#I thought one centered on women would be better but it's not

[artemismatchalatte]

Does anyone else have problems with Her being scammy?

I just got spammed by a bunch of unverified accounts... again. :/

I'm getting catfish vibes from the woman I'm talking to right now. She has no posts on her Instagram at all. I'm a bit sussed out right now. :(

[highvern]

Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strangers to lovers, virgin!JK, dry humping, oral sex, cum eating

Length: ~3.7k

Note: yes i'm insane. no i won't be taking further questions. thank u @gyuswhore for chaperoning my descent into JK madness

summary: You're not the only one with a shitty dating life. Your driver seems to be having a worse night than you can imagine. But things take a turn for the better in the backseat of his car.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“Uber for Y/N?” you ask, stumbling into the backseat. “Thanks. God, you wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man, Ian according to the information on the app, gasps. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” You’re a wreck; makeup running, clothes damp from the rain peppering on the window. The last thing you want is some hot guy as your driver for the short journey back to your apartment but at this point you can’t muster the energy to care. 

“Uhhh—”

“You probably don’t want to hear about my shitty night.”

“Well that and—” he starts, cut off before he can say more by your tipsy motormouth. 

“Where does a man get off telling me he isn’t interested in gold diggers when he’s a public school teacher? No offense but what gold?” you ramble. “Not to mention, when I told the waiter to split the bill he asked if I thought he didn’t have any money. Like make up your mind dude.”

“What the fuck?” he asks lowly.

You nod in agreement, hands thrown wide in exasperation. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“That’s fucked up.”

The thickness of his voice doesn’t register in your mind, a broken edgy scratching at the edges of your brain but it doesn’t signal any significant interest “Oh, that's not even the worst part.”

“There’s more?”

“He said ‘I asked too many personal questions.’”

“Like?”

“What he liked to do for fun, if he’s originally from the city, do you like dogs or cats? Literally anything I could think of because apparently he’s allergic to carrying a conversation.” In your hand, your phone rings with an unsaved number. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your Uber. Did you mean to cancel your ride?”

“What?”

“Ian from Uber? I’ve been circling the block and haven’t found you and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I’ll just—cancel. Yep. Bye.” You stare at the equelly unease expression on Not-Uber Driver Ian’s face, muddled brain racing. If he isn’t your driver that means you got into the car with a random man. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you scream. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells back.

You fiddle with the door handle, unable to grab a hold with shaky hands. “Oh my god, you’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m not a kidnapper!”

“That’s what a kidnapper would say!” You fumble for the pepper spray in your bag only to find it absent. It’s not your usual bag. It’s the nicer one that barely fits your phone and chapstick. Damn it.

“YOU GOT IN MY CAR,” he argues.

He makes a good point. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried but you talk a lot.” 

Another good point.

“Oh my god, what the hell,” you gasp. “Why are you sitting here with the doors unlocked? I could have robbed you.”

“I used my last five bucks to buy this ice cream. Just kill me instead.”

You balk. “That’s so sad.” 

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“You’re a horrible kidnapper.”

“And you’re a pretty shitty carjacker so I’d say we’re even.”

If he was dangerous he's had plenty of time to prove it. Instead, when he looks back over the center console, all you see is the red rimmed eyes of a kicked puppy with a bird nest for hair. A ridiculous expression for a man of his size but you pity him nonetheless. He’s harmless. Pathetic. But harmless. 

There’s a story about him and you’ve always been curious. “Okay, not-Ian, why are you sitting in a parking lot eating ice cream on a Friday night? Kidnapper thing aside, this is just sad.” 

He’s hot. Even in nothing but sweats and his own misery. The intimidating kind of handsome that people, men and women, pine over. Hand themselves over on a silver platter if he so much as asked.

“Thanks,” he grunts, going for another spoon of ice cream. 

“So why are you upset?” The rain outside intensifies, setting the scene to bare your souls in his cramped Toyota.

“Ugh…” he hesitates. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t think it can be any more embarrassing than what I just went through.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Why not? If it’s more embarrassing then I won’t steal a bite. Is that chocolate?”

“Cookie dough,” he corrects. “This girl I’ve been talking to ditched me.”

“Because?”

He prepares with a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever motive his fling had. “I’m a virgin.”

“What?” you ask dumbly. Virgin.

Chin tipped back, he swipes at his face in embarrassment. “I told you it's embarrassing.”

“You’re eating your feelings because you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.” He waits for your interjection. When it doesn’t come he hesitantly continues. “And the last person I told laughed in my face and started hooking up with my roommate. So…”

“What a bitch.”

“Yeah. People just assume I’m some kind of man whore.” He explains, head banging against the wheel. “But I’ve never done anything besides… ya know?”

“I have no idea, complete stranger.”

“Like hand stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a virgin,” you snort. “Move over, I’m coming up.”

Shimmying into the front seat takes more coordination than you’re prepared for. The hem of your dress rises to brazen heights, a draft curling around the edge of your panties. Its a feeling you assumed would be happening with your date and not in the car with a random stranger. But beggars can’t be choosers. At least it’s good ice cream.

He pointedly avoids looking anywhere close to your legs. Polite. Innocent. Virginal. How cute.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” His eyes roll as you settle into the passenger seat, snatching the container and taking a bite from the same spoon he’d been using. 

“Sorry,” you say after swallowing. “Is it because you don’t want to? Because that girl can go fuck herself then.”

“No, I just, I don’t know. I get nervous? They’re expecting someone who knows what they’re doing and I have no idea. And then all I can think about is what if I’m bad at it which makes me more nervous and then I feel like throwing up.”

“Please tell me you haven’t thrown up on a girl.” 

“Ew, no,” he laughs, taking a bite for himself. “I just make an excuse to slow down and then leave.”

“Okay. Well…” You try to think of something, anything, that could make him feel better. It’s not everyday a stranger spills their guts about lacking sexual experience. “So what if you’re bad? It’s not like you can’t get better.”

“Okay, but what girl wants to sleep with a guy who’s bad in bed?”

“How do you know you’re bad if you’ve never even tried? It’s different if you’re bad and you don’t care. Just tell whoever you're with you’ve never done it before. If they don’t jump at the chance to teach you then they can fuck off.”

“Well, Mina rubbed my face in it—”

“Oh fuck her. She seems like a bitch.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says. 

Rain drizzles on the windshield, obscuring the lights into messy streaks. A flood of memories surrounding your own virginity rush to the forefront.

Your college boyfriend, Jimin, wanted to wait. It was cute. High school sweethearts going to the same school, taking similar classes, holding hands in the library. You thought he wasn’t ready and you respected it, found it endearing that he wasn’t like most of the guys your friends dated that couldn’t wait to do it.

Or you did until you decided to surprise Jimin for his birthday with breakfast in bed and got your own surprise. A girl, naked in his bed, Jimin’s own clothes scattered around the room.

You broke up with him right there. Two days of crying later, you invited your lab partner, the one Jimin couldn’t stand, over.

It was Yoongi that sent a selfie of you two cuddled up in bed to Jimin. He still likes to cash in on that favor whenever he needs a dog sitter.

Yoongi knew there were no feelings involved. A simple favor in the form of revenge against a shitty ex. Maybe not-Ian is your chance to pay it forward. By the looks of things, you wouldn’t be suffering.

“Ya know, some girls like guys who are inexperienced. It’s hot knowing you can teach someone how to be good in bed. Like an ego boost.” You shrug. If he wasn’t looking at your legs before but he sure is now. Pink ears and round eyes, his fingers twitch in his lap as you suck the spoon clean. At least the hour spent shaving your legs isn’t going to waste. “Besides, you obviously care how the other person feels, which is more than some dudes.”

“Why would someone not care if the other person feels good?” he asks, tone laced with disgust. “That seems like the entire point.”

“The world is full of mysteries.”

“My name is Jungkook by the way.”

Jungkook. Fitting somehow. It tastes good on your tongue. Like the cookie dough ice cream.

“Y/N.”

You end up in his lap in true stereotypical fashion. A too long silence, his eyes on your mouth and yours on his. Someone leans forward and now you know Jungkook is a great kisser with even greater upper body strength.

His inexperience shows in the fine details: shaky hands, hesitant tongue, waiting for you to take the lead as not to offend. It’s endearing. Someone as big as him treating you with such gentleness. But it means he’s thinking about messing this up and that’s the opposite of what you want. 

You kiss him deeper, a grip on the side of his neck that he eagerly surrenders too. Your other hand wedges between your chests. Teeth nipping at his lip, you rock against him, palming against the soft cotton sweats until he’s plump in your hand. 

“God,” he chokes. His own hands busy themself on your body, one at the seat of your ass, teasing the edge of your dress where bare skin peaks out while the offers a tight grip at your chest, pinching your nipple in desperate retaliation.

“Feel good?” You rut again, a tease for your own pleasure in the form of Jungkook’s heavy breath. It’s decent contact on your core, not enough to get you off but plenty for right now.

Kissing is well in his realm of experience. Obvious from how quickly he finds his bearings, licking behind your teeth. It’s good. Better than dry humping his thigh in the front seat should be. Vision dark from his hands frantic at your ass, thighs rising to meet every torturous curl against the heat of his lap.

You fall into his shoulder, drool staining his sweater as you pant. “Ever had your dick sucked?”

“No.” 

A vein raises across his neck and becomes your new guidemap. Your hand at his crotch squeezes, his cock twitching at the action. “Do you want to?”

“You don’t have to,” he hisses. 

You squeeze his cock again, enough for a needy drive of his hips in response. “I want to.” 

“Seriously?” he marvels.

“If it’s cool with you.” You nose along his jaw, teeth scraping red over his skin. His stomach dips under your hand. “Get in the back, I don’t need to get caught with your dick in my mouth.”

“Holy shit, don’t say that.” He kisses you again, firmer this time. 

You crawl back through the narrow opening between the front seats, ass on full display for Jungkook’s eyes. The heat of his palm ghosts over your legs but he doesn’t touch. The deliberate arch in your spine isn’t enough to break his self control just yet.

He comes next. The struggle is endearing, half stuck between the seats and wiggling forward. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Why didn’t you just go around?” You snort, grabbing around his arms and pulling to no avail.

“Too late now.”

You're both laughing. Breathless because Jungkook is lodged between the seats with zero hope. “Why are you so heavy?”

He wiggles through with your help, nearly elbowing you in the head in the process. But he’s in the seat with his lap as prime real estate. You try to commandeer the space once again but Jungkook stops you. Instead, he settles between your legs, weight pinning you into the door. Broad shoulders block out the light but you take it in stride, fisting the back of his sweater as he finds your pulse.

“Can I go down on you?” He nuzzles down your throat, mouthing the spots he’s learning make you putty in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” you hiccup. “That’s fine.” 

Jungkook crams between your legs, bending in half on the floor like a contortionist. The sparse kisses across your thighs would be a blatant tease if nervousness wasn’t rolling off him in waves. He’s eating pussy for the first time and acting like it’s open heart surgery.

“Calm down.” You brush a hand through his hair, attempting to be comforting. 

“I am calm.” A bold faced lie. Even in the darkness of the backseat the signs of his impending nerves are obvious. 

“You’re shaking,” you say. “I’ll tell you what feels good. You’re not gonna mess it up.”

An open mouth on your core kiss leaves you sweating with a weak hum. At least he knows where the clit is. Or has a vague idea of its presence. Jungkook presses his face further into the cotton, suffocating himself without realizing. 

“O-oh,” you hitch.

Humiliation brews from such a visceral reaction to something as basic as a kiss over your panties. But Jungkook is out of his depth here and any reaction will stroke his confidence. 

He ducks away, watching you with rapt attention. You’re the teacher and he’s a student eager for whatever validation that may fall from your lips. “Good?” 

“Yeah, do it again,” you praise. 

He nods before diving back in, throwing your legs over his shoulders for better reach. Your pulse jumps with juvenile eagerness. Like it’s the first time you’re left with a boy unsupervised and his hand is the first real thing to touch you between the legs. It makes you feel dirty. Has your hairline sweat and tongue go dry. A bold wash of his tongue couples the next kiss, hot and wet as he laps against the fabric until your own arousal mixes with spit. 

"You fucking liar,” you croak. The back of your head knocks against the window, hips rolling into his mouth.

"What?” Jungkook asks, leaning back but just barely. His breath fans over your skin, a shiver crawling up your spine. “Did I do something—" 

“It’s good. So good,” you praise. “Touch me more.”

