. You have a real eye for fashion. Although, you don’t really have a knack for picking up work. You’re more likely to be suntanning than actually doing your job. The few times you do accept a job, you fall in love with the model. Instead of falling happily in love together, you are constantly fighting, and to make matters worse, you have a kid together. Something neither of you wanted.

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Lazy, Hates Children. (Additional: Jealous, Squeamish)

Aspiration: Beach Life.

Career: Freelance Fashion Photographer.

Accept a job once a week.

Have a baby with one of the models that has the Mean, Hot-Headed or Evil trait.

Only have 1 child.

Have a bad relationship with your child.

Move to San Myshuno as an Adult.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Charisma and Photography skills.

[Packs used: Get Famous, Outdoor Retreat, Moschino, City Living]

Generation Seven: Ruby.

You constantly heard your parents fighting over something. They were never not fighting. You found your solace in music; listening to it, writing it, playing instruments, just everything about it. You get married young just so you can move out. But you’re in love with a musician on the side. You’re not really sure if you should keep seeing them, or stick by your spouse. You never really were good with decisions, especially ones that could really impact your future.

Traits: Music Lover, Hot-Headed, Childish. (Additional: Erratic, Dance Machine)

Aspiration: Musical Genius.

Career: Live off tips and fame.

Marry and move out as a YA.

Have a bad relationship with your parents.

Cheat on your spouse with someone who plays an instrument or sings.

Only earn money from tips when you play instruments or sing in public.

Have either a dance battle or karaoke night once a week.

Obtain fame, at least c-lister, from music.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Singing, Dancing and any instrument skills.

[Packs used: Get Famous, City Living, Get Together]

Generation Eight: Magenta.

You’ve always used humor and pranks as a way to cope with everything going on in your life. No one but your best friend really gets you. It’s hard for you two to get over being friends when you realize that you have feelings for each other. Except, after having a baby together, you realize you were better off as friends. You still civilly raise the child, just not under the same roof anymore.

Traits: Paranoid, Goofball, Gloomy. (Additional: Clumsy, Cat Lover)

Aspiration: Chief of Mischief.

Career: Social Media.

Have a childhood best friend.

Have a baby with said best friend.

You and your best friend fall out, but you still raise the child civilly.

Have at least 1 cat.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Comedy, Writing and Mischief skills.

[Packs used: Cats and Dogs, Strangerville, City Living]

Generation Nine: Tangerine.

You prefer the finer things in life. You live in the city, but as a young adult working in law, you often take vacations to Mt. Komorebi. Where, when you fall in love with a local and have children, you take your children there often. Not until you retire, do you and your spouse move there. In the meantime, you enjoy the time you spend there; skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing, sightseeing, etc. You dream of your vacations while at work.

Traits: Adventurous, Kleptomaniac, Bro. (Additional: Lactose Intolerant, Materialistic)

Aspiration: Mt. Komorebi Sightseer.

Career: Law.

Take 2 vacation days a week to go to Mt. Komorebi.

Marry and have children with someone who lives in Mt. Komorebi

Continue living in San Myshuno until you retire and move to Mt. Komorebi.

Steal one item a day.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Skiing, Snowboarding and Rock Climbing skills.

[Packs used: Snowy Escape, Cottage Living]

Generation Ten: Aubergine.

Your parents always showed you the luxurious sides of life. Treating you to everything and anything you could ever imagine. It lit the way for your future career as a critic. You enjoyed being able to put your 2 cents into whatever you could get your neatly, well kept fingers on. You also always looked and presented to be your best self. 

Traits: Neat, Foodie, Snob. (Additional: High Maintenance, Perfectionist)

Aspiration: Party Animal.

Career: Critic.

Host 3 parties a week.

Each party has a theme; decorate and cook accordingly.

Get married 3 times (not to the same person).

Have 1 child per marriage.

Don’t get close to your children until they are Young Adults.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Cooking, Writing and Gourmet Cooking skills.

[Packs used: Spa Day, City Living]

[personasintro]

hey!! can you make a mini imagination of where y/n and jk are sort of arguing like kids and she kisses jungkook’s cheek from mh?

i think it would be really cute to see his reaction :)

Unedited.

— this is not officially a part of the story, think of it as a scenario of how it would look like if this kind of argument happened :]

“Y/N?”

Jungkook’s voice booms throughout his apartment causing you to sit up from your relaxed position on his couch.

Usually, when Jungkook calls out to you his voice is… calm and sweet. This time though, it sounds loud and almost panicked which makes you alarmed.

“Yeah?” you yell back, already standing up to see what’s that about.

“Can you come here for a sec, please?”

“Already on my way.” you tell him louder, reaching the bathroom with the door left ajar.

There he is.

Jungkook stands there next to the washing machine, the door from it opened with a half of clean clothes in his big turquoise IKEA basket. Some of it stays in the washing machine which makes you question if you screwed up one of his expensive shirts. Not that you know of. You’re a pro when it comes to washing and doing laundry.

“What softener did you use?”

You frown, confused and puzzled by the question that sounds way too serious. “That one.”

Jungkook follows where your finger is pointing at and his mouth open when he sees the fabric softener you bought yesterday.

“What’s that face for?”

“What face?” he questions, frowning.

“You look like I committed a crime. So… what’s up?”

Jungkook looks almost offended for some reason and you hold back your laughter.

“I told you to use the softener I have right here.” he says and shows the one he’s been using for ages.

The truth is, the combination of products he uses is divine. It not only reminds you of him and your clothes smell like his (minus his cologne and fragrance), the scent itself is very nice. Although, after some time you can’t smell it just as much and you thought buying an extra softener for a change would be nice.

