#You Should NOT Be Dating If THIS Describes You...

[teaboot]

Mr. Teaboot, sir, as a security person how do you feel about people (staff working areas) informing you of other people threatening them? I don't want to bother our security people, but I have had a regular become threatening and loom over me like he was going to hit me and I'm not sure if it would be appropriate to bring this up to them?

I would ask you to describe the person and what they look like, when they usually show up, and to tell me the next time they come in. I’d ask that you write down the time and date on your phone when they do come in so I can save CCTV footage if needed. I would ask you to inform your manager and write down a statement of events in your notes app each time something happens that can be used as evidence in case the manager ends up banning them from entering. If they are banned and continue to appear, I would make note and record that as well. Having evidence and a paper trail of events as they progress will help you have the legal system on your side of they do end up escalating and causing harm to you or your business.

I don’t know the quality or capacity of your security people, but you would likely not be the first person to come to them either á similar concern. A much bigger issue is if this customer DOES cause an incident of violence- physical OR verbal- and we only hear that it was a long, ongoing thing after the fact. The reaction to THAT is usually, “and WHY didn’t anyone tell us???” So. You really have nothing to lose.

I would just go up to one of them and say “hey, there’s a customer that’s been showing threatening behaviour, can I give you a description?” Or, “what should I do?”, or, “is there anything you can do to help?”.

Whatever THEIR response, I’d still keep notes for yourself, though. Implication of physical force is assault.

Tell security. It’s what we’re paid to handle. It’s the whole reason I’m here

[abyssalaerlocke]

I used to constantly crash because of lag spikes, so I headcanoned it that the chip damage is causing mini blackouts and stuff — one minute you're fine, then suddenly you're falling over the rail.

I have an (unposted) fic where Jackie didn't take the chip out, and it revived him. V's been telling him to be careful, especially as it progresses and gets worse. Eventually he ends up taking a dive into the canal, with the implication he died and rezzed again. Calls V, who picks him up with a change of dry clothes.

This playthrough, I fell in with the bike on my way to pick up Rogue for our date — good time to switch to Johnny's Porsche, but they're gonna show up soaking wet and smelling rank. Should have waited til I got there to switch to Johnny's clothes, they would have been dry 😅

(these were gonna be tags, but it's a lot of fun:)

Johnny crying about how Kerry's gonna put us in a ditch. Like *I've put us in the canal 3 TIMES this playthrough!*

Always prefer the bike though; Handling's better, Narrowness gives more leeway to avoid hitting things, can even drive on the walls and barriers

had a nice shot of the tire tracks where I safely passed over the heads of a couple junkies at the side of a tunnel

That Jackie fic I said V only rides, because they're a terrible driver. They very rarely drive a car, and describe themself as a "bad parking AI" — basically, whatever AI lets you call your vehicle, but isn't fit to drive passengers 🙄

Did give the Murkman car a full driving (and talking) AI like Delamain though, which gave V the versatility to have a passenger. Since Murkman's a reference to Batman, I called it Al — which is both short for Alfred, and looks like A.I.

I miss Al; what started as just a neat option for V to have a car, turned into an involved character. Joined in a firefight once, and got Johnny and Rogue to come when Scavs had V upstairs; couldn't access their phone HUD without their physical phone nearby, but could call vehicles — Al's just capable of understanding and doing more than the usual ride. When Johnny was too drunk to drive, and wanted their next impromptu date destination to be a surprise, V let him tell Al where to take them before getting in.

i do find it funny how everyone in the cyberpunk 2077 community has collectively decided their V is a horrible driver and just made it a character quirk and not reflective of us as players finding it difficult to drive

[annawritesblog]

Bed chem (f.c.)

Summary: Franco and Y/N can’t leave each other alone. Always teasing and mocking each other, but that night the mockery turns to something else.

A/N: I’ve been obsessed with Franco lately and there is nearly not enough content of him, so I decided to write one myself. There might be a part 2 of this if you’re interested;) jealous!franco, implied mature content, praise!kink if you squint

requests are open!!!

Franco never had to try hard in order to get girls. Well at least until now. Y/N was something else, with her killing confidence and chatty personality, he immediately swept Franco off his feet. He couldn’t quite explain how or when it happened but it definitely did.