He jumps at the chance. Your panties tear down your thighs, out of the way with some rough maneuvering. Bare for his eyes, Jungkook takes more than a fill before diving in for another taste. But not until he spits on your clit and rubs in the mess with his thumb. Your thighs spread wider to accommodate a hard pass of his mouth, more wet kisses burning your cheeks.

“Jungkook, fuck,” you sigh. “When you said ‘hand stuff’ what did you mean?”

“I’ve touched a vagina before if that's what you're asking.”

You swat his hand. “Don’t say vagina, it makes me feel like I’m at the gynecologist.”

“Sorry, a pussy.”

“Don’t say it like that either, weirdo. Have you fingered one?”

Pointed silence is answer enough.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna make fun of you. Just don’t put a finger in my ass and you’ll be fine.”

He doesn't laugh at your poor attempt to cut the tension but he releases a weighted sigh, muscles sagging an inch. Better. Instead, he focuses on stroking you to life between your folds, fingertips nudging your bud teasingly. 

“Use your mouth some more and then finger me too,” you beg. 

“Uh—how many? I don't wanna hurt you." He’s unsure despite the obvious twitch in your thighs. It burns depravity through your veins. His innocence is hot. Jungkook doesn’t even realize how fucked up he has you from some softcore porn level touching.

"All of them. I don't care, I’ll tell you if it’s too much."

One hand firm on your stomach, keeping your dress out of the way as he spreads your insides with two. The first strokes are meek. Nothing to scream over but he’s learning and that’s what's important. Seconds tick by and Jungkook finds a hesitant rhythm. Wet noises echo with each slow sheath, reserved but stretching you all the same. The wet strokes of his tongue are there too, placating just in case. A soft curl of his fingers makes your hips cant into his mouth. 

The fogged windows are a dead give away to what's playing out in the backseat. If anyone stumbles down the sidewalk then you’re both dead but Jungkook’s mouth is distracting in the worst way.

And then he licks between his fingers, tongue slipping past his knuckles for a pure taste of your arousal. You go fuzzy at the edges, thighs squeezing tight until he’s forced to keep them spread or risk having his head crushed.

“Oh–fuck me, god.”

It’s not fair. For him to be good at this so quickly. To delude himself into thinking he could possibly be bad, trying to convince you he’d be bad. Complete unfair how ill prepared you were for Jungkook worshiping your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better.

He really needs to be more confident because, in the cramped back seat of his car, you’re losing your mind and it’s barely been ten minutes.

“Can I—” he asks around your clit.

“Do whatever you want, just don’t stop,” you ramble. “Jungkook, fuck.”

A hand of your own sinks into his hair, angling his chin for better access. Wet echoes fill the car, sharp mewls from your lips adding to the noise. Nerves blazing, your ride his mouth for all its worth. Eager slippery circles of his tongue against your clit intensify, built on praising moans of his name.

“Fuck. Tastes good,” he grunts. A squeeze of your hand, the one not pulling his hair and then he’s finding your chest, blind groping until you guide him to your nipple and curve into the sting of his grip. He twists it. Hard. 

You want to cry. The sweat suck of his mouth, fingers confidently curling it that spot that makes the air thinner in your lungs. Moans die between your teeth. Too quick into the next sensation to revel. There isn’t a thought other than Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” you cry, grinding into his fingers. Your teeth clench as a third one stretches that extra inch. Stiff in the thighs, you force yourself down into the friction. His tongue hardens, perfect for use as you hump his face weakly.

Your legs kick, scrambling under the sharp pleasure. He’s got you melting into nothing right on his carseat. Jungkook doesn’t lean back to ask for more confirmation; just takes the signs for what they are and keeps going with renewed stamina at the promise of your pleasure. 

“I’m gonna—oh, god. Yessss,” you hiss. Nails sharp against the back of his neck, Jungkook buries his face in your cunt. 

You go rigid, voice breaking into a desperate whimper. Jungkook has the sense to keep going, lashing at your clit over and over with each desperate pulse of pleasure through your veins. Flashes flare behind the darkness of your eyes squeezed tight. You make a few more desperate noises, lurching in his hold before falling lip and worn.

“Fuck, okay. Okay,” you whine, pushing him away from your core before the stimulation becomes too much.

His mouth is drenched, cheeks and chin smeared with your orgasm. A flash of tongue collects some of the mess but you drag him into a kiss before he can go for seconds. First time eating pussy and he’s one for one. If that doesn’t help his confidence then nothing else will. 

“Give me a second and I’ll blow you,” you pant into his lips. 

“I-it’s okay.”

You pout at the brush off, a deep kiss as you invade his space. “I promise I want to.”

Your hand goes for his pants just to be captured with his own. His fingers are still soaked from your insides. “No, I…I came too.”

“Really?” you ask in awe.

Jungkook is embarrassed again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s hot.” You kiss him again with a gentle suckle along the curve of his lower lip. Jungkook drinks it in, crowding you back into the door again like you aren’t a pile of mush. Your back hurts from hunching over for so long but you let him keep you tangled up for a little while longer just to feel the shuddering exhale from his nose across your cheek. “Can I see?”

He swallows thickly before rolling down his sweats. The thin fabric of his boxers are wet, sticky under your shaky hand. You dip below the waist band, fingers grazing the limp ridge of his cock. He’s stuck in the inbetween of soft and hard but still hot and heavy in your hold. Your core throbs in interest at the feeling. 

Jungkook shivers as you swipe at the slit, collecting a bead of cum. You want to get your mouth on him but he looks like he might cry if you keep playing with it.

When your hand retreats, rising to your lips for a taste, his eyes round, mouth gaping over silent words. The pink of your tongue comes out, lapping at the thick mess coating your thumb. 

“Is it okay if I get your number?” he asks after the initial shock wears away.

“Yeah,” you snort. “You can have my number. You can give me a ride home too. And we can do that again in my bed.”

The glee on his face is worth the disgusting mess between your thighs. “Hell yeah.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

@luvseungcheol @crisle19

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[yovrnewromantic]

𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

[brokenmenswhore]

Can you do a modern!jace x best friend!reader?? Like Jace likes reader but she’s in a relationship with a guy who cheats on her with multiple women and like one day when reader and jace are hanging out they saw readers bf on a date with another girl. Jace fights the bf and just basically angst and fluff maybe smut in the end if you like.

“i’m gonna kill him” aka my favorite thing for a hot guy to say ever. this is formatted as a drabble :)

obvious | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: fighting? just a lil angst & fluff

────── ☾ ──────

“Does he have to come?” Jace asked you, swinging open the door to the backseat of your car and settling down in the center of the long seat.

“Can’t always be the passenger princess, Jace,” you laughed.

“That’s not why I asked,” he pouted in response.

“Then what’s the matter? I thought you guys got along?”

Jace sighed. “Forget it.”

“Jace, tell me,” you pressed.

He shrugged. “I just think you could do better.”

At that very moment, your boyfriend opened the passenger side door, shifting into the seat and leaning over to place a kiss on your lips.

“Hey, baby,” he said to you. He then turned toward the backseat. “What’s up, Jake?”

Jace rolled his eyes, his nostrils flaring in frustration as you giggled.

“Babe, it’s Jace, not Jake,” you told him.

“Fuck, sorry man,” your boyfriend apologized.

When Jace didn’t respond, your boyfriend turned back around and faced forward as you put the car in drive and pulled away from his house.

Jacaerys often acted like this around your boyfriend. You weren’t really sure why. When he was alone with you, Jace was bubbly, personable, kind, and made you laugh like no one else on earth. But in a trio, Jace shut down and huffed at any attempt to pull him into conversation, and it only got worse with time.

You and Jace had been best friends since you moved to town a few years ago. He immediately approached you when he first saw you, and the friendship blossomed into the most genuine relationship of your life.

But it wasn’t a romantic relationship.

Yes, Jace was handsome, and it was not like you’d say no if he asked, but he never asked. After a while, you accepted that you two were comfortable as friends, and your connection became so pure that it would seem stupid to do anything that may ruin it.

When you met your boyfriend, you were instantly attracted to one another, but your brain flashed a memory of Jace in your head. Just friends you thought.

Your boyfriend won you over quickly, romancing you in every way he possibly could. Jace wasn’t impressed, saying he was overdoing it and it seemed disingenuous.

You were with Jace the first time you suspected him of cheating. Jace was in your bedroom, making himself comfortable on top of the sheets as you emptied the days contents from your bag. You had seen your boyfriend earlier in the day, and he returned the mascara you told him you’d forgotten in his bathroom.

You pulled out the tube and inspected the labels. You were staring at the black cylinder for long enough that Jace noticed.

“You good?” he called out.

“This mascara isn’t my brand.”

“Ok?”

You sighed. “This brand tests on animals. I only use brands that don’t.”

Jace put an arm behind his head to use as a pillow. “So why are you carrying it around?”

“I left my mascara at his house and asked him to bring it today.”

“Dude, I’m so confused,” he said.

“This isn’t mine,” you said, holding it up for a moment.

Jace finally caught on. “Why would he have makeup at his house if it isn’t yours?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Jace.”

Even though Jace had done nothing but shit on your boyfriend since the day you met him, he didn’t want to see you hurt. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake, like it’s his sister’s or something. There’s always a perfectly reasonable explanation. Besides, he’d be an idiot to do that to you.”

The next time, Jace watched you get into a fight with your boyfriend after a girl approached him when the three of you were out. She claimed to have slept with him less than a week earlier and never got a call back from him.

He swore to you that he had never seen her before, and she must have mistaken him for someone else.

As much as you trusted your boyfriend, you were a girl’s girl, and she seemed so sincere. You knew he was a bit of a player before he met you, so it was natural that you had your doubts.

You confided in Jace through the phone later that night, as you oftentimes did.

“I’m just nervous that I’m the idiot. What if she was telling the truth?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Y/N.” That was a lie. He knew exactly what he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you that yes, your boyfriend was a cheating scumbag, and you should dump him and date Jace instead. But he didn’t say another word.

“But if he is cheating on me, it’s my fault.”

“What does that mean?” Jace asked, confused.

You were beginning to tear up. You sniffled, “he’s destined to get it somewhere if he’s not getting it from me.”

Even though Jace was alone in his room, laying on his bed, he still sat up when he heard what you said. “What?”

You just continued to breathe heavily and sniffle on the other end of the phone.

“You- you haven’t had sex yet?” He couldn’t help but ask the question.

“Not with him.”

Jace ran his fingers through his hair. He was so relieved. He was so happy. He was now thinking about you and sex and his mind was racing.

“If anyone cheats on you because you aren’t ready to have sex yet, they’re a fucking idiot. Listen to me, Y/N, never let him pressure you. I swear to god I’ll kill him.”

Jace had never spoken to you like that, and it caught you somewhat off guard.

“I won’t. Thank you, Jace.”

There were more little red flags that popped up over the course of your relationship, and Jace would, like a good best friend does, sit there and listen to you work through each and every one of them. The more and more your boyfriend caused you to feel like this, the more Jace just wanted to scream at you to dump him already, but he held his tongue.

────── ☾ ──────

You and Jace spent the day together, enjoying the weather and connecting without any interruptions. You were walking down the street, discussing where you should go next when you spotted him across the busy road.

Your boyfriend, seated outside a restaurant, was across the table from another girl.

Jace followed your sight line and saw him too.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

You put a hand on his chest, “wait, Jace. Maybe it’s just a friend? I mean, you and I are hanging out.”

You swallowed your words immediately as you watched both of them lean across the table and kiss.

Jace took one look at your face and speed walked across the busy street, marching right up to your boyfriend and punching him in the face.

He fell backwards in his chair, holding his nose as he moved to stand up.

“You got a fuckin problem?” your boyfriend yelled.

“Yeah, I do,” Jace said, lifting the empty water glass from the table, “you.” He hit the glass on top of your boyfriend’s head as hard as he possibly could, but the glass didn’t break. Instead, it just hit him.

Your boyfriend grabbed Jace’s wrist, forcing him to drop the glass as he punched Jace directly in the nose.

Jace dove into him, nearly pushing him into oncoming traffic as he tried to land even more punches.

The restaurant staff rushed outside to break up the fight. They held Jace’s arms back as your boyfriend looked around for the girl he was with, who was now gone. Instead, he saw you, and immediately turned around and left.

“Yeah, run, you fucking coward, you didn’t deserve her anyway,” Jace called out.

The restaurant staff dropped Jace’s arms when he calmed down. He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, cleaning off the blood.

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands as you inspected his wounds. “You think you might have a broken nose?” you asked.

Jade scoffed. “He can’t hit that hard.”

You sighed. “Let’s just get to the car.”