It’s the one you’ve used for your own laundry back at home. Now that you’re staying at Jungkook’s place for the time being, you wanted to help. Even though he never wanted you to buy anything in the first place. But when have you ever obeyed everything he asked for? Besides, it’s not that big of a deal at all.

Jungkook’s face tells a different story though.

“Umm…” you prolong, not sure what to say. “Mine smells nice too.”

“It does but I’m used to this one.” he argues, holding up the bottle of his softener which causes you to snicker.

He frowns.

“Are you laughing?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You’re mean.” he comments.

You gasp, laughing now. “I am mean? You’re the one who’s frowning and pouting because of a freaking fabric softener. Why does it matter?”

“Because it does!” he exclaims, bottom lip sticking out. Jeon Jungkook is freaking pouting and you don’t know whether to laugh, take this seriously or coo at him. “I told you. I’m using this one all the time, I’m using to it.”

“Do you have some kind of allergy or something?”

He sighs, “Just a preference.”

“I was the one doing the laundry this time, so I used that one purely for a change. Didn’t know you would make a fuss about it.”

He looks taken aback. “I’m not making a fuss!”

You raise your brow at him, pointing at his defensive posture as he quickly stands up and tries to act casual. That alone makes you giggle under your breath but he does not look amused.

“Great. Now you’re fucking with me.”

“Jungkook, I am not.” you laugh some more, clearing your throat when he looks more frustrated than seconds ago. “I’ll use the white one from now on, alright?”

He sighs, looking away for a second as he shrugs. “Great, now I feel like a dick.”

“Kook, no!” you assure him, smiling.

“But in my defense, you might’ve had a laundry duty but I told you specifically what to use.”

“I’m not a dumb bitch, Jungkook.” you frown at his informative tone.

“I didn’t say you’re a dumb bitch!”

“You make it look like it though!”

Jungkook leans against the washing machine, muscles bulging out as he takes a few deep breaths. “Forget whatever I said.”

You stand there, watching him with head hanging low before he looks up. He doesn’t look at you straight away but his eyes dance across the wall in front of him before he finally breaks and looks at you. Eyes huge and doe like an innocent boy (you know he’s nothing like that), you know he feels like a dick.

Chuckling under your breath, you tug onto his sleeve which makes him straighten up his posture. With an amused smile and spark in your eyes, you kiss his cheek.

It’s quick when you pull away, finding his confused gaze. “Did you just kiss me?”

“I kissed your cheek.” you inform him.

“My cheek is a part of me.”

You roll your eyes. “You were cute.”

His eyes widen, “I am not cute.” he argues.

Laughing, you pat his arm. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He scoffs, loudly and trying to appear bigger by flexing his muscles.

“Are you gonna finish the laundry or should I?”

His frown is gone, expression turning more serious. “I’ll do it.”

[feybarn]

I'm not going in any specific order, just in the order in which these prompts nudge at me. This one is from @bolithesenate. Not entirely sure this is what you were imagining... the crime got replaced by Dooku being... Dooku-y and judgmental. It also got a little longer than planned... But I kind of want to play with Komari and Obi-Wan some more... so maybe???

*tosses Komari & Obi or Rael & Obi as Master-Padawan pairs here and runs away real quick*. I just like imagining the total chaos these would bring. Especially the Komari & Obi,,,, what crimes would they commit.

Yan stared down at the tiny thing—an initiate in pristine white tunics, staring up at him with wide, guileless eyes—in front of him. “What is this, Komari?” he asked, edging away.

“My new padawan,” his apprentice informed him, tone nearly belligerent.

Yan sent her his most censuring look, but Komari didn’t quail or retreat. Instead her jaw jutted out in sheer obstinance. It was… unusual. Komari had always been nearly desperate to keep him happy with her, but in this moment, such thoughts seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind.

“You are a padawan,” he informed her. “And still several years away from your knighting.” He glanced back at the—oh Force—child, who was still watching him silently, those wide eyes making Yan entirely uncomfortable.

“Well, he will be my padawan,” Komari informed him, not even the slightest bit deterred. “His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I found him and a padawan crawling through the air ducts trying to get into the kitchens.” She sounded disgustingly proud. “I’m going to teach him how to do it better.”

Yan wanted to know what, exactly, Komari had been doing investigating the air ducts, but decided that was a lesser concern at the moment. “And where is this other initiate?”

“Quinlan’s a padawan, Master Dooku,” the initiate corrected him. “Master Tholme took him on as soon as he turned ten.”

Tholme. Tholme was from Qui-Gon’s creche clan, he remembered. A Shadow. Yan had heard that he’d taken on some sort of rapscallion apprentice, but he hadn’t had a reason to be introduced. “And how old are you?” Yan asked the initiate.

The initiate shifted on his feet a little. No sense of confidence, Yan diagnosed. They’d have to do something about that. 

Force, no, there would be no doing something about anything. Because this was not Komari’s future padawan. 

“Eight,” the initiate told him.

Five years until the child was thirteen. It was possible that Komari would be knighted by then. But highly unlikely.

Yan narrowed his eyes at the child, who didn’t look away. Perhaps he didn’t lack confidence entirely; Yan was aware that many of the younger generations considered him… intimidating. An impression he had done nothing to try to alleviate.

“Well, Initiate Kenobi, I’m afraid that Komari is mistaken. She will be returning you to the Initiate Quarters immediately.” He turned his gaze on Komari, making certain that it was perfectly clear that he would not take her insubordination on this matter.

Komari glared at him, but wrapped an arm around the Initiate’s shoulders. “Come on, Obi-Wan. I’ll take you back to the Initiate Quarters. For now.”

Yan shook his head as she left with the initiate in tow.

Her future padawan indeed. Yan thought not.