After being promoted to full time driver at Alpine, the boy noticed Y/N instantly. Standing tall and trendy next to Kika in the garage, he wanted to talk to her. And oh did they talk. They had a dynamic like no one else: flirty insults here and there, stolen glances and snarky remarks. That’s how they liked it. Were they dating? Absolutely not. It was just a flirty friendship. As Y/N would put it.

The whole Alpine garage knew when those two get together there’s no mercy.

“You know, I’m not an f1 driver but I’m pretty sure you should drive ON the track.” Y/N said and Franco instead of getting insulted felt a warmth running through his body. He needed her real bad.

“Oh yeah, princesa? But if I were to stay on the track, you would be missing me right now.” He stepped closer to her and the girl looked up at him with innocent eyes. Franco couldn’t lie, he was lost in those eyes and had to fight really hard not to kiss her right there and then.

“Oh so deeply. What would I even do without you?” The girl teased her and ran a hand through his race suit.

Before Franco could have had any reaction, the young girl turned around and walked off. All eyes were soon fixated on the mysterious girl who walked with such confidence it could destroy many models’ ego.

After the race had ended and all media duties were finished, Franco drove back to his hotel and tried forgetting about Y/N. He wondered whether she would be at the after party and if she were to attend, what would she wear. God, he is so sick.

“You really want her, don’t you?” Pierre asked him as they were sitting in the hotel lobby. He didn’t even need to explain who he was thinking about, it was clear to Franco.

“Fuck yeah.” The boy sighed and took a sip from his whiskey. “She’s driving me crazy, but I love it.”

“You sure you don’t just want to mess around?” Well, it was a valid question.

It is kind of strange imagining Franco -the driver who flirts with reporters and admits on camera that he has done it in a car-, in love. Even to him it was odd. He was so used to girls only being attracted to his job rather than to him, but now it was different. He felt a real connection with Y/N, something he hasn’t experienced in years, or maybe ever.

“I’m sure, mate. I know what I want.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go get her.” Pierre patted his back and stood up as the two young girls arrived.

The sight in front of Franco was indescribable: Y/N wore a rather short dress with heels that defined her toned legs just right. Her hair was blown out and her red lips made Franco imagine things he shouldn’t have.

“Beautiful, ma cherie.” Pierre kissed his girlfriend and they started heading towards the front door.

Franco didn’t really know what to say. This wasn’t hardly the time to tell her he’s fallen for her, but he couldn’t just stay silent. At the same time, no words were expressive enough to describe how majestic she looked.

“Have I managed to break Franco Colapinto?” The girl laughed as she put her room key into her clutch.

The brunette boy grabbed the girl by her hips and wrapped his hands around her. He didn’t look into her eyes, instead he inspected her from much closer and that damn dress didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Y/N’s breath was caught up in her lungs and she suddenly didn’t know how to react.

“You have managed to make me speechless, what’s what you’ve done, carino.” He pulled her even closer and whispered in her ear. “Nunca antes había visto a una chica tan hermosa, princesa.” She had no idea what that meant, but she assumed he was more than pleased with her looks.

Franco left a small kiss on her neck and Y/N couldn’t hide the goosebumps forming on her entire body.

This moment ended way too early for her liking, but Franco held the door open for her and in just a few seconds they were rolling down the streets of Barcelona.

The club was packed. Mainly with f1 personnel and drivers but also a few fans who managed to get tickets.

Y/N had never been to a place like that before. This truly wasn’t her world. She preferred to stay at home with a good book, but the rare occasions she decided to go out, she went all out.

“Let’s get this party started.” Lando Norris yelled as he hugged the two Alpine drivers. Of course, he was the life of the party.

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” Kika took Y/N by the arm and they headed straight to the bar.

Franco decided to let loose and quickly found his fellow drivers. He held conversation with a few of them and the minutes were passing fast.

He didn’t even notice that Liam had disappeared. Although, soon enough he was informed by his former teammate.

“Mate, Liam is drinking with your girlfriend.” Alex shouted over the music and pointed at the bar where Y/N was laughing at something Liam said.