You both walked in silence to the car. When you were seated inside, you turned to Jace. “Why, Jace? Why?”

Jace held a napkin he stole from the restaurant to his nose. “The fuck do you mean why?”

“Why would you do that?”

Jace looked around the car as if there was an audience who would agree with him that your question was crazy. “He cheated on you, Y/N, I think what I did was justified.”

“You didn’t have to fight.”

“Yes I did. I told you I was gonna kill him.”

You scoffed. “Jace, I fucking figured you were kidding! I didn’t want you to hit him!”

“But are you mad at me now that I did?”

You looked into his eyes for a moment as he dropped the napkin, and the blood flow stopped.

“No,” you admitted, “I just don’t get why. I know we’re friends, but that seems extreme.”

“You’re not just my friend.”

You shifted in your seat. “What?”

Jace’s muscles tensed when he realized what he said. “Nothing.”

“No, Jace, if you have something to say to me, now’s the time.”

Almost immediately, he replied, “it’s not obvious to you how in love with you I am?”

Your eyes immediately widened. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He was fed up, tired of holding it in, ready to lay everything out on the table.

You blinked rapidly, trying to string together any array of words, but your mind was failing you. You didn’t realize how long you spent in your own head until Jace spoke again.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, please say something.”

You couldn’t stay silent forever, but you couldn’t think of something appropriate. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Look,” Jace sighed, embarrassed by his confession, “can we just, like, pretend I didn’t say that?”

You slowly nodded your head no. “I don’t wanna pretend like you didn’t say it.”

You sat in silence for a bit, letting his confession marinate in the air.

“You’re in love with me?” you finally spoke, breaking a bit of the tension, much to Jace’s relief.

“Only a little,” Jace joked, hoping to keep the mood light while simultaneously trying not to run away from his confession in hopes it would lead him straight to getting you.

“Only a little,” you repeated to yourself in a giggle, trying to process everything.

“I tried to make it go away, I swear, but every time I did, it only got worse.”

You rested your head on the back of the car seat. “How long have you, uhm, how long have you felt like this?”

Jace took a deep breath. “How long have we known each other?”

“Really? Wow.”

“What?”

“I just- why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“Didn’t know how,” he answered, “and I didn’t wanna fuck this up.” He moved his finger between the two of you in reference to your friendship and dynamic, and you understood what he meant.

“Yeah, I get it, I guess I could say the same.”

Jace’s gaze darted to you. “What?”

“I don’t really tell you how I feel about you for the same reasons.”

Jace’s heart pounded in his chest. “And how do you feel about me?” He desperately wanted to hear you say it.

“Same as you.”

“Uh uh,” he said, leaning on the center console, “you gotta say it.”

“Please don’t make me,” you blushed, nervous.

Jace grabbed your jaw in his hand and turned your head until you were looking directly at him. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You exhaled and tried to calm your heart rate. “What, it’s not obvious that I’m in love with you too?” you playfully mocked him, the teasing making your words easier to say.

Jace smiled at you. You’d seen him smile, you’d seen him laugh, you’d seen him happy, but you’d never seen him smile like this before.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering around the side of your head.

“I took a punch for you, you know.”

You caught on instantly. “I guess I should think of some way to thank you.”

You leaned closer to Jace, and he instantly pulled your mouth to his, kissing you like he’d been dying to for much too long. Neither of you had the strength to pull away as you melted in to each other’s touch, fully making out in the front seat of your car.

There was only so far you could go with a console in the middle. You pulled away, and could tell you were both having the same thought.

“Back seat?”

“Back seat.”

[catsteeth]

Ovulating as we speak but anyway.

Sandor seeing y/n holding a baby and he can't stop imagining what it would be like if they had a baby together. 🤭

(mayhaps a little bit of smut)

Thicker Than Water🤍

Sandor x Reader  CW: NSFW, MDNI, Oral (Fem Rec), Breeding Kink (obvi), Afab reader, baby fever. A/N: Your Honor, My client was ovulating!☝️🧐 okey girl you said “a little bit of smut” and if it pleases the jury i did the whole damn thing.

After the war was fought and won, you and Sandor still lived within Winterfell. He had a new occupation working as a groundskeeper. He never thought he’d ever have let alone enjoy an occupation that did not center around violence. 

But once the war was over you made him swear he’d never put himself in harm's way for no good reason. 

While Sandor was off chopping wood, you were walking past the watering well when you saw a woman trying to pump her bucket full while holding onto her babe in her arms. 

You approached her, not knowing that around the corner your Husband was approaching you. 

“My Lady, would you like some help with that?” You said, offering to pump the water into the bucket for her. 

“That would be lovely!” She said, pushing the babe into your arms. 

Sandor watched the exchange from afar, he chuckled to himself as you looked overwhelmed by the babe in your arms. But something naturally maternal instinct took over you and he saw it.

the babe in your arms reached up in an attempt to grab your nose, however their attempt was futile as their arms were far too short.  You smiled and you took the babe's hand and kissed it sweetly as you rocked and bounced the babe.

Sandor found himself watching you in awe.

You traced your finger gently down the babes forehead down the bridge of their nose, all the way down until the tip of their nose. 

He felt a strange wave of emotion. One he’d not ever felt before. 

He’d thought in passing of having children. More so how awful he’d be as a father. But things had changed around him and within him, drastically changed. 

He wasn’t the Kings Dog anymore and he wasn’t in the South. And most importantly now he had you. And you had him. He was yours completely. 

He thought of your belly swollen with his babe. How plump your breasts would get, how everyone would know truly that you were his. But then he thought of how beautiful you’d look carrying his babe in your arms. How he’d watch that babe grow, how they’d carry your features, and his own. He wondered what they’d look like, would they have your hair? Or would they have his? Would they have your eyes? Your nose? Your- 

His day dreaming was interrupted when he heard you ask, “Worst pain I’ve heard. Worse than any pain in the world I’ve heard.” You said. You’d heard the awful awful stories of women who’d even died in childbirth. But with the babe in your arms you couldn’t help but feel a sense of possibility. 

The woman laughed a little, “Aye, it’s not nearly as pleasurable to produce it as it is to make it. But you are left with the most splendid thing.” The woman said. 

You smiled, “He is quite splendid isn't he?” You ran your fingers along the babe's sparse hair, “Aren’t you?” The Babe cooed back and you snuggled them a little closer, unable to help yourself.

Maybe you wanted this too. 

The woman finished filling her bucket, she looked over at you and the Babe, “You should have one.” Your eyes went wide and your mouth went dry. Sandor did too even though he had heard it from afar. The woman laughed, ”I felt the same, but once you’ve got one you’ll never know how you ever could have lived without them.” The woman smiled at you warmly, 

That was when Sandor finally came to you, 

“(Y/N), we better be off.” He said, trying to ignore the babe in your arms as it cooled at him. If he dared look it might have stopped his heart.

You nodded, “Right,” You smiled at the woman “I’d better return this to you,” You said as you gave her back her child.

As you took Sandors arm and walked home you and he didn’t talk about it, but you both thought about it. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the babe, or more accurately, the prospect of you having one of your own. 

It’s not that the thought never occurred, it had, but it was war.

When you were coupled he always spilled his seed on your belly, on your thighs, on your arse, or in your pretty mouth. And the very few times that he couldn’t pull himself out in time you were lucky enough to have access to Moon Tea herbs. 

As you finished the soup you were making for supper you poured a bowl for him and placed it in front of him while he sat at your table. As you stood beside him he snaked an arm around you and pulled you closer, he placed his large hand against your belly making you giggle and squirm but his arm around you kept you in place.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, smiling as you placed your hand on top of his that was on your stomach.

“Do you want one?” He asked you earnestly as he rubbed your belly slightly,

Your eyes went wide, and heat spread across your cheeks, “Want what?” You knew what.

“A babe.” His deep brown eyes met your own, his gaze was warm and so inviting. Like a fire on a cold night.

You felt your face go red completely, “What?” 

“In here,” He asking gripping onto the plushness of your belly making you squirm even more.

“Y-yes.” You whimpered, “Do you?” You asked, running your hand over his cheek.

“Aye,” He said, his voice low and hoarse. “I want no other woman,” He began as his hand that was holding you in place snaked up your back and began to pull at your dress ties. “To carry a babe of mine.” He finished as your dress came loose. 

He pulled the sleeve that covered your shoulder down, he pulled you closer onto his lap and kissed at your exposed skin. Soon, he pulled it even lower than that exposing your breast. He kissed, licked, and bit at your skin sending shock waves of pleasure through you. You caressed his head and ran your other hand over his back, digging your nails into the leathers of his top.

“Ah!” You moaned as his hand traveled over your ass, squeezing it pushing you closer to his body. He gave you one good spank before his hand moved lower and in between your legs. His middle finger teased your clothed entrance. His mouth abandoned your breast and moved to your mouth. You moaned and whimpered into his lips. 

Your hands left Sandor's face and roamed down over his neck, his chest, his stomach, and finally to his aching cock that was uncomfortably trapped in his breeches. You looked into his eyes intensely as you released him from his pants. His cock was eager as it sprung out and practically straight into your hands. You stroked him, letting him groan into your mouth as you gripped him harder, and harder, stroking harder and harder.  

He let go of you for a moment to swipe the table of the bowl of soup you’d placed there as he pushed you onto it. 

As you laid back onto the dining table panting with anticipation, Sandor ripped your small clothes off of you, to which you squealed “Sandor!”

“No more of these fucking things.” He huffed and got on his knees between your legs, “I don’t want you wearing any of those fucking things before I get you good and bred, aye?” He commanded you, You nodded, your eyes dazed and love struck looking at your husband between your legs. “Good,” He said as he spit on your cunt, then rubbed his spit into your clit with his thumb. 

As he rubbed your clit with his thumb he fucked you with his tongue. You threw your head back and arched your back at the wonderful sensation. However it didn’t last too long as he stood, “You’re good and ready now.” He said, making you feel slightly embarrassed but you couldn’t dwell on it for too long before he held out his palm to you, “Spit,” He commanded, and so you did. You spit into the palm of his hand and he stroked his length with it.

You propped yourself up by your elbows as you watched him line himself up with your entrance. He looked at you and you nodded in desperation. He began to push himself into you, “Seven-fucking-hells!” He hissed as you clenched down on him immediately. 

“Sandor!” You whined, his eyes blinked to yours, “Kiss me!” You desperately moaned out.

He leaned down over you as he grinded in and out of your weeping cunt. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him close to you. He thrusted into you with a brutal pace, you thought for certain the table was going to give out. But his kisses were sensual and slow. They were a testament to his love and devotion for you, and only you. His wife, his woman, and he was determined to make you the mother of his child. “Look at me,” He said, trying to hold back his own moans of pleasure, “Look at me when I spill my seed into you.” He said, “Do you want that? You want my seed?” He asked you, teasing you slightly. 

“Yes! Please, Sandor!” You gasped, whimpering into his lips, “Please my love, I need your seed, only yours, no one else-” You said staring deep into his eyes, 

“No one else?” His thrusts began to be more erratic and his groans were more apparent. 

You shook your head, “No one, only you,” You closed your eyes for a moment as your face contorted to the peak that was approaching you,

“Look at me!” He desperately commanded you, 

You looked in his eyes as you reached your high, “Please, please my love-” You begged, and Gods it done him in, 

He growled and pressed his hips flush with yours, making sure he was as deep as he could be inside of your cunt. You could feel the heat of his seed spilling into you, “AH!” you cried out at the intense pleasure of it all. 

Sandor practically collapsed on top of you, he panted as he rested his head on your bosom. You ran your hands through his hair and down his back.   

He stood, and pulled himself out of you. However when he saw his seed begin to spill out of you he pushed his softened cock back into you making you gasp slightly, 

“Can’t have that go to waste, or I’ll have to fuck you harder next time, aye?”

Want a request? Check the current request status here > ♥️♥️♥️♥️

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (I)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: Your father had been promised an heir. But the choices made by another stole that fate from you. Now it's your turn to take theirs.

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, blood, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.2k

dividers / masterlist

“Again,” the swordmaster calls out. 

Gritting your teeth, you comply and fall back in position with the others. All this show for what?

With a nod, a troubadour began to pluck at the strings of her Baliset again. Your feet move in the familiar pattern, hilts of the swords bouncing against your hips. This is a waste of time.

Air stills as the rest of the women swirl away from you when another Baliset, one played with a bow sliding against its strings, joins the melody. The blades gnash against their sheaths in protest as you pull them free. They sing in the air, spinning easily between your fingers. Faster and faster they spin to match the skirts of the others now twirling in a circle around you until the music slows.