5 years later

“Where is Knight Vosa?” Yan asked, searching through the ranks of Jedi. Galidraan’s air was cold against his skin where his robes did not protect him. They were preparing to approach the Mandalorian encampment with orders to surrender, but he could not find his former apprentice.

Knight Thriff winced. “Uh, the padawan said something about a bad feeling?” Thriff said. “Knight Vosa decided they needed to investigate. They left before dawn. No one knows where they went.”

Yan had not expected for Komari to be knighted so soon, but finding Initiate Kenobi five years ago had lit a fire inside of her that he hadn’t been able to temper. She’d been determined to be knighted in time to take Initiate Kenobi on.

She had dedicated herself so entirely to her training that Yan had run out of reasons to keep from Knighting her three months before the boy’s thirteenth birthday. She had arrived at the Council Chamber the day after her knighting with Kenobi in tow and the first bead already picked out for his braid.

The council had agreed unanimously to allow the partnership, despite Yan’s own concerns on the matter. Mace had actually gone so far as to tell him that the shatterpoint between the two of them was bright and beautiful and that Mace expected great things from them.

He had not wanted her to bring her new padawan with them to potentially fight Mandalorians. But Komari had been adamant that she wasn’t leaving him behind at the temple.

His comlink chimed.

He pulled it from his utility belt. “Master Dooku,” he answered curtly. 

“Master.” That was Komari’s voice. “There’s a second encampment of Mandalorians in the southern quarter to blame for the death of the civilians in this quarter,” she informed him. “Death Watch.”

“How do you know this?” he asked, surprised. “We had no intel—“

“Well, Obi-Wan and I found the intel,” Komari said. “I’ve left Obi-Wan with the True Mandalorians—“

Horror filled him. “You what?”

“—Fett and I are investigating this second encampment. I’ve negotiated a temporary truce between our group and his.”

”You—“

“See you soon, Master.” The comm call cut out.

Yan felt the wind curl around him as it blew. He was not sure whether it was that or the sense that Komari was falling further and further from his reach that sent the chill down his back.

“Your Master is going to be okay,” Mand’alor Fett comforted a shaking Padawan Kenobi where the boy hovered over Komari’s sleeping form. Yan stood a few steps away, staring down at his unconscious former padawan, bacta patches over her side where a slug thrower had ripped into her.

Yan knew that it was likely his responsibility to comfort his grandpadawan, but he had never been good at comforting. Nor could he bring himself to do so when it was, in many ways, young Padawan Kenobi’s fault that Komari had been hurt.

If she had just listened to Yan and left the boy at the temple… But no, the boy had run into the battle against Death Watch despite orders to stay out of it.

“She’s a fighter,” Fett continued.

“It’s my fault. I should have stayed out, like she told me, too,” Kenobi whispered.

“You should have,” Fett agreed, not bothering to soften that blow. “Kyr’tsad isn’t the place for an ad, but you saved Myles’ and Alena’s lives. We won’t forget that.” Fett rested a hand on Kenobi’s shoulder. “You were trying to protect people, your Master is going to be proud of you for that.” He stood from his kneeling position. “Come on, I told Vosa that I’d keep you safe until you were off planet. Let’s see what we can do about teaching you to use a blaster in the time we have left.”

Yan watched as Fett led a reluctant Padawan Kenobi away. Yan looked down at his former apprentice. He remembered when she had been entirely devoted to him. But that hadn’t been the case in nearly five years. Now her devotion lay elsewhere. Yan had never thought he’d yearn for those days. But at least then, she’d have listened to his words of caution.

Still, perhaps she would listen now, when he cautioned her about her padawan.

If the two of them were not careful, they would stain the legacy of their lineage.

10 years later

“You trained her well,” his Master said, voice low and cruel. “Perhaps, too well.”

“She is a credit to my lineage,” Yan said, keeping his voice even. He hadn’t been pleased when Komari had been chosen to go to Naboo to spring the trap that his master had set. It could be no coincidence that it was one of his own apprentices sent. He knew that his Master was attempting to ensure that his ties to the Jedi be more… permanently cut.

A sickening part of him had just been grateful that it hadn’t been Qui-Gon that had been sent. Qui-Gon who, when he was honest with himself, he could acknowledge as loving most. But then, if Qui-Gon had been sent, then perhaps his Master would not be quite so displeased with him. Qui-Gon had always been something of a maverick, but a maverick who could be depended on to follow certain expectations.

Qui-Gon would have removed the Queen from the planet, would have gotten her to Coruscant to plead her case.

Komari and her padawan had never been quite so predictable. Galidraan had been the start, but not the end, of disobeyed orders and unsavory partnerships. Yan had fought constantly with the horror that could not quite stop the pride he felt when Komari and Obi-Wan became known as the team to send before the boy had even turned seventeen.

Perhaps Yan should have known that Komari and Obi-Wan would have ruined his Master’s plans now. But, neither he nor his Master had expected for Komari and Obi-Wan to join forces with the Queen, her handmaidens, and a force of Mandalorians to take the planet back.

Yan wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten word out to the Mandalorians that they required aid. But then, his former apprentice and her apprentice had always been remarkably capable and entirely unorthodox.

He had tried to caution Komari against maintaining the friendship she had built with Jango Fett ten years ago on Galidraan, but she had retained it regardless. Had done worse and encouraged an impressionable young Obi-Wan’s own friendships with the two Mandalorians he had saved on that Galidraan battlefield.

The fruits of that relationship had borne out now. Naboo relieved from their blockade before his Master could use the circumstance to gain the power he desired and his Master’s more brutish apprentice—Darth Maul—captured and contained.

“A credit to your lineage,” his Master repeated, disgust cool beneath the words. “There will be consequences to this setback, Tyrannous.”