His blood boiled. No like, actually boiled. He wanted to go over there and do, well something. He soon realised that would just put him and them in an awkward situation so he decided to wait. Hopefully they won’t get any closer.

The pair of them had arrived on the dance floor. Heads were turned, but none quite like Franco’s. Liam stood way too close to her. He even leaned in and whispered something in her ear, just like Franco had done an hour before that. The girl smiled and Franco swore he could hear her laugh even through the loud music.

Suddenly, Liam grabbed Y/N by the waist and started swaying with her to the music. Franco wanted to look away so badly, but he just couldn’t. He eyed the young driver from afar.

Y/N had a few a drinks which definitely made her loosen up, but she was smart. Her every move was well thought through. Every move of her hips, every laugh she let out in the presence of Liam had a purpose. And it was to tease Franco.

That was the dynamic really. At least that’s what Y/N thought. She thought they were messing around, always flirting but never actually stepping over the edge.

She looked straight into Franco’s eyes. While the Racing Bulls driver was dancing dangerously close to her. Franco stopped dancing a while ago and his lustful eyes were fixated on Y/N. Their intense eye contact had meaning, it was talking without words.

When Y/N smiled at him dangerously, he knew he had to finish what he barely started. Make her his.

Without apologising, he stumbled through the crowd and straight to where Y/N and Liam were dancing.

“Hey man, having fun?” He asked and Liam immediately turned red and stepped away from the young girl.

“Yeah, good fun.” Liam looked at the Alpine driver who was determined to stay alone with Y/N.

“Me and Y/N were just about to go. Right, carino?” He looked possessively at the girl who had his whole heart.

“I’m in the mood to dance though.” She looked innocently, but Franco knew what she was doing.

“But I need to get you in bed by 12, remember?” Liam looked awfully uncomfortable and wanted to disappear but having stood between them it was quite impossible.

“I can get in bed by myself thank you very much.”

“I know, you’re a big girl.” He stepped closer and Liam was finally out of the picture. “But how else would I show you who you really belong to?” He pulled her close, his bulge right in front of her butt.

The girl didn’t answer, she just moved to the rhythm of the pop music that was playing, trying to ignore the fact that she was becoming hot. Her ass moved just right and touched just the right place. Franco’s grip on her hips tightened and he breathed on her neck.

“Was it funny to you? To see me raging while you laughed with him?” He nibbled in her ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She played dumb but oh did he love it.

“No? So you’re not a fucking tease?” Her smell was intoxicating and all he wanted to do was take her right there. “And you’re not grinding on me right now like a good girl?” She almost wanted to moan at his dirty words.

“Franco-“

“Yes, princesa?” He knew exactly what he was doing. “Do you want to go home and let me show you whose are you?” His voice was deeper and his accent thicker, and god did it turn her on.

Y/N didn’t answer, but took his hand and started walking towards the exit with him. As soon as they were out in the fresh air, the f1 driver pushed her lightly so her back was met with the wall in the alley.

She was breathing heavily. So was he. God, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His white shirt slightly wrinkled, his hair a mess and his face was flushed.

His hands travelled to her waist and without hesitation, he kissed her for the first time. It was slow and passionate, but demanding. He wanted her to know that no one could make her feel this way. His tongue glided over hers and Y/N let out a silent moan. Her hands found his hair and pulled on it slightly. He was devouring her. Like he’d imagined for weeks. And God, she tasted even better than he’d imagined.

Franco pulled away and looked at the girl in front of him who wasn’t so chatty anymore.

He attacked her neck and bit the skin there lightly. Just enough to make the girl cry out and leave her wanting more when he pulled away yet again.

“What are you doing?” The girl managed to ask.

“If you think I’m fucking you in an alley, you’re wrong, hermosa.”

“Then take me home, Franco.”

“If I do, I won’t ever let you go, you know that right?” He turned serious which made Y/N’s heart flutter.

“Kind of don’t want you to.” She kissed him and he realised he wasn’t going to let her go ever.

She was his. And he was hers. From that moment on, they were each other’s truly. Psychically or not, he was down bad for her.