Once, twice you clink the blades’ together before you stab one into the plush stool in the center. Soft, slow pattering of the drums begins as you turn your back to it. The sword that remains drags its tip against the stone floor. The women bend a knee where they twirled. Sparks follow when you twist quickly.

This is the silliest part. You face a non existent opponent. Bringing your sword forward you drop into a defensive stance. The music rises and now you fight. Thrust, retreat, parrie, circle, advance, lunge, parrie, retreat, parrie, parrie. On and on it goes until you drop the sword. Your arm extends to the partner who does not exist and spin into nothing as the music reaches a crescendo. Chest heaving, you stay there and stare into the abyss until the music and the last of your dignity finally dies.

One of the girls is quick to retrieve and return the swords to you. In contrast, you’re slow to sheath them. You’re not eager to hear the word you know waits on his tongue. But you can only stall for so long.

You turn and face him. His voice cuts sharply across the silent hall. “Again.”

“You look ridiculous,” your father says under his breath so only you can hear. 

A gown, styled after your mother’s House, hung loosely on your frame, hiding any hint of the woman’s body beneath it. You feel ridiculous in it, but had thought it better than the other options. You should have known there was nothing you could have worn that would please him.

“My apologies, father.”

He scoffs. Nothing you do will ever please him.

It’s why you still cannot understand why this celebration is being held. He saw no honor in you being born, why would he see it in you coming of age? And to invite the likes of the Atreides? Was this all some masochistic need to see the son he should have had?

He says outloud, “Don’t embarrass me.” In your head you hear the word he leaves unspoken. ‘Again.’

The Major Houses arrive hours apart, the lucky few Minor Houses invited padding the time between. First is the Princess Irulan. Beautiful, graceful, kind. She compliments you, embracing you as if you’d been friends for life. And it feels as such. A connection left despite the broken destiny. There would be no marriage, but your father whispers that a friendship could offer nearly as much.

The Atreides come next. The Duke is handsome. His concubine, Lady Jessica, hides behind a veil. A Bene Gesserit indeed. Their son, Paul, is charismatic and not as handsome as his father, but more beautiful. He places a kiss on your hand, complimenting your dress and, as he calls them, your lovely eyes. They fall flat on you, but he seems to preen at your own compliment of his hair with a boyish grin painting his face.

Your father’s mood shifts when they and their people are led away to the castle. “Well done. Who knew you could charm so well.” The praise, as backhanded as it is, prickles your skin. “Let’s hope can you keep it up.”

At last, as the sun sets, the Harkonnens arrive. 

Pale and hairless, they're intimidating in their black attire. The Baron did not come, instead having his nephews take his place. The eldest, Count Glossu Rabban, is a giant of a man. From the stories you’ve heard, he's a sadist but an idiot. In his shadow lies the true danger. 

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. He’s deceptively slight next to his brother. But to be the chosen heir for a House like the Harkonnens there must be a brutal intelligence. Like Paul he takes your offered hand and presses his lips against it. They’re cold, chapped and rough. Unlike Paul he offers a grin that had no boyishness left. Blackened teeth bared, he tugs your arm harshly. You stumble forward into him. The hand he doesn’t hold presses against his chest to catch yourself, the one he does hold twisting out of his grip.

Warm metal presses against your throat. 

Something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as they rove over your. It’s the only sign that he probably doesn’t want to kill you. There’s a measured pause of his gaze, first on the blade then sinking lower, before it flits back to your own. His voice is raspy as he speaks, “It is a pleasure to be here for your coming of age, my lady.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. The blade retreats. His eyes don’t leave yours as he releases you, flips it, and offers you the hilt. “A gift.”

“Thank you,” you say, hoping your voice holds firm, and reach for the dagger. 

A hand flashes from behind you with a plea of, “Allow me, my lady,” from a guard. 

Feyd, tisked, pulling it out of reach. “It is not a gift for you.”

You’re unceremoniously knocked aside when the guard steps between you. “She will be given it after an inspection.”

“An inspection is unnecessary,” you hiss, face warming. It was embarrassing enough he’d managed to catch you and your court so off guard. But to openly suspect him of intending harm, after such a brazen display of weakness, would cement the failure of any good relations between your houses. Your father would never forgive you.

“He poisons his blades,” the guard insists, not quietly enough.

Feyd-Rautha’s laugh is harsh. He turns to the Harkonnens behind him, lifts his arms, and bellows, “He worries I poison the blade!” It humors them. Rabben guffaws as if he’s never heard a funnier joke. When he faces you again his black grin is even wider. He stares down the guard as he slices the blade across his open palm. Blood soils the blade and drips on the stone beneath him. His eyes shift to you again. His tongue juts out. In a grotesque exhibition he licks it. “Death does not wait for you in my hands today.”

“I never suspected it did, Na-Baron,” you agree, stepping around the guard. He moves to stop you, but a harsh glare has him backing down. There’s still a chance to save this. Appease the Harkonnens and quell your father’s resentment you can feel rolling off him in waves behind you. Feyd offers the hilt again and you take it. The blade slices across your own palm without hesitation, your blood joining his on the stone. You extend your hand to him again.

a/n: my first fic! any thoughts would be appreciated 🥰

be my muse

next chapter

[gor3-hound]

WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE - NAOYA ZENIN

ft. naoya zenin x puppy!reader

a/n: commission for the very lovely @nexysworld !! naoya is so very pretty and i was scared to write him BUT !! he was actually very fun to write. i love my asshole nepo baby :3 hope you guys enjoy, fb and reblogs are always appreciated <3

cw: 18+ content, dead dove-ish, pussy inspection, mistreatment of hybrids, forced cosmetic procedures, dub-con bcs power dynamics, praise, degradation, use of shock collars, caging, mentions of filing teeth, ear cropping, touching unhealed wounds, tail play, misogyny, spit, mean naoya, dehumanisation, orgasm denial, forced spaying, p in v, creampie, dacryphilia, neglect

word count: 3.2k words

Naoya’s bored.

It might’ve made you feel better if he had a secret soft spot - that the pressures of his clan have left him lonely and desperate for companionship, but that’s simply not the case. There’s no profound self-realization that comes with his actions, no sense of guilt when he pays one of the maids to suck him off before he kicks her to the curb.

He’s just bored. He’s always found the best cure for his boredom was to find a pretty little plaything that was willing to put up with him. But there’s only so much you can do to a human girl before she’s skittering off. Women value their life more than their job these days, a thought that has him scowling and breaking the shit in his room as soon as his latest slut cuts him off.

He needed something more permanent. A pretty thing that he can use to get his dick wet. One that isn’t crying for a relationship or money when he’s finished. He’s always found those hybrids pretty cute, and it seemed like the perfect thing to keep him entertained. A girl that knew she was lesser than him. A pet he could play with that would forgive him after a couple of head scratches and a new toy.

It’s that thought that has him dragging his ass to the nearest adoption center, his eyes scanning the kennels until he spots you.

You seem like a shy little thing, but he doesn’t see an issue with that. He’s always had more fun breaking girls in, and you’d be no exception. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, his head cocking to the side as he looks you over. He doesn’t address you or ask you any questions, but he doesn’t need to. You were cute, and that’s all he really cared about, anyway. He calls a worker over, asking to get some time alone with you.

“Well, we don't really have any private rooms for you to-”

“How much?” Naoya cuts him off without even gazing his way, his eyes locked onto your form. No point buying the goods if he doesn’t get a trial run, first.

“I'm sorry?” The worker stutters out. Naoya hates that shit. Pisses him off more than anything, acting like he doesn’t want the Zen’in’s money. Naoya knows better.

“You heard me. How much? Doesn't need to be a fancy room. Shit, I'll take a storage room. I gotta check she's worth the money, y'know?” He says with a sigh, his brows twitching slightly as he fights back a scowl.

Seems to work well enough, because the worker leads him to a staff room, telling him to wait right there. He crosses his arms over his chest, making him sigh in annoyance. He waits impatiently, but he lights up when you come padding into the room, looking all nervous.

”No need to be scared, girl.” He tells you, but his words come out in a grunt. He doesn’t really care if you’re scared of him or not, as long as you let him get a good look at you. He moves towards you when you don’t budge, gripping your chin between his fingers.

His gaze is sharp, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he looks over your features. He reaches a free hand up to your floppy ears, giving them a flick. A frown crosses over his features as he gives you an appraising gaze , clicking his tongue. “They’ll have to get done. Don’t like ‘em.”

His fingers and thumb dig into your cheeks, forcing a gap between your teeth so you open your mouth. He shoves his fingers down your throat, sighing when you gag and splutter. “Gonna have to train that outta ya. Those canines are gonna have to get fixed, too. Bet they’d fuckin’ hurt if they caught my dick.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes your spit off on your cheek, smirking when your nose wrinkles. He reaches down, tugging on your fluffy tail with a thoughtful expression. “That can stay, though. Cute.”

”Bend over the table, pup. Spread your legs, lemme see your cunt.” He orders, releasing your tail and taking a step back. Your hesitance irritates him, and his hand comes out to smack you across your face so hard that your head snaps to the side, your ears ringing. “Don’t make me say it again. I fuckin’ hate repeating myself.”

Your tail is tucked between your legs as you shift to lean over the table, those fluffy ears pressed down firmly against your head. Doesn’t bother Naoya. He kicks your feet apart, pulling your pants and underwear down in one tug. The tail is a little bit of an obstacle still, so he sighs and scratches behind your ears.

”C’mon now, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He coos, making sure he finds the spot behind your ear that has you pushing back against his hand. His tone is condescending, but that dumb puppy brain of yours can’t register that. He grins as your tail perks up and wags, showing you off to him. “That’s better. Lemme get a look at that pretty pussy.”

He kneels behind you, spreading your folds with two fingers, humming in satisfaction as strings of slick spread and break at his actions. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t pick out a puppy for that exact reason - a few words of praise, and you were soaked. He slips a finger deep into your cunt, adding another one and scissoring them open before groaning at the tightness. You felt like a virgin, too. Perfect.

He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, wiping his spit off on your clothes before he pulls them back on. He gives your ass a few pats as he stands up, turning around to bang a few times on the door.

”Hey! I’ll take her.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Naoya’s unpredictable.

It’s hard to settle into a routine with him. He can be easy to handle one moment, only to switch up at the next second. He’s never kind - that’s not the right word for him - but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments. If you’re good, he’ll let you curl up at the foot of his bed. Sometimes he’ll even let you sit at his feet when he’s relaxing, petting your head absentmindedly.

Those moments are few and far between. For the most part, he’s cold. He doesn’t pay much attention to you unless he’s feeding you or if it’s play time.

He shows you the most attention when he wants to play. He’ll praise you, scratch behind those freshly cropped ears standing tall on your head and run his fingertips through the fur of your tail until it’s wagging fast enough that he knows you’ll be pliant and eager for anything he wants to do to you. You’d tried whining, begging, pleading… Anything just to get him to look at you and show you some affection, but you quickly learned that the only way you could guarantee something from him was to paw at the front of his pants until he’s twitching against your hand.

His choice of affection has a bit of a side effect, and you’re unlucky enough that Naoya notices it. All it takes is one little ‘good girl’ or a scratch on your head for you to be soaked, whining and rutting against any part of him you could reach. He loves feeling you wrapped around him, but he loves teasing you even more. So, naturally, as soon as realizes how desperate his touch makes you, he decides it would be a fun little game for him to see just how needy you could get.

He’s leaning back against the couch when he spots you padding over, that fluffy tail slowly picking up speed the closer he gets to you. He can’t help but chuckle when he spots you settling on the floor by his feet, a smirk spreading across his face when you rest your chin on his thigh. Your gaze flicks up to his face, a longing expression on your features. His hand comes down to pet your head, fingers scratching your scalp gently.

”You need something, girl?” He coos, tugging on one of your bandaged ears until you whimper, biting back a laugh when you lean into the touch regardless of the pain that comes with it. You’re always so eager to please, it drives him crazy.

“Need you, please.” You whine, your ears tilting back slightly, unable to press flat against your head due to the wrapping keeping them up so they heal pointed. He grins wolfishly at your words, yanking you by the collar until you’re straddling his thigh, a mischievous going in his eyes.

”Go on then, pup. I’m too tired to deal with you myself. You can handle it, can’t you?” He hums, giving your head a pat before crossing his arms behind his head as he leans back on the couch. You give him a curious little head tilt, confusion twisting your cute little face. He loves it when you give him that look - you’re just a dumb puppy, nothing more than entertainment for him. He can’t help but feel amused, shifting his leg so he can press his thigh more firmly against your core.