“I understand,” Yan said evenly. He steeled his heart. He knew what this would require

He had lost Komari fifteen years ago, when she had arrived in his quarters with an eight year old initiate with wide, guileless eyes. It had been a gradual loss. That his new Master sought to make it permanent… Yan had made his choice.

But perhaps…

Yan did not allow his new Master to see the small kernel of hope that burned in his chest that maybe his former apprentice would subvert his expectations in this, just as she had in everything else since that day fifteen years ago.

[longing-for-rain]

Out of curiosity, what makes you feel drawn to Zutara as a lesbian. Is it still relatable to you?

It does feel relatable to me. Obviously it’s a heterosexual relationship, but given the lack of good and complete representation of lesbian relationships in the media, I still gravitate towards certain aspects of romances like this.

There are many reasons why, but before I get into it, I want to preface this by saying that the point of this is not to say that Zutara is “lesbian coded” or anything like that so please don’t construe it that way. It’s a heterosexual relationship, period. All I’m saying here is what I, personally, enjoy about it as a lesbian.

The biggest reason I like it is because it represents female desire to me. I know the BoyMom and Pick-Me brigade hates that I’ve described Zutara that way in the past—but it’s true and I stand by it. That is the reason why Zutara became so popular and why its fanon narrative is almost entirely driven by female fans. It directly reflects their desire in a romance and what Katara’s canon one was lacking.

I honestly didn’t have strong feelings about Zutara until I saw the backlash it received. The narrative and the fans both treat Katara as if getting with anyone besides Aang makes her selfish, or that she’s neglecting some kind of duty by doing so. Katara’s voice and desire is fundamentally unimportant to the writers, because they always focused on Aang’s feelings over hers, and even though fans try to pretend otherwise, the dominant narrative surrounding this relationship has always been about Aang. How he needs airbending children, how his heart would be broken if she left, how he needs her to rebuild, etc.

And from Katara’s side, even though she never shows that she shares Aang’s level of interest, fans insist on reading in signs that aren’t really there. They also focus on logical reasons why they’d work. Aang is nice, he’s fun, he’s a prodigy like Katara, both have suffered in the war, etc. At first glance, it seems like a good match…but we never actually see the writing demonstrate how they actually connect over any of these things.

Good in theory, but bland and passionless in reality.

That narrative resonated with me in a bad way, because it’s exactly how I’ve felt as a lesbian. It reflects the pressures I’ve felt to put aside my desire for love to date a man instead. I’ve been told to my face that it’s selfish for me to “choose” another woman—a person I actually desire—over a man.

“What about children?”

“This is going to make your life so much more difficult!”

“Think of your family!”

“Jakey is such a nice guy, can’t you just give him a chance?”

“You have so many interests in common with Jakey and he has a good job! Why won’t you go out with him? It makes so much sense!”

“You’re so shallow, being fixated on looks. What if your perfect match comes along, but he’s male? Would you really say no?”

“You only want that because you’re a pervert. You need to stop being so obsessed with sex and think about the person instead.”

It’s eerily familiar, that’s all I’m saying. A lot of these ideas are used to attack Zutara and its fans nearly verbatim.

Katara isn’t a lesbian, but like a lesbian, Katara in the context of Zutara commits the crime of marrying for love and desire over duty. Some people see that as an evil act of selfishness, but to me, it’s just love.

We can’t control who we love, and I like to see the narrative of a female character breaking free from the social expectations placed on her to pursue it. No; Zuko isn’t the “safe” option, their relationship would be heavily criticized, and it could even endanger them. But that relationship is one they both feel passion for, and together, they would draw power from one another and use it for good. Their love and connection is powerful, and they would have fought hard for it. Because love is worth fighting for.

That’s deeply admirable to me, and an empowering narrative when I think about how I’m inevitably going to have to fight hard for any love of mine. But it’s worth it to me—it’s always worth it.

[nekropsii]

Ok, don't get me wrong, i think your opinions/analysis have arguments, so you have reasons.

But i can't stop thinking, when you talk about fandom not interpreting things correctly, mostly dancestors, it feels like:

Fanon: i love the dancestors! They are all so nice!

You: aCTUALLY, they are all ASSHOLES, except mituna, latula, and porrim. The rest is crap and here is a long and detailed list with why:

And a the end of the list :but this is what makes them great as characters, because they have a narrative function to it!

Yep. And I stand by that. Firmly. What’s the problem here?

The Alpha Trolls - not the Dancestors, that’s literally every character in Homestuck - are largely not good people. Calling them nice is blatantly false and outright disregards almost every single scrap of text we are given. Mituna’s a good dude in a bad situation full of people he doesn’t really like, as is Damara. Latula’s literally never done anything wrong. Porrim’s just a regular person. Aranea’s pretty nice, and her actions during Game Over were a result of eternities of torment and desperation to be seen + heard, and is therefore not fully representative of her. Meenah’s cute, but a major fuckup that has committed some absolutely egregious crimes. That’s it, really.

The Alpha Trolls are Good Characters and (mostly) Bad People.

Are you maybe experiencing some kind of difficulty in understanding that there’s a difference between a character and a person? Because a fuck ton of people in fandom definitely do have that problem, for some reason.

A character is a plot device. It is a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. A person is a person. The difference between a bad person and a bad character is that a bad character isn’t fulfilling the role and function they are supposed to perform, and a bad person is just a shitty guy I do not want to be around. Conflating the two leads to bad analysis, and is also a primary contributor to apologetics, and all those god awful fanonizations that sand down every edge the character has until they’re pleasant people and totally unrecognizable. People think they have to like a character as a human being in order to like them as a character. Which is completely untrue, and is totally naïve to the fact that villains are popular for a reason.