”You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can figure it out, puppy.” You seem to get the picture, a soft, needy sound rising in your throat as the hard muscle of his thigh presses against your cunt through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips start shifting on their own, rutting against him desperately. Your mouth falls open, artificially rounded canines digging into the flesh of your bottom lip.

Your hands come down to rest on your own thighs - you know better than to touch Naoya without asking, and you don’t want this to end so soon. Your nails press into your flesh, leaving indents on the surface of the skin. Naoya’s face is a mask of indifference. There’s no sign of enjoyment from him, the only hint that he isn’t completely unaffected by your actions is the tent forming beneath the fabric of his pants. You whine when you realize he isn’t even looking at you, staring over your shoulder to look over one of the paintings on the wall.

You want him inside of you, want his strong hands to grasp your thighs as he fucks into you. The thought alone has you panting, your head hanging as your tail starts to wag again, steady behind you as you grind against his thigh more harshly. Your breaths come out heavier, your cunt soaking through the fabric of your shorts to coat his own pants.

You’re so overwhelmed with your rapidly approaching orgasm, how good it feels to finally be this close to your owner that you don’t see his hand reaching for his phone until it’s too late. You yelp as your collar zaps you, the fur on your tail standing on end as the shock makes you spasm, your hips quickly pulling away from his thigh.

”I didn’t say you could cum, did I? Bad girl.” He hisses, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the floor, forcing you into your crate with a swift kick. He slams the door behind you, locking it before stepping back. “You can stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear you so much as fuckin’ squeak, you’re not getting let out for the rest of the week. Got it?”

You nod quickly, but that’s clearly not good enough for him. He taps at the screen of his phone a few times before pressing his thumb down for a longer period. The voltage is higher, and he doesn’t let up on shocking you until you drop against the blanket in your crate, your fingers twitching. He scoffs at the sight, letting go of the button.

”Pathetic. If I’m talking to you, I expect an answer. Surely you’re not so stupid you’ve forgotten how to use your words?”

”N-no. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll be quiet.” You whisper, your voice shaking slightly with the effort it takes you to hold back tears.

”Stupid mutt.” He grunts, fiddling with his trousers until he can free his cock. His jaw tenses in slight annoyance at how quickly that has you perking up, your eyes wide with interest like he’s holding a damn treat up for you. He steps closer to your crate, pressing his length down against the bars above your head. Naoya can’t help but laugh as you try to crane your head to get a taste of him, his eyes shining with amusement as your tongue laps between the gaps to catch his skin.

”Look at you. You were crying a second ago, and now you’re drooling like a bitch in heat? You are the single most pitiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” He muses, letting out another chuckle at the whine that spills from your lips when he pulls away from the crate.

”Go to sleep.” He grunts as he tucks himself back into his trousers, his eyes trained on your as he takes a step back. “If you’re good enough, I might let you out for breakfast.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, Naoya is wordless as he approaches your cage.You can tell from his narrowed, fox-like gaze that he hasn’t forgiven you from last night, his jaw set tight as if you hadn’t just made a small mistake. Naoya expected nothing but perfection from his pet, and it was something he made abundantly clear. He opens the door, his eyes narrowed in on your slumped over figure.

”Out.” The words are short and clipped, but firm, leaving no room to argue. It wasn’t a request, but a command. You weren’t stupid enough to ignore it.

He watches you crawl out of the cage, kneeling at his feet on the cold floor. You keep your gaze trained downwards, unable to meet his eyes. You look so pathetic it almost angers him, a crease forming between his brows as looks down at you. He slowly strips his clothes, his eyes locked onto you the entire time.

“Strip.” You listen, pulling your clothes off and adding them to his own pile on the floor. There’s no praise now, no attempts to get you wet enough to take him. He just pushes you down onto all fours before spitting directly onto your cunt as he forces his cock into your tight heat. It’s meant to be a punishment, but all it takes for you to get wet is the feeling of him stretching you out, your tail swaying side to side as his tip presses up against your cervix.

”Such a slut… Dripping as soon as you see cock. Bet it doesn’t even have to be mine, hmm? Could pass you around the whole clan and you’d gladly let each and every one of ‘em mount you until you were sore and dripping cum.” He spat, his hips rocking forward harshly. He builds up a steady pace, pounding into you brutally.

”Wouldn’t…” You manage to force out, brows furrowing as you try to rock back against his hips, your walls pulsing around his length. “Just you… want your pups.”

”Aww, that’s cute. You want me to breed you, girl? Is that it?” He lets out a cruel laugh, tugging on your tail to pull you back against him with each thrust, his cock brutally pounding into your tight cunt. “You think I’d let you carry my seed? That your bastard children could be sufficient heirs for the Zen’in clan? I’d never let you have puppies. Stupid fuckin’ bitch. Didn’t even realize I got you spayed? You just believe every little thing I tell you, huh?”

Fuck, he really likes the look of your tears. Nearly has him cumming from the way you look sobbing on his dick, the way you clench around him like you're trying to milk him dry despite how upset you are. It doesn't matter what he does to you, not when you're so forgiving. He knows he can say whatever he pleases and you'd still come running back to him, tail tucked between your legs like you were the one in the wrong.

He presses down between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest flat against the hard-wood floor as he keeps your ass in the air with his grip on your tail. With your back arched, the new angle allows him to fuck into you deeper, bullying himself into you without any regard for your pleasure. You were nothing more than something to use to him - a glorified fleshlight, at best. He only let you cum because of how tight you squeezed him when you did, how hot it was to see your dripping down his length.

This wasn’t about you right now - it was meant to be a punishment. You'd be lucky if he decided to let you cum in the following weeks, let alone today when he's still pissed off at you for almost breaking one of his rules.

His hips smack the fat of your ass with every thrust, low grunts spilling past his lips as he wraps your tail around his hand, smacking your thigh in frustration when you yelp at the discomfort that comes with it. He's increasingly glad with every pained whimper as his grip tightens that he decided not to dock your tail. It's so much better than a leash could ever be, forcing you back onto his imposing length everytime it gets too much for you and you try to crawl away.

“M'gonna cum.” He groans, harshly forcing your upper body further against the floor as he leans his weight on the hand pushing you down, slick sounds filling the room as he thrusts himself brutally in and out of your twitching pussy. He yanks on your tail, pulling you back against him as he cums with a grunt, his cock twitching inside of your abused cunt. He ruts his hips into you shallowly as he rides out his high before pulling out, smacking your ass once before standing up, ignoring your pleas to let you cum.

“Stupid mutt.” He spits out, rolling you onto your back with his foot, pressing it down against your stomach to hold you down. He spits on your face, a huff of laughter leaving him as your nose wrinkles. “I've been too good to you. Made you think you have a say.”

“You are a toy.” He continues, pulling his foot away with you before moving to gather his clothes. He pulls them on, leaving you panting and leaking his cum on the floor. “Something for me to use when I get bored.”

He makes his way to the door, shooting one last glance at you over his shoulder. “The quicker you learn that, the better.”

[elysiaheaven]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲- 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫!

Words: 3500!

Genre: Fluff

Reader: Female!

Summary: You see Aventurine! Your crush a little too close with some lady! He invites you on a date with a bribe!

Note:It was one of my best oneshots in wattpad! So I thought why not post it here!

You can't deny that Aventurine is one handsome and charismatic man. He's the center of attention whenever he's around. Whether it's on the job, in those fancy parties, or even at the casino playing cards, everyone's eyeing on him.

His natural charm draws eyes everywhere. When he smiles, he captures hearts, including yours. You can't help but feel a little jealous when you see him with other women. But you also can't deny the twinkle in his eyes whenever he looks at you.

You were ready to confess to him that day.

But when you arrived to the cafe, you found him already having lunch with another woman.

Aventurine sat with his arm around her; she wore a huge smile on her gorgeous face as he whispered something in her ear. They were too distracted in deep conversation when they didn't even notice your presence. She laughed at his joke, her teeth bright and bright red lips shining.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when you saw her sitting next to him, her hand playfully resting on his.

You wanted to confront them and ask who she was, but your voice died in your throat when you noticed them sharing their desserts. They were so close, you could see the light brush of his fingers when he cut a piece out of that cream tart for her, and her leaning forward to eat out of his hands.

The woman must be lucky, you thought, the way Aventurine is making her laugh. And the way she's eating out of his hands. If you were her, that would be you.

The two of them were so engrossed in the dessert they didn't notice how you stayed frozen at the entrance, watching the two of them. How could he give his attention to such a beautiful woman? Why wouldn't he notice you? Why didn't he take you out to eat instead? Why did he prefer spending the lunch with her?

As the seconds ticked, one question raced through your mind: Why would he treat her better than you?

But your disappointment was cut short when he turned his head to notice you at the entrance. And the sudden smile he flashed when he saw you, his arm pulling the other woman away from him.

Was she really his gambling partner? You watched how they both laughed as she shook her head in denial.

"This is... she's here to... she's just..." he began, stuttering, searching for the right word to describe her presence to you.

"My... my gambling sister partner from the casino last night when I won big," he continued, a chuckle escaping his mouth. "But I'm sure my sister partner would not mind letting her brother have a word with his coworker."

He led the woman away, still laughing as she protested in mock disappointment that she'd be let go without receiving a kiss goodbye from her partner in crime.

But when she did leave, he came back to you, his eyes glued on yours.

"I hope you didn't think I was having lunch with a woman." He gave you a sheepish grin. When he noticed the twinge of jealousy on your face, he grew more anxious.

"You must think I went out on a date with her," he said in a low voice, stepping closer to you. "I swear that wasn't the case, I was only telling her about the big win last night."

It was so obvious he was so eager, even excited, to spend lunch with you. He couldn't stop grinning as he led you outside, holding your hand so tightly it almost squeezed one of your fingers. So you decided to play a harmless prank on him.

"We should eat at..." you said before pausing to make him lean down toward you so you could whisper your suggestion. But instead, you let go of his hands and flashed a smug smile. "Oops, I forgot, I've got to go home early."

He stood paralyzed, his face scrunched up as he tried to register what just happened. "Wait, where are you going?" he called out, his purple eyes narrowing. But you just waved goodbye as a smirk formed on your lips. "See you later."

As you left, his mouth opened and shut. The grin on his face quickly turned into a frown. He let a curse escape his lips, but you were already gone.

What kind of a cruel joke was this? Why would you agree to have lunch with me, only to ditch me in the last minute? What was the point?

The man was left so utterly confused.

Ratio will help him!Ratio just sighed and told he's stupid and left.

It was quite clear what Ratio was hinting at and for a moment, Aventurine thought the other man might have been right. Perhaps you were only playing with him. But he couldn't wrap his head around the thought of you teasing him like that.

As he sat back in his chair, he thought about what to do. After a while, he decided it would be best to confront you directly and get to the bottom of all this.

Aventurine opened his phone and sent you a message: You free tonight?

The phone vibrated once again. You could just feel his exasperation from the few words he sent.

And why not?

His question was blunt and direct, his eyes glued to the screen, waiting for you to answer. You took a quick glance around to make sure no one could watch as you replied.

Aventurine would never admit it to another soul, but your refusal did affect him a little. He wasn't used to people not giving in to his charm. But instead of becoming upset, he decided to take a different approach. If he couldn't have you on his arms through sweet words and convincing flattery, he would appeal to you through material gain.

And so he typed another reply: *How about I offer you 50% of my win, last night. It comes to two million credits. But you have to go on the date with me.*

Your hand quickly flew to your mouth. Two million credits seemed to good to pass up. Your thoughts were immediately flooded with the things you could buy if you accepted the offer. You'd be so rich!

With a flick of your finger, you clicked 'accept' on the screen. Your reply was quick as you typed in: Deal.

As Aventurine saw the notification popped up on his screen, a flicker of disappointment spread across his eyes before he quickly masked it. His heart was sinking as he realized you were the one using him right now.

He was prepared to win you over with sweet words and his charm, but all the attraction he built up vanished so quickly, when you accepted the deal. Your reply was not what he expected at all, and he felt rejected, even used by you.

Now that you accepted the deal, you knew he would ask about the date, and to be honest, you were eager to know if he really would give you two million credits.

But as you continued reading the conversation, you noticed his last message said: *"Let's go to the casino to celebrate our little agreement."*

You smirked as your fingers typed your reply quickly. Sure. Let's go

As the night at the casino unfolded, you noticed Aventurine stealing glances at you between hands. His usually confident demeanor seemed a bit flustered, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you had that effect on him.

You were dressed to the nines, and it was evident that you caught his attention. The way he stumbled over his words when complimenting your attire only added to your amusement.

"Wow, you look... stunning," he managed to say, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before returning to his cards. "I mean, not that you don't always look good, but tonight, you're... extra stunning."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his flustered attempt at a compliment. "Why, thank you, Aventurine," you replied with a smirk, enjoying the slight discomfort evident in his demeanor.

Throughout the game, he continued to steal glances at you, and each time you caught his eye, he quickly averted his gaze, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

But despite his flustered state, Aventurine remained focused on the game, determined to win big once again. And as the night wore on, it became increasingly clear that luck was on his side.

"There's a star shell hairpin...You always have a hard time with your hair. Since it falls down.

With each winning hand, his confidence grew, and soon enough, he found himself raking in the chips. And true to his word, when the night came to an end, he handed you your share of the winnings without hesitation.

As you counted the credits in disbelief, Aventurine flashed you a charming smile. "Looks like it's your lucky night too," he said, his tone teasing yet genuine. 

"Thanks for the lovely night! Y/n..I will transfer the 2 million credits to your account today."

As you and Aventurine were about to leave the casino, you decided it was time to come clean about the real reason behind your acceptance of his offer. Taking a deep breath, you turned to him and began to explain.

"Aventurine, about the two million credits... I didn't really want them," you admitted, your voice softening with sincerity. "I was just... upset about you spending time with that lady, and I wanted to play a little prank on you. It was all just a joke."

For a moment, you saw something flicker in Aventurine's eyes, a glimmer of hope perhaps, before it vanished just as quickly as it appeared. He managed to muster a smile in response to your confession, but before either of you could say anything more, a man suddenly approached your table.

"Hey there, Aventurine!" the man exclaimed, clapping him on the back with familiarity. "Fancy a game of poker, old friend? I've been itching for a rematch since last time."

Aventurine glanced at you briefly, as if silently asking for your approval, before nodding to the man. "Sure, why not?" he replied casually, though you could sense a hint of apprehension in his tone.

As the game commenced, you made a move to leave, but the man grabbed your arm, preventing you from going anywhere. "Hold on there, sweetheart," he said with a smirk, his grip tightening slightly. "You wouldn't want to miss out on the fun, would you? Besides, Aventurine here owes me a rematch, and I could use a little extra motivation."

You felt a surge of panic rise within you as you tried to pull away from the man's grasp, but he held on firmly, his gaze challenging you to defy him. Glancing over at Aventurine, you could see the concern etched on his face, but he was preoccupied with the game, unaware of the situation unfolding before him.

Desperate to escape, you pleaded with the man to let you go, but he only laughed in response, tightening his grip even further. It seemed you were trapped, at the mercy of a man who had no intention of letting you leave without a fight.

As the tension in the room escalated, Aventurine couldn't help but notice the uncomfortable situation you were in. Despite his focus on the game, he could sense your distress, and a protective instinct surged within him.

With a calm demeanor, Aventurine leaned back in his chair, his eyes locking onto the man who held you captive. His voice was low and steady, but there was an underlying edge to it that sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Now, now, let's not ruin the evening with unnecessary theatrics," Aventurine said, his tone deceptively casual. "I believe the lady made it clear she wishes to leave. I suggest you release her at once."

The man hesitated for a moment, sizing up Aventurine with uncertainty. Despite his attempt to maintain a façade of confidence, he couldn't ignore the unmistakable aura of intimidation radiating from Aventurine.

But instead of backing down, the man let out a scoff, tightening his grip on your arm even further. "And who are you to tell me what to do?" he retorted, his voice laced with arrogance.

Aventurine's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, and a cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Let's just say I'm someone you don't want to cross," he replied, his voice dripping with menace.

With a sudden surge of strength, Aventurine rose from his seat, towering over the man with an imposing presence. His every movement was calculated, radiating an air of authority that left no room for defiance.

"Release her," Aventurine commanded, his voice echoing through the room with an undeniable forcefulness.

For a moment, the man hesitated, his bravado faltering in the face of Aventurine's unwavering determination. And then, with a reluctant sigh, he finally released his grip on your arm, allowing you to step away from him.

You moved to stand beside Aventurine, he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving the man who had dared to challenge him. With a final warning glare, Aventurine made it clear that any further interference would not be tolerated.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Aventurine for coming to your rescue. Despite his playful demeanor, you had seen a glimpse of the fierce protectiveness that lay beneath the surface—a side of him that only added to his undeniable allure.

As the tension eased, the man's demeanor shifted from defiance to desperation. With a heavy sigh, he sank back into his chair, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and resignation.

"You don't understand," he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It's the IPC—they ruined my life. Took everything I had, all because of some stupid tax dispute."

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "IPC? Tax dispute?" he echoed, exchanging a puzzled glance with you.

The man nodded, his fists clenched in frustration. "Yeah, that's right. And you," he said, turning his gaze towards Aventurine, "you were the one who led the investigation against me. You and your damn team of enforcers."

Aventurine's expression hardened, his jaw tightening with realization. "So that's what this is about," he murmured, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes.

But before Aventurine could respond, the man continued, his voice laced with bitterness. "You think you can just waltz in and take everything from me? Well, I won't stand for it. I'll make sure you and your precious team pay for what you did to me."

Aventurine's gaze narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "Listen, I understand you're upset, but taking it out on innocent people won't solve anything," he said, his tone firm yet empathetic.

But the man shook his head, his resolve unwavering. "I don't care," he spat, his voice tinged with defiance. "I'll do whatever it takes to get my revenge, even if it means destroying you and your little empire."

A tense silence descended upon the room as the gravity of the man's words hung in the air. Aventurine exchanged a meaningful glance with you, silently conveying his determination to put an end to this vendetta before it escalated any further.

With a sigh, Aventurine rose from his seat, his posture exuding an air of quiet authority. "I suggest you reconsider your actions," he said, his voice carrying a steely edge. "Because if you continue down this path, you'll only end up hurting yourself in the end."

And with that, Aventurine turned on his heel and began to make his way towards the exit, leaving the man to ponder his words in silence. As you followed closely behind him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Aventurine's unwavering resolve in the face of adversity—a trait that only served to deepen your admiration for him.

As you followed Aventurine towards the exit, you couldn't shake off the tension that lingered in the air. But instead of letting fear consume you, you decided to adopt a more lighthearted approach to the situation.

"Hey, Aventurine," you said, matching his stride with a playful grin. "You know what? I have a feeling you're going to win big today. Consider me your lucky charm."

Aventurine glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Is that so?" he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, I certainly could use a bit of luck after today's events."

With your playful banter lightening the mood, the tension seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of camaraderie between you and Aventurine. And as you stepped out into the cool night air, you couldn't help but feel a surge of optimism wash over you.

As you and Aventurine made your way out of the casino, a sudden commotion erupted behind you. Turning around, you saw the man who had confronted you earlier, his face contorted with rage as he lunged towards Aventurine with a wild swing.

Reacting quickly, you sprang into action, your instincts taking over as you delivered a swift, well-aimed kick to the man's midsection. The force of your blow sent him staggering backwards, his eyes widening in shock before he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Aventurine turned to you, a mixture of surprise and gratitude reflected in his eyes. "Wow, that was... impressive," he said, his voice tinged with admiration.

You shrugged modestly, a sense of satisfaction coursing through you at having protected Aventurine from harm. "Just doing what needed to be done," you replied, your tone casual despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

"I reported this guy to the IPC..They will take care!"

After that, There was a small trip to the bar..Since you didn't drink..you just watched Aventurine, who drank just 2 shots and became overly drunken already.

"Aventurine, Let's go."

"You are such a goddess???..You are the first to deny the money..I wanted to give and somehow.. I'm happy..that you aren't the person who is gonna just stab me in the back! You are my first after Ratio for sure!"

"Let's go somewhere outside....you need fresh air." Your voice was normal but your heart was bursted with butterflies and flowers, as an entire garden grew in your chest.

You guys were walking and spotted a nice spot to gaze over the stars...Looking up the stars dotting the night sky, You excitedly popped open another can of soda for yourself.

"Cheers to myself! For kicking the man!"

"Don't drink too much."

"It's just one can..You are the one who drank a lot."

"We have a exception tonight, Since you are here.. I'm safe from the dangers..So I can let my guard down a little."

Your face was bright red and Aventurine looked at you, caressed your cheek and let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm...happy..you feel safe around me..." A year almost came from your eyes.

"Silly girl.." As Aventurine was about to caress your face..You spoke up.

"So, you have given me a gift. I will give you a gift too."

"What gift?"

You carefully placed your hand on the hairpin he gave you.

"Exchanging a few words..I realised what kind of a guy you are..You are just too-hmph!!"Aventurine closed your mouth with a small candy..You coughed and he started to laugh.

Suddenly, Aventurine must have not expected such a sudden move fell over before he could react. he caught himself with one hand, While he hold tightly to me by the other.

You looked up at his startled eyes, with your body pressed on top of his and your hands placed against his chest. He seemed to be flushed from drinking, and you couldn't resist blowing a breath on his face.

"You.."

"No more talking, just listen to me! I like the gift you gave me. I liked the time I spent at the casino with you. I also...like that you said I'm your first after Ratio...Since you thought Ratio was one of the guys who understood you but didn't like you. I don't care about your money..I was jealous..You always say.. I'm the best co-worker but seeing you with that lady made me angry."

Hearing you say this, Aventurine's body tensed up and his grip tightened around your arms.But his reaction brought up a different kind of emotion in me.

"However, there's still a lot about you. I don't know.."

"..What do you wanna know?"

"I-I'm not finished!"-You domineeringly placed your hand over his mouth and slowly spoke:"I want to see more sides of you. when you're eating, when you're sleeping,when you're happy, when you're sad, when you put too much perfume that smells... awfully good. All of it I want to see every side of you."

Aventurine didn't speak, he just stayed as he was patiently waiting for you to contuine.Seeing him all quiet, your domineeringly attitude turned into caution.

"Is that okay?"

He giggled, looking very satisfied-"Are you done?"

"Yeah"He hugged you and placed his head over your neck, as if it was the most comfortable place in the world.

"Now, it's my turn."-As he said, an icy breeze flew in instantly, sobering him out a bit. he shivered and suddenly became aware of the situation and seeing the awkward pose your mind went blank.

"I.."

"What?

"Let's go.."

You tried to push yourself up, but was held firmly to his chest.-"Nah, princess.."

Your breathings suddenly grew heavier and louder.Your heart was beating like a drum.You swallowed hard and looked timidly at him.He leaned in closer and rubbed his nose against yours, the sudden warmth disintegrating your thoughts.

"All that stuff, you wanted.. it's yours. all of my sides belong to you...and you, as payment are mine.." His voice was low and wispy, it felt sweetly on your ears amidst the fragrance of his perfume.It soothed your every worry and gave a sense of calm. his embrace was just like the ocean enveloping you in a surge of deep love.

Blazing intensity, yet wonderful...

"I will let you know, 

one thing-"He took his fedora and his your faces to make sure, no one sees what he did..-A kiss...

Your first kiss...

"I love you..Miss jealousy.."

[ckret2]

Weird question, but do you think ford is/was repressed or in denial? Filbrick doesn't seem like a very understanding parent, and I notice throughout all the lavish praise Ford heaps on Bill he stops short of outright saying he has a crush, which I think hints at ford being unaware that he has feelings for Bill because You Only Get That for the Opposite Gender (and assumes a god like bill is way above his league). The "girls will talk to me" quote in particular seems very much like someone trying and failing to fit himself into heteronormative standards and just chalking it up to social awkwardness, and the way he clings to Bill reminds me very much of a first gay relationship, where the fear of being rejected is magnified tenfold by thinking that literally no one else in the world will love you. Sorry, this became a whole essay, I just have so many thoughts about billford and have spent hours combing through gf Tumblr analayzing their relationship.

You're asking me about what I actually think is true so that's the perspective from which I'm starting here.

First, let me say that I think headcanons are like dartboards. There are some "canonest" headcanons—even if they're not confirmed true, they feel like they're at the bullseye at the very center of canon-compatible possibilities, the thing most likely to be true if canon were ever to directly explore it.

And then there are the "this isn't what I think they'd actually do if canon were ever to go there, but based on what we currently know this headcanon is still canon-compatible." These are the headcanons that are on the dartboard but on an outer ring, not a bullseye.