A character can be a bad person and a good character - they fill their role and serve their purpose very well, but would absolutely suck to be around. Meenah, Vriska, Cronus, and Caliborn all fit under that label. This isn’t always a villain role, but it does tend to get taken up by villains. And anti-heroes, of course. Vriska is there, after all

A character can be a good person but a bad character - they’d be pleasant to talk to in real life, but they suck at fulfilling their narrative purpose. Just about every fanon version of a character is this. It’s more of a fanfiction thing than an actual real literature thing.

I am the biggest fan + defender of the Alpha Trolls you can find. The Alpha Trolls largely are not good people, but they serve their function very well. This is not a controversial statement because it is entirely true. Fanon is dogshit and totally wrong, 100% of the time. This is a hill I’m willing to die on because I’m literally just correct. There is not a scrap of text on this planet that you could procure to say Cronus Ampora is a good person - anything you could scrounge up is just baseless fanfiction and total garbage.

I do not see the confusion, nor do I understand the point you’re trying to make. These are facts that can and do coexist, quite regularly. Even within Homestuck. Again, Vriska exists. What now?

[suiseisyojo]

anything but you.

「riddle rosehearts x gn!reader」 ↳ riddle, overexcited to please you at a tea party, suddenly falls sick⋯ just what plagues him in his nightmares? cw: a little angst, non-sexual undressing a/n: for @zhengbobatw ! she donated to my ko-fi !!

“—[Name], I-I’m fine,” Riddle’s strained voice dismissed your solicitousness upon scrutinizing how he faltered in his seat with flushed cheeks. Nestled at the table for teatime in the gardens, things were proceeding smoothly; except for the muted ache in Riddle’s chest he had felt since dawn was exacerbating rapidly.

Febrile symptoms accelerated far faster than anticipated, and the dignified fingers twined around the teacup quivered in a manner unbefitting of Heartslabyul’s dorm leader. “Damn, I⋯ pushed myself too hard,” were the last words Riddle managed to rasp out before his lashes fluttered.

Springing up from your chair with enough momentum to knock it backwards, the clamor coordinating with glass shattering and tea splashing, you and Trey rushed with breakneck speed to support Riddle’s collapsing body.

Riddle’s parted lips emitted short, frantic heaves of air as his forehead leaned against Trey’s robust chest. “He’s burning up⋯” you noted as you caressed your fingers along the curve of his jawline; the heat radiating overwhelmingly.

“I’ll take him to his dorm room,” Trey altruistically proposed in tandem with an arm roping around his childhood friend’s shivering body, effortlessly picking him up off his throne-like chair, before he addressed the other residents with a kind gaze, “The rest of you, you’re excused. Clean up first, of course.”

“I’m coming, too,” you spoke up, your own voice thrumming with concern, “⋯ I’m the one who asked for the tea party today, and I’m sure Riddle-kun wanted to honor that commitment no matter what.”

Pursing his lips together, Trey nodded—it was accurate to say that Riddle would’ve ensured everything went immaculately precisely because it was you who had asked it of him. “Alright, come on, [Name],” he beckoned, “but don’t blame yourself. Riddle would hate that.”

——With Riddle still debilitated in his arms, Trey and you unlocked his dorm room and ambled over to his lavish bed; delicately laying him down on the plush sheets, and allowing his head to rest on the pillows.

“[Name], will you stay here with him while I go grab some things?” Trey asked as he glimpsed down at Riddle, perceiving how restless he was even laying in his own bed, “You can start by taking off his boots and some layers of clothing. The less heat he generates, the better.”

Giving Trey a nod of affirmation, you hurriedly got to work on unzipping Riddle’s boots as the resonation of the door shutting was distant against your concentration. Your fingers moved along his body with a soft, attentive momentum—unfettering his cape and trying your best to remove it beneath him without moving him too much in the process, all to aid in ameliorating his condition.

Just as your hands began to peel his coat off his shoulders, Riddle’s eyes flickered open and he espied your silhouette through the hazy gloss enshrouding his silver irises. “[Name]⋯? Where am I?” he questioned with a subdued perplexity.

“Your room. You collapsed,” you elucidated as you continued your ministrations in spite of the newfound warmth intersecting with your desire to remain calm. Undressing Riddle while he left his eyes riveted onto your frame felt intimate, as if you were committing a crime worthy of heaving your head chopped. “I’m just��� changing your clothes, okay? You’re sweating a lot.”

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if Riddle even registered what you had said with how glazed over his consciousness appeared to be; the mist of his fevered state obfuscating his basic comprehending skills.

“Wh-What about the tea party?” Riddle felt your fingers gliding along his arm as you withdrew his coat from him, the feeling making him tremble—both his burning body’s response to the action as well as how comforting it was to have you touch him.

Shaking your head to mitigate his anxieties, you reassured him, tone mollifying, “Please don’t worry about that. Your health is more important to me.”

Riddle felt his chest constrict at the sincerity of your words, heart beating so deeply it felt nonexistent. He watched wearily as you leaned over him once more, your lithe fingers commencing to unbutton his shirt. “Mhm, okay⋯”

For once, Riddle was pliable and vulnerable in front of you—resigning himself to a helpless role, giving himself permission to relinquish the control he so desperately carved into his entity in order to let you take care of him.

Stripping Riddle of his shirt, you abruptly retracted away from him and peered around his room. The action alone elicited discomfiture from the depths of him, and he felt an inordinate, groundless burst of panic skate over his insides.

In congruence with you gyrating on your heel, vivid and harrowing images coruscated across Riddle’s vision—tendrils of pitch-black blot enveloping the room around him, swallowing you whole.

“D-Don’t leave—!!” With a swell of potency born from desperation, Riddle lunged forward and seized your hand; obstructing you from leaving with a taut clasp. “Don’t leave me. Anything but you.”

It was painful, how tightly Riddle’s fingers encircled your hand and pulled you towards him. “I-I’ll be less strict, I’ll never cut your head off again—just stay with me,” Riddle continued to babble and plead, bleary eyes shimmering in pure, unparalleled torment.

You could feel dewy teardrops converge in your eyes at the state of agony Riddle was in, even if his emotions were heightened and disorganized from the fever, and you bent down next to his bed. “I-I’m here, Riddle-kun. I was just grabbing you new clothes⋯” you soothed him, entwining your fingers with his and giving his hand an affectionate squeeze to further placate him.

“I’d never leave you,” you added once more, your own heart throbbing with a yearning only given to you from him, “I swear on the Queen of Hearts’ laws, okay?”

Renouncing himself to the solace of your vow, Riddle fell back against the pillows. “You absolutely, positively can’t take that back⋯ [Name], I never want you to leave my side. It’s the one rule⋯ I can’t⋯ have you⋯ breaking⋯⋯”

Watching as Riddle’s eyes grappled with staying awake, you sighed as he succumbed to unconsciousness once more; your entire being left in grief at the thought of Riddle’s despair.

But you knew you meant every word you said to him, so he didn’t have to worry so much. And even in slumber, Riddle scorned the idea of releasing your hand, and he continued to hold onto you until Trey returned⋯

[thechibifoxcub]

I can’t take it-

He couldn’t take it anymore. The pain. The anguish. His blood ran like molten lava beneath his skin; feeling every vein traversing beneath muscle tissue and winding sinew.

His breath felt weak yet heavy at the same time. Something that shouldn’t coexist by any means, but still does despite its unrealistic design. The analogy doesn’t make sense- it shouldn’t make sense! But how can he describe the sensation that plagues him?

It must be pain… right? How else can he describe the adrenaline rushing in his body each time his eyes landed on you? He must be ill if the sudden rush of heat dusts his neck and ears each time you smiled in his direction. His mind must be loosing its grasp of reality with every syllable that dances past your lips or when the sound of your unapologetic laughter sings a sweet tune in his corrupted ears.

He must have been in pain; surely he must have been injured or poisoned or tortured in some past life from eons-past. Surely he is dwelling in some sick, twisted form of hell. His own personal prison cell. How else can he explain this newfound revelation of emotions each time his mind drifted back to you.

You.

You, who has brought some semblance of humanity back into him.

You, who has brought forth his demons and have withstood each one with a smile one your face. Like you were happy to have seen his flaws. His imperfections. His sins. To have been overjoyed to have witnessed each deplorable side of him as if it was a gift. Fought against them and (surprisingly) won when he, himself, has failed to beat them on a good day.

You, who has never left him. Never doubted him despite the lies that flow past chattering teeth. He hates himself for every word that brings you pain or that pitiful frown on your pretty lips.

He’s in agony. Because he knows that if he were to sit down and actually think about this for one second longer he’d realize that what he’s feeling isn’t anguish, but something opposite. Something softer. Sweeter. Delectable even.

He can’t take this anymore. Not after watching the crystal-like tears that now streamed past your redden cheeks after he snapped at you for something that you didn’t even do. He can’t take it anymore. He just can’t. The magma that flows through his veins hardens like coal with each drop of a salty sorrow-filled tear that drops past clenched fists and furrowed brows. The breathe that once conflicted against all reason began to cease as your once brilliant smile turned sour with anger and hurt.

He can’t take it anymore; the pain he means, as you turn your back to him for the first time since you waltzed into his once dark and lonely existence. He was in pain as he reached out in a pitiful display of remorse and fear as you stormed away into the distance.

“Misery loves company after all~” he once told himself. How he wish he could turn back time just once- to take back what he had said. To stop himself from saying things that you didn’t deserve. You had only wanted to help him. You were a kind soul, practically a Saint! And here he was, convicting you of a “crime” that you had not committed. His one sanctuary. His oasis. His SALVATION.

He can’t take it anymore. And he will do whatever it took to make it up to you.

[This is the first time I’m posting anything here so I’m sorry for any mistakes! Doing this on 3-4 hours of sleep so I apologize for any errors you might see lol. This is could be seen as an “open ending” sort of thing so take it how you see fit. Also, this can go to any person/character that you fancy, but I mainly thought of Genshin Impact/Honkai Star Rail characters and Leon Kennedy from The RE series.]

[polyamorouspunk]

The first time I ever heard the phrase “pick your battles” was when I was about 12 years old in eight grade. The grade above us was filled with kids who drank and smoked and did drugs and the grade below us was filled with kids having sex in public bathrooms and somehow we were stuck in the middle, reaping the restrictions put on us for crimes we didn’t commit. One of these being that we were not allowed any personal bags in our wing.

Now, if you’re like me, you carry a *lot* of shit. I mean, there’s textbooks, reading books, food, water, phone, pens and pencils, an eraser that actually works, FeMiNiNe hYgIeNe pRoDuCtS, and idk? Random other shit? Too much to reasonably carry from class to class in your arms and pockets.

So my friends and I wore bags. Purses, if you will, though I hated that term because it was a bit too girly for me, and my “purses” came from the military surplus store. In fact, I still have the last one I got from there. Regardless, my point being that we wore personal bags to carry our shit in.

Except that wasn’t allowed because kids *before* us would sneak their alcohol and shit with them in bags.