I think the "bullseye" interpretation of Ford's sexuality is that he's aromantic. Possibly ace as well, but this isn't as firm—Ford does talk like he finds the idea of a committed romantic relationship bizarre, but he doesn't talk like he doesn't understand the idea of being attracted to someone, making me think maybe he does feel sexual desire.

And if that's what Ford is, then he didn't say he had a crush on Bill because he didn't. He was obsessed with Bill, he considered Bill the most important person in his life, he respected him and admired him and liked him more than anybody else, he'd rather spend time with him than with anyone else... but, it's a platonic obsession. It's not in any way weaker for being platonic instead of romantic, but it's platonic. Queerplatonic relationship type territory.

He talks about girls talking to him someday because, for lack of any better evidence, he assumes he must be heterosexual because he has no positive proof otherwise, so he figures he probably just hasn't met the right girl, right? And he hasn't met the right girl because he's so unpopular no girls want to talk to him. Once he meets the Right Girl, he assumes he'll Get It then—because that's what a lotta aros (and aces!) think for the longest time before it dawns on them that that's never coming. (It's possible he even has been sexually attracted to women, further obscuring his aromanticism from himself. He did date a siren at one point. But tbh I don't think it's highly likely.)

That's my "bullseye" "canonest" interpretation of Ford's sexuality.

Now, my personal "on the outer ring of the dartboard" headcanon is that Ford's sexuality is, in extremely professional terminology, demiromantic monsterfucker.

He has felt sexual attraction, he is not in denial or repressing his sexual attraction in any way, he's accepted this about himself; however, everything he's been attracted to is, like... Mothra. or Cthulhu. or a weird singing fish-bird, i.e. that siren.

80% of the time he's had sex it's not even motivated by sexual desire but by other platonic motives. If the Hide-Behind ever hit on him, he would eagerly accept just to find out and document what Hide-Behind mating behaviors are like without ever once stopping to think "but am I attracted though?" Like he'll have a fine time, he isn't repulsed, but he's not doing it out of desire.

He does have the potential to fall in love—he has the potential to fall in love with Bill—but again, I headcanon he didn't say he had a crush on Bill because he didn't. It was slowly building over the course of several years. He was like 97% of the way there...

... when Bill revealed his evil plan and started torturing Ford.

So it never quite tipped over.

Thirty years later, Ford's got enough self-insight to realize that even though he wasn't "in love" with Bill, he was 1) very close, and 2) feeling something platonically strong enough that ultimately, that slight difference doesn't really matter.

I can also see him as just not feeling, understanding, or caring about the dividing line between romantic and platonic.

In either version of my headcanons, I don't think Ford was "repressed"/"in denial" about having "gay" feelings. He's got enough issues, I'm not interested in tossing internalized homophobia on top of it—especially when from college onward he's all about celebrating outsiders and weirdness. At most he'd be a case of queer ignorance where he hasn't explored himself enough to figure out what he is.

Tbh I don't think he's any more likely to be attracted to human men than he would be to human women—and if he did fully fall in love with Bill, I don't think Bill, O Wondrous Interdimensional Muse Whose Body Is A Frigging Triangle, would ping Ford as "male" enough for Ford to feel like his own attraction is "gay."

[deramin2]

For Juneteenth I want to tell you about Sarah Boone: inventor of the modern ironing board, and the second Black women to receive a US patent.

Sarah was born into slavery in Craven County, North Carolina in 1832. Legally barred from education, her grandfather secretly taught her instead. In 1847 she married freedman James Boone, and was herself freed for unknown reasons. They moved to New Haven, Connecticut before the civil war, and had 8 children together.

James worked as a brick mason, and Sarah worked as a seamstress and dressmaker. While other inventors of the 19th century had been slowly improving the design of ironing boards, Sarah found them inadequate for the job, so she set about making something better.

She wrote in her very detailed patent,

"The purpose of the invention is to produce a cheap, simple, convenient and highly effective device, particularly adapted to be used in ironing the sleeves and bodies of ladies’ garments."

Her ironing board was narrow, curved, symmetrical, and tapered so that the narrowest parts of a garment could fit around it flatly without ceasing while easily turning the garment for each side. It was padded so the fabric would drape more gently, also reducing ceasing. It had collapsible legs that started towards the center of the board so that there was plenty of room for clothes to fit around it while also being mobile and easy to store. It was easy and cheap to manufacture so that it would be accessible for anyone to buy. Especially important when Black people were (are) both poorer and more harshly judged for their appearance.

She submitted she her patient in July of 1891, and obtained United States patent number 473,563 in April of 1892. 132 years later we are still using Sarah Boone's design with very few changes.

She died in 1904 at the age of 72 and is buried in the family plot in Evergreen Cemetery in New Haven.

So next time you iron something, admire how well thought out and purpose built Sarah's design is. Black excellence and freedom made that possible. If she'd remained in slavery she would never have been able to design it or patent it.

I'm thinking about her story today and mourning the generations of Black innovation we never got because because of slavery. All that brilliance held back by such an evil and dehumanizing institution. All the Black innovation held back today due to the legacy of slavery and ongoing racism. The inmates who are still legally enslaved in this country and not given a chance to thrive and create. I'm thinking about how reparations could help other descendents of slavery have the money to work on their ideas. (Or just live other fulfilling lives because no one should have to be exceptional to be respected.)

I'm also thinking about how vital Sarah's ironing board has been to activist organizing. They're cheap, flat, long, fit in small crowded rooms, and historically everyone had one. The humble ironing board was vital to the Civil Rights movement, union organizing, and the queer rights movement among others. Ironing boards are an unsung hero of Black liberation.

Ironing boards are so simple that we never think about the care that went into their design or the woman behind them. But we should. And now you know the story.

[syluscore]

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing. 

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?” 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.” 

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 

~masterlist~

[thehanalia]

The Subtle Art of Becoming "That Girl" in 2024 🌸✨

°❀°•❀•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°•°❀°

Hello beautiful souls! It's me, Hana. If you are new reader then

Hi! I’m Hanalia and I want to empower women to prioritize their well-being while pursuing their dreams🌟

Today, I woke up feeling extra inspired by the #thatgirl aesthetic. You know her – she's the girl who embodies self-love, radiates positivity, and just seems to have her life beautifully organized. Personally, I believe, she's not just a trend; she's a movement towards becoming the best version of ourselves. And guess what? Becoming "that girl" isn't about perfection; it's about progress. It's about embracing the journey of self-improvement, self-care, and love. So, let's dive into a few ways you can bring a little bit of "that girl" magic into your everyday life:

1. Morning Rituals ✨

Start your day with purpose. Whether it's a morning skincare routine, meditation, or writing down your thoughts in a daily planner, find what centers you. If you have been following me for a while then you know how important this is. Remember, it's these small rituals that set the tone for a productive, positive day.

2. Self-Care Sundays 🛁

Dedicate time each week to pamper yourself. This could be a long bath, a skincare routine, or even a cozy evening with a book. It's all about showing yourself some love and appreciation.

I remember back in my childhood my older sister used to always have pamper sundays and I would always try and follow her footsteps however, back then your girl was as lazy as one can be...so zero exceptions. Be better than me girls and make the future you be proud.

3. Clean Girl Aesthetic 🌿

Embrace the clean girl aesthetic with a minimalist wardrobe, clean makeup looks, and a tidy space. A clutter-free environment not only looks good but also brings a sense of calm and order to your mind. Clean home = clean mind + remember clean body

4. Find Your Fitness Love 💕

Whether it's pink pilates, yoga, or a brisk walk in the park, find a physical activity that you love. It's not just about the physical benefits but the mental clarity and energy boost it brings.

5. Nourish to Flourish 🍓

Eating well is a form of self-respect. Fill your plate with colors, textures, and nutrients. It's not just about looking good, but feeling good from the inside out.

6. Learn and Grow 🌱

Embrace new hobbies, read more books, and challenge yourself to learn something new often. Growth is a huge part of becoming "that girl".

7. Stay Organized 📒

Invest in a good daily planner to keep track of your goals, appointments, and to-dos. There's something incredibly satisfying about ticking off tasks and staying on top of your game.

And here's a little secret for you: part of my "that girl" journey includes creating pieces that speak to my soul. I stumbled upon this adorable shop aka my Shop [GlowInGrow] that just screams self-care and love. My THAT GIRL planner is something that I did with love and my own hands. For me, it's not just a planner, it's my way of helping others because that's what being her is. Being her means she shares her secrets to help the rest of the girlies. MESSAGE ME FOR THE PROMO CODE *hint*

Also this planner has got you covered from setting your intentions and tracking your habits to planning your meals and self-care routines perfect for anyone looking to add that extra touch of mindfulness and beauty to their daily routine. It's subtle, but oh, so beautiful. 🌟

AND REMEMBER;

Becoming "that girl" isn't an overnight transformation. It's about making small, meaningful changes that align with who you are and who you aspire to be. Let's embrace this journey together, one step at a time. 💕

Last but not least, at the end of your journey of becoming that girl awaits the future who is The Girl!

Stay safe and stay hot...

With Love, Hanalia

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[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i have left

hey everyone this will probably be the last thing i post on this blog albeit im keeping it up for resources.

im eternally grateful for how this community has helped me through prostitution and everything, i have amazing mutuals and i have learned so much 💜

but it has become toxic. many of yall cant handle disagreement and default to being as condescending and obnoxious as possible. one of us calling out a post is not enough, we have to dog pile everyone with a slightly shitty opinion. some of yall have severely lost the plot if you ever had it in the first place. not everything is that serious, especially when it comes to online drama.

im sick of it. so many engage in the same bullshit we accuse online trans activists of. this is an echo chamber. so many just mindlessly parrot slogans and arguments. what im very sick of is seeing single tweets or posts by a nobody, usually anonymous, being spread as receipts and shit. you know how annoying it is when everything a self proclaimed terf somewhere on social media says is taken by trans activists at face value and representative of the community when theyre not even radical feminist, just transphobic? yeah. yet a lot of yall do the same by saving and sharing „receipts“ where some random person who claims theyre trans (or not even) says some fucked up or out of pocket shit. you will always find people like that online, from any politicial „camp“ or ideological alignment!

a lot of yall seem to think that debate is about winning and not like, having an exchange of arguments and let the audience come to their own conclusion

and i just dont hate trans people. in fact i feel kinship to any female or homosexual trans person, anyone except heterosexual males. many of yall dont even realise how male centered you are when you more or less equal the trans community to heterosexual men who have a fetish for humiliation and forced feminisation or whatever. who exist and are an issue and i do wish the trans community at large would distance themselves from those men, but its not all there is to it. yes i agree that we need to protect vulnerable young people, girls and especially lesbians and gay boys, from being pushed into transitioning, i think the age of consent should be put at 21 or something, but we have to acknowledge and consider that there are people who have already transitioned and will transition in the future and i just dont understand how you cant have any empathy for them. no matter what you think about transition, many trans people ARE vulnerable and marginalised. plus consider how many detransitioned women are in this community yet yall talk about trans people as mutilated and shit its gross. in the end we can only try to establish structures that keep people from self harming, but an adult of sound mind has the right to do so anyways, including plastic surgery and trans surgeries. and i want to keep my arms open to them; but a lot of rhetoric around it spread on here will only alienate them further.

right now im saving all my essays in notes so its out of my mind. i have missed the community a lot so maybe i will return at some point but i have also been feeling better since i stopped being on radblr. i miss the rare valuable input and thoughts by other women but overall i have felt unaligned with how things have been handled on here. it has been mostly negative instead of constructive and pragmatic. ive had the impression some of yall enjoy the „being in the in-group“ community aspect more than actually being here for feminist exchange. lack of nuance, lack of empathy, lack of reason. it pains me but i have more and more come to understand why people just block us without engaging on general suspicion because ive also come to be annoyed with some of yall engaging with posts - and im on „your side“.

anyways im doing okay, im going to drug counselling regularly now and am trying to establish a stable life for those of you who inquired, and i hope anyone reading this is self reflected enough to know whether this applies to her or not. bye

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners - Part 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2k

TW: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, imprisonment, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Howdy babes! I'm back in action (and in therapy!) so the will to write is stronger than ever. I am so excited that this is becoming a mini series since I loved the whole premise I had come up with last year. Pls enjoy part 2!

Part One

Last Week

“We have a White Male in his late thirties, breaking and entering into single women’s homes.” Hotch started, he put his hands in his pockets and continued talking. “ We know he used to be homeless, or transient, because of the manner in which he is gaining access to home.”

 Derek took over. “Pickpocketing. He snags the women’s keys, makes a copy for himself, and then breaks into their houses, condos, apartments.” 