Now, nowhere in the handbook did it say we weren’t allowed to have bags- trust me, we checked. Our parents helped us take up the cause- us being me and my 2 friends. But our teachers collectively decided we were not allowed to have them in our wing, they had to stay in our lockers. And so we asked: how them are we to transport them outside of our wing if our lockers are in said wing. If we can’t have them in the hallway how can we have them outside the hallway if we have to store them in the lockers in this hallway.

One day my teacher who had a soft spot for us pulled me aside. He told me he knew that I was on a campaign against this, but that sometimes we need to pick our battles. I had never heard of this phrase, so I sat on it for about .5 seconds before saying “then I’m going to pick this battle and continue fighting it.”

I understand now what he means though. We can’t change everything that we want to. There are so many causes out there, so many things that we should be aware of. But we’ll burn ourselves out trying to take them all on ourselves. It’s been said before to pick a few causes you really feel passionate about and focus on those because you can do more for change when you aren’t stretched out thin.

Beyond that, though, I think we need to pick and choose our battles because realistically there are not just things we can win, and at the end of the day some things *are* more important than others.

We live in a surveillance state. That’s clear in a lot of countries, including the US, but that’s clear on a global level. While this sucks, at least here in the US, it really seems like not enough people care to fight it. Hell, people are actively bringing surveillance devices into their homes in the name of convenience. Realistically, overturning our surveillance state doesn’t seem likely. While it’s a battle that’s noble to fight, it’s probably in vain.

But think about when Roe v Wade was overturned. How much outrage it caused. How much outrage it’s still causing. Enough people are fighting that there is hope to rectify it, I think. And when it comes down to it, if you have to pick a battle to “not be surveilled” or to “legalize life-saving medical treatment (again)” one of those seems a lot more pressing and important than the other.

It’s okay to personally put causes on the back burner. It’s okay to not reblog every single “awareness” or “woke” post you see. You’re not obligated to fight every fight. Even just reblogged activism post after activism post can be draining. It’s okay to take a step back, take a break. Don’t forget about these struggles. Keep them in the back of your mind. Maybe go back and reblog them later. But don’t burn yourself out fighting too many battles, especially if they’re losing one. Focus on a few, solid, tangible changes you can make: being kind to strangers; donating goods, services, and money; volunteering; teaching children; etc. and if you have the energy go above and beyond that. You can make a difference just by being kind. You don’t have to fix every single problem. But together we can fix a few at a time.

[heavenlyvixen]

Percy

I want to address the allegations and scandal that has engulfed Percy Hynes White. As a survivor of SA, I take all allegations seriously and give all accusers the benefit of the doubt. When I was first made aware of these allegations my heart dropped into my stomach, and I felt the first stirrings of panic rise. My own experiences make me specially sensitive when these things occur. You could say I’m triggered. I logged off for my own mental and emotional well being. Once I calmed down, I logged back on and went to read the allegations. I didn’t want to believe that Percy was capable of such a thing, but as someone who believes victims first, I was open to the possibility that this kid I thought was charming, funny and sweet was an illusion and the reality was that a monster lurked beneath the surface. However, as I began to read through the tweets and “evidence” against this man, something didn’t add up.

That’s when the anger kicked in. Do you know how insulting it is, as a survivor of rape, when girls make false allegations? Do you know the damage that it does to legitimate victims? The likely hood that they will receive justice falls even lower than it already was. It is a further violation committed against us. And there is no justification.

So over the last few days we have learned that Percy himself committed no crimes - he did not SA anyone. We’ve learned that at worst, while a teen, he was cavalier with a girl’s feelings. Not kind, but if we are to believe this is true, he also apologised when older and wiser. We have learned that when he learnt that a friend of his was capable of such horror, he ended the friendship and he was kind and compassionate to the victim.

When all that came to light, his accusers tried another avenue to smear him - they called him a racist. Their evidence? A video of a very young Percy quoting a tv show. The line happened to contain a slur. Stupid, but I think forgivable considering his age at the time. But that’s not all, according to the girls, they also offered instagram likes as proof. Problem is, the post they referenced, was not what they claimed. And don’t even get me started on his supposed twitter likes. He doesn’t even have a twitter account.

Then they tried another route - kink shaming. Again, they posted unverifiable “proof” that he liked some kinky stuff. Ok, that’s not a crime first of all. And second, fantasies and exploration of your sexuality is normal. There is nothing wrong with that except the fact that these girls violated Percy’s privacy by telling everyone.

Were they done? No. Not even. They released naked and risqué pictures of Percy that they claim he sent to them as proof of bad acts. We have a few problems with that. 1) they offer no proof that he sent them to them, just the pictures themselves, which begs the question “how did they really get them?”. 2) revenge porn is a crime, but sending the pics to them in and of itself is not. Especially if they had a sexual relationship with him at the time. 3) this is the really disgusting part. Percy appears to have been 13 years old when some of those pictures were taken. That classifies as child p*rnography and most certainly is a crime. A vile, horrific crime.

Throughout all of this, all anyone has proven is that one girl was possibly assaulted by someone that Percy knew. He reacted with shock but kindness when he found out. As to be expected. But most of all, we learned that Percy is the victim here. And we learned that there are many among us that are more vile than I ever feared.

He’s a victim of vindictive little girls who held on to images they never should have had to justify false allegations in an attempt to ruin his life because he didn’t reciprocate their affections.

This is fucking sick. It makes me sick, it pisses me off and makes my heart break for every true victim of SA, for Percy, and for his real friends and loved ones.

I hope that the people responsible face the consequences of their actions. And I finish with one final point. There is no justification in this world for spreading child p*rnography. None. There is no justification for falsely accusing an innocent person of vile crimes. None. Those involved should be ashamed of themselves.