Emily gestured to the board in the front of the room. There were several images, along with a map in front of the officers. “We know this because he leaves the set of keys on the kitchen table, along with the polaroid of the woman he’s kidnapped.” 

Derek spoke up. “He’s targeting women in their late twenties, with high paying jobs. We assume this is due to some kind of grievance where he believes he was wronged, and left him feeling powerless.” 

Hotch nodded at Derek. “Think promotions of jobs, priorities, breakups, divorces—something that would make this man feel as if he is no longer fulfilling the role of the head of the household.” 

 Derek leaned against the desk. “He takes his time with them. We know this because there’s been a body a week for the past three. We are assuming that he has a new victim considering the newest body was found yesterday. And we know that he picks up a body on Monday nights, and dumps them early Friday Mornings.”

“Look through reports from tonight and this morning about anyone missing. Even if it’s just a concerned call about someone not showing up to work, we need to know about it.” Emily held her hands in front of her as she spoke to the group. She gave a brief smile to the officers looking up at her. “Thank you.” 

As the room started to clear out, Derek looked over at Spencer, who was just staring at the board, deep in thought. “Earth to Reid. Hey.” 

Reid snapped out of whatever depths of his mind he was in, and looked up at Morgan. “Sorry, sorry. What.” 

“What? That’s it? Reid you just blanked out of that entire session. What is goin’ on with you man?” 

Spencer shook his head. “Sorry I-I, I’m not really…Sorry. It’s just..”

“Just what.” 

Emily nudged Derek with her elbow. “Be nice.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and trudged away. 

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t stop thinking about the security cameras. How has he not been seen, anywhere. L-Like, for example, when he goes and makes the copies of the keys, all of the locksmiths in town have cameras everywhere because of safety reasons, right? And-and-and, even if he didn’t go there, and went to a Walmart outside of the city, or something, they all absolutely have cameras that work. So how has this guy not been seen by anyone?” 

Emily nodded while Spencer continued to rant. “And I can’t quite figure out how—” Spencer pushed out of his chair by the window and went up to the board. 

Across the center of one of the whiteboards was a timeline.. 

“It’s such a specific timeline—A-As if he can only operate on those certain days, like he’s limited to Mondays and Fridays, because part of his week is blocked off.”

“Or.” Emily chimed in, following his train of thought. “Something triggers him every weekend, like he sees her…whoever she is, every weekend. Maybe he works in a restaurant, or something.” 

“But why would she go into a restaurant where she knows he is?” 

“To taunt him?” Derek pipes up. “Bring a new man in, once a week, on a first date. Show him how much better she’s doing?” 

“And risk her safety? I don’t think so.” Emily scoffed and turned back to the board. 

Headaches have always been your least favorite part of waking up from being knocked out by chloroform. You had never been knocked out via towel and drug before, but whenever you would watch your favorite crime-related shows, you would think about how god awful that headache must be when you wake up. 

And you were right. It was a fucking bitch. 

Your vision had spots dancing across it as you let out a groan from being conscious for the first time in god knows how long. You were still in your pajamas and weren’t shivering, which meant that wherever you were, was warm enough to keep you alive. 

You tried to move your hands but found that that was over your head, chained to the wall. The chain connecting both of your wrists was pegged into the wall like you were in some old castle during the Medieval Ages. If you weren’t dying of thirst and hunger, you would have found the situation almost comical. 

Once you got used to the complete lack of sunlight, you were able to make out the rest of the room, which was decorated with splatter across the walls and floor. It was obviously not a choice in decor, and more of a mess someone wasn’t willing to clean up. There was an outline of what seemed like bars at the far end of the room, directly across from a small wooden staircase that had been built up against the wall. 

It was a cell. 

You had been stuck in a cell like one of those prisoners in Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was not as silly and fun as Disney World had made it out to be. 

You went to speak, with only a sharp intake of air, and only a cough could come out. Luckily for you, the cough had alerted whoever was upstairs that you were awake, meaning that the silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the stairs when the door opened. 

You were just hop[ping this was one of those stupid melatonin induced dreams where something bad would happen but then you would wake up and suddenly you were safe in bed. As the man’s footsteps echoed louder and louder as they trudged down the stairs, you realized you couldn’t wake up. 

“You’re up. Good.” 

Your back pressed against the wall as you recognized the voice from the man standing at the bars of the cell. 

“What. Y/n hasn’t texted you today?” JJ  elbowed Reid lightly as the two of them were sitting next to each other in the bullpen. 

Reid blinked and looked up at her. “How did you…” 

“You’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. Either you’re really trying to analyze…something, or you haven’t actually read the page and something was bugging you.”

Spencer scoffed but put the file down. 

JJ gave his shoulder a little squeeze. She was about to say something when Garcia walked into the room, eyes wide, carrying a file. “New—we have to…” 

That was all the two agents could pick out of her sentences before Garcia was in Hotch’s office. 

“No rest for the wicked.” Emily called out to the two of them as all three made their way towards the meeting room. 

Eventually the team had all gathered in the conference room and Garcia was setting up the screen. 

“There’s been another body.”

The team sighed and nodded. This killer in DC has been evading them for a whole month now, that they knew of. It was becoming increasingly frustrating since the killer wasn’t rushing, wasn’t speeding up. They were still as meticulous as before. And right on schedule, a new body was discovered. Same markings as before, handcuffs on the wrists, and a quite gruesome death. 

“Still no fingerprints?”  

Garcia sighed and nodded. “Nothing.”

“I just don’t get how someone can be so meticulous, and stick to a schedule, and then….do something like that to a person.”

Spencer sighed and looked at the map Garcia had updated for him. “At least we have a slight geological profile. He’s picking houses all over DC, but then dumping the bodies in West End and Kalorama.”

Spencer pointed to the map. “He’s literally forming a route. Look. The bodies are placed almost like a trail. This newest body just connects the rest.” 

“He’s gearing up to someone. And whoever it is probably lives and works….” Spencer looked over at Garcia. 

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. No no no no.” 

“What?” Emily looked between the two before looking over at Derek. 

“Spit it out baby girl, what’s going on.” 

“Uh…Y/n’s firm is in the West End, and she lives like a ten minute walk away in Kalorama…” She whispered. 

The whole team shifted their gaze to Spencer, who was frantically looking at all of the information over and over on the board, trying to find anything. 

“Just because she hasn’t texted you doesn;’t mean that she is the next victim of our killer guys, I mean come on. What are the odds of that.” Derek tried to talk Spencer out of whatever he had just induced for himself. 

Spencer shook his head and turned towards the team. “Who always has a strict schedule that they have to follow, even if it’s against their wishes. Court-mandated.” 

Derek was stunned into silence at the fact that Reid didn’t even bother giving him a pity statistic. 

Hotch spoke up. “She’s a lawyer right?” 

Spencer nodded. The team was not following where they were going with this. 

“Have any of her clients, or opposing councils given her grief recently? That you know of?” 

Spencer was about to shake his head but then remembered what you had told him last night. “S-She has this, uh, client, that doesn’t like the schedule he was ordered to by the court. And hasn’t left her alone now...for weeks…blowing up her phone…she told me about him last night, complaining that he hasn’t stopped calling her work phone and somehow even got her personal number…” 

“So you talked to her last night.” Derek crossed his arms. 

“She texted me saying she made it home b-because she fell asleep at her office and walked home…at two in the morning...” 

Hotch nodded and stood up. “We’re going to head down to the main station, and bring all new information with us. Clear?”

“I already sent it over to them electronically sir.” Garcia piped up. 

Hotch nodded. Everyone exited the room, but Hotch and Reid stayed back. When the last person had left, Hotch closed the door and looked at Reid. 

“I’m not going to tell you to sit this out. I know you, and I’d rather have you focused on the task at hand with us than trying to do your own investigating.You have emotional stakes in this Reid. And you know how that clouds judgment. Every single decision you make, you run by me. Clear?” 

Reid set his jaw and exhaled, but agreed to Hotch’s request. There would be more room for arguing when you were found safe and sound. 

Reid’s silence continued throughout the next twenty minutes and then in the car on the way to the station as well. Every single one of the agents could tell this case was going to be a lot more painful than initially believed. 

And Spencer was freaking the fuck out. All he could do was sit and stare out the window as the building passed, a sinking feeling in his gut that wherever you were, it wasn’t pretty. He just didn’t understand how he failed to miss the literal trail of bodies the killer had been leaving for you. Literal warning signs in front of you. And he let you walk home alone last night. 

It was his fault. He should have known better. 

Spencer had just found you again—he couldn’t stand to lose you a second time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Next Part

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[leveloneandup]

For Christen Press, the Joy is in the Journey

Progress isn’t perfect.

That’s been Christen Press’s motto over the 781 days since she last played in a soccer match—and not just when it comes to her recovery from the ACL tear she sustained in June, 2022, but also when thinking about life as a whole.

“You have to accept that things won’t go the way you think they will, but maybe they’ll go better,” she explains. “Progress isn’t linear. It’s up and down and back and forth. But in that movement there’s more than what you ever imagined. So the imperfection—the struggle, the setbacks—those are actually the greatest gifts as you get to learn about yourself and you have the chance to grow.”

Press has had more than her share of setbacks over the last two years, as an initial surgery turned into two, then three, and finally four.

“I think every single time that I was told I’d have to have surgery, from the first ACL reconstruction and the three scopes that I had, I always thought I would be on the quickest timeline possible,” said Press when she returned to Angel City training in June. “I think that's part of who I am. I'm just relentlessly optimistic. I'm naively positive, and just thinking that everything's going to work out for me—and I never want that to change, you know? And I got off course of all of those timelines so many times that I finally had to actually relinquish that expectation of myself.”

In her two years off the field, Press says she’s grown and healed in more ways than just physically, but the goal was always to return, even if that possibility felt far off at times.

“I never thought about giving up,” says Press, “but there were moments that I thought I’d have to accept that I wouldn’t make it—or that ‘making it’ might not look how I expected.”

One of the hardest things about this process has been accepting that the outcome was not fully under her control. “I’m able to do a lot of suffering for success, and I’ve been that way since I was a child,” she says. “The question I had to answer was how to accept and be open to things I cannot control.”

Press had access to the best medical and rehabilitation care in the business—first at the Meyer Institute of Sports, an El Segundo rehab and performance facility specializing in elite athletes, and then with Angel City’s training staff, including VP of Medical and Performance Sarah Smith, Head Athletic Trainer Manny De Alba, Head of Sports Science Dan Jones, Director of Rehabilitation Sarah Neal, Performance Coach Michael Roman, Assistant Athletic Trainer April Seymon, and Senior Physical Therapist Joscelyn Shumate Bourne.

Ultimately, bodies don’t always heal the way we hope they will. All she could do was show up every day and try her best.

“I had to make decisions that centered my well being and full personhood,” she says. “To start to find my inherent value outside of excellence in the pitch.”

In part, that meant finding joy in other areas of life. She worked on her business, re–Inc, including starting a podcast with (business and life) partner Tobin Heath, initially focusing on the 2023 World Cup, then branching out to cover women’s soccer more generally. She went to the beach. She spent time with family.

In some ways, this time away from the game Press loves has been freeing. “The last two years have been the first of my career that I wasn’t evaluated on my performance,” she says. “I showed up for PT every day with a smile on my face and gave max effort. That’s all I had to do.”

Press’s return comes at a perfect time for the club: they’ve begun to build momentum with two convincing Summer Cup wins, against Club América and Bay FC, as they look ahead to the back half of the regular season. Playoffs are still well within reach heading into this stretch, a fact that Press’s return can only make more tangible.

“Her quality is inevitable,” says First Assistant Coach Eleri Earnshaw. “Last week in training, she scored a couple of goals that we haven't seen anyone else do yet this season in training.”

Returning to play after such a long hiatus isn’t easy for anyone, but Earnshaw says there’s a point the coaching staff have emphasized both to Press and to other injured players eyeing a return to the field: “your ability doesn't change overnight,” she says. “There are some things that just stay with you. Her chance creation, her separation from defenders—you’ve got to be in the right physical and mental place to be able to perform those things, to be confident to do it, but she is building those things up every day.”

“If we can get that quality onto the pitch for any number of minutes, great,” she concludes.

As Press anticipates her return to what she calls “the real world of professional sports”—one “filled with stress and pressure and often angst,” as she puts it—she’s going in with a fresh perspective.

“I’m determined to enjoy it,” she says. “I know who I am as a player and person, and I see this opportunity as a chance to do what I love. I told my teammates today: football is a miracle. It’s a miracle we get to do the thing we love.”