I hope and pray that Percy is being taken care of, that he’s ok and that he is able to return to some semblance of normalcy when it all dies down and the air clears. The reality is he’ll be irrevocably changed by this. I just hope it doesn’t change him too much. I hope he emerges from this still kind, goofy and adorably weird. Take care, Percy and know that we are on your side.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the prologue

pairing: leon x reader's mom*

cw: noncon, p in v, leon roofies a woman, degradation, woman pisses herself but not in a sexual context (is v drunk), heavily implied that leon has a history of doing this kind of thing

summary: short lil thing inspired by @thevirgincherry 's fic nymphomania wherein leon (reader's dad) is implied to have met reader's mom when he noncon'd her... basically, this is the story of reader's mom and leon in theory

a/n: ik i don't usually write (or at least don't post) dark content, but i was feeling inspired

wc: 1k

Leon’s 27, going on 28, he’s way too old to keep doing this, and yet, the pill in his pocket is nagging him. He’s trying not to stare at the brunette beauty down at the other edge of the bar. Just one more time, he tells himself. She’ll be the last. He moves past her on the way to the restroom and tries to gauge her reaction when he places his hand on her lower back to squeeze through the crowd. “‘Scuse me, sweetheart,” he says, “just gonna squeeze past ya.”

He swears he can feel her eyes on him when he walks away. He prepares himself in the bathroom mirror. Since he’s a good man, he has to rationalize the crime before he commits it. She’s a prime target. One might even say she’s asking for it by looking away from her drink, leaving it open for anyone to do whatever they please with it. Leon considers himself a bit of a feminist these days, so he wouldn’t say she’s asking for it. She is a little naive, though, and in this world, you can’t let your guard down for a second. Leon’s teaching her a lesson, he’s doing her a good deed by spiking her drink. He’ll be gentler than most rapists would be, he’ll even try to make her cum if he can. He’s a real gentleman. Claire always talks about how “men never pay attention to what women want in the bedroom, and how women never cum, blah blah blah”, so he’s doing his part here. When she gets up to go to the ladies room, she almost falls over, but Leon’s there to catch her.

“Whoa,” he says, stabilizing her, “don’t want you to fall over. It’d be a shame to get a bruise on that pretty face.”

She looks at him like he’s an angel, and on some level he detests her for it, but goddamn she’s making this so much easier.

“You think I’m pretty?” She slurs out, starry-eyed.

“The prettiest,” he says.

“Uh-oh…” she says, and he’s about to ask her what’s wrong, but he follows her gaze and she’s the wet patch from her crotch down her legs.

Dammit. She really is a ditzy girl. PIssed herself with little enough shame that Leon wonders if this is the first time this has happened to her. On the one hand, Leon’s not happy about the damage this will do to the nice leather seats in his car, but on the other hand, it’s extra lube. Sure, piss isn’t ideal, but neither is blood, and he usually walks away from these encounters with a thin layer of that coating his dick. 

“‘S okay, honey,” he says, “let’s get you out of here and get you a change of clothes.”

“Yeah, need new clothes…”

“You do, yeah, so how ‘bout you come with me and I’ll get you cleaned up, how’s that sound?”

“Really?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t wanna leave a sweet thing like you all alone out here. Put your arm around my shoulder and I’ll help you walk to the car.”

Leon had one beer that night, and it was really just to blend in. He can drive. He’s not really into the whole “raping in the alley behind the bar” thing. He prefers something more sophisticated.

He gets her home and she’s more than ready to get undressed in front of him.

“Lemme help you get these off,” he says, stripping her of her pants. He makes sure to cop a feel while he’s at it. She seems a bit confused when he takes her shirt off too, but she seems to find it somewhat amusing. Her laugh annoys him. If her panties weren’t covered in piss, he’d put them in her mouth. He’s a good guy, so he won’t shove them in her mouth tonight. She’s tiny, anyway, so he can hold her hips with one hand and clamp a hand over her mouth at the same time while he fucks her from behind.

He’s too lazy to get undressed so he unbuckles his belt and gets his pants down just enough to get his cock out. She mumbles a bunch of shit he doesn’t care to decipher before he thrusts inside all at once. 

She moans. Leon feels less guilty since she likes it, but it’s also a bit of a turn off. It really defeats the purpose if she’s into it. 

“Fucking slut,” he says, “can’t believe you like this.”

He slaps her hard on the ass and she moans again. It almost makes him laugh. It’s like she’s made for him. He’d be a lot happier if the girl were a virgin, but he doubts she is. Virgins tend to protest a little more. 

“You like me raping you, huh?”

She tries to say something and Leon thinks it sounds like a “yes” which makes his conscience feel better, but a “no” probably would’ve made his dick harder. 

Her moans start to piss him off, so he clamps her mouth shut, and to his surprise, she clenches around him.

He pulls her hair, bringing her head close enough that he can warn her - no it’s more of a threat, “I’m gonna cum soon.”

He thinks about Claire - some parts of her, like her nagging tone, annoy him, but others, like her perky tits, make her likable enough for him to jerk off to her occasionally - the last time he saw Claire, she told him about the whole “orgasm gap” whatever the fuck that means. He pretended to listen to her because her hands move a lot when she talks, and when she’s not wearing a bra - and she wasn’t that day - it makes her tits bounce. Fine, he’ll be the good feminist man she wants him to be and make this girl cum. All he has to do is rub her clit for a good minute while he fucks her. He pulls out in time to cum on her ass. He wipes it off her with a wet paper towel from the kitchen and gets her dressed. Her clothes are dry by now. Perfect. He finds her ID in her wallet and drops her off at the address listed. He helps her in the door once he finds her key, and then he plops her down on the couch. 

He leaves, but not before leaving his business card in her wallet. “Had a great time tonight - Leon” he writes on the back. Just in case she wants to do this again sometime.