[fanfic-ya-know]

Clothes Off

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader 

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: not beta read, reader is afab, reader is described as shorter than Bob (but I tried to be as vague as possible), reader is a civilian Flight Operations Specialist, likely incorrect descriptions of the Navy, pet names (honey, good girl), descriptions of body insecurities, smut under the cut (Minors DNI!!!) – body worship, dirty talk (Bob talks you through it and is the king of consent ofc), praise kink, soft-dom!Bob, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), fingering, overstimulation, spit, handjob, Bob puts his hand on your throat (but no choking!), possibly slight oral fixation(?), unprotected p in v sex (pls use protection irl) – lmk if I missed anything!

AN: I know Bob is typically written as the insecure one in his relationships, but I can’t help but think about how sweet and perfect he would be if his partner felt that way about themself. I had a spell of writers' block and then went completely off the rails lol… I’m definitely going to hell for this.

I’ve got a couple of other fics in progress, but please send in your requests or any constructive feedback!

You met Lieutenant Robert Floyd while he was on special detachment on North Island. You’d encountered your fair share of aviators while working at Top Gun, most of them smug and flirtatious. Not Bob. He was all sweet smiles and polite responses.

He made your job easy, too, always on time for your carefully crafted flight schedule, always keeping updated records of his trainings for your logs, always perfectly within regulation.

You were hesitant to get into a relationship. He was here for a specific mission and would likely return to Lemoore when it was over, but it was difficult to ignore the way you were drawn to him. You adored his modesty despite being considered one of the best of the best, and when he asked you to go on a date with him, you just couldn’t resist.

He was so charming, the way he stood on your doorstep afterward, waiting for you to turn your key in the lock and slip inside safely. You opened the door and turned back to look at him, cheeks flushed, glasses slipping down his nose as he looked at his shoes shyly. 

“I had a great time,” you commented, smiling softly up at him. Bob’s eyes flicked up from the ground, meeting your gaze.

“Me too.” His eyes were sparkling, star-flecked like the night sky. You had never been looked at like that before, and it made your heart swell in your chest. You chanced a glance at his lips, corners lifted in his perfect, lopsided smile, parted slightly like he was itching to kiss you.

“Great.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you stepped towards him. “Then we should do this again sometime.” 

You desperately wanted to kiss him, but instead, nerves getting the better of you, planted your lips against the smooth skin of his cheek before stepping away, back towards the door. Bob let out a breath through his nose that he seemingly had been holding in at your proximity and simply nodded. 

“Goodnight, Bob,” you said before stepping inside, easing the door closed.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, glued to his spot on your porch.

That was weeks ago. When Bob came home from his mission, the Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island, officially forming a team, and you couldn’t be happier. Given how well things were going, you would’ve done long-distance to continue dating Bob, but this made things significantly easier. 

You spent countless hours with Bob – he’d bring you to The Hard Deck with him or on trips to the beach, and you enjoyed getting to know his friends better, quickly attaching to Natasha. Other times, it’d be just the two of you, going out to a romantic dinner or spending a quiet evening cuddled up on your sofa watching a movie. You enjoyed every second of being with him. No matter how you had spent the day together, each date ended the same: with the two of you locked in a heated make-out session on the couch. 

You straddled his hips, his muscular arms would wrap around your waist, anchoring you against him as you kissed hungrily. Both of you getting worked up, you’d tug on his hair, pulling a low groan from his throat. Just as things intensified, just as it would start to get good, you’d pull away.

“We should stop,” you’d pant into his mouth. 

His fingers brushing across your exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up, Bob would nod obediently, adjust his glasses, and swallow the lump in his throat, shifting beneath you. Carefully, you’d climb off his lap, trying not to notice the prevalent bulge in his jeans. Both of you would sit on the sofa, taking shallow breaths, waiting for the other to break the silence.

“I should go,” he’d rasp, leaning over to you and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “See you tomorrow, honey.”

You’d follow him sheepishly to the door, leaning against the frame while you watched him walk to his truck. “Goodnight, Bobby,” you’d call out to him.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he’d say with a small wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

That’s exactly where tonight seemed to be headed – down the same dead-end road.

Bob had come over around mid-afternoon since Maverick let the team go early, and it was your day off. He cleaned up at his place quickly and stopped by the store, appearing on your doorstep with arms full of grocery bags. He kissed you quickly on his way through the door you held open for him, then headed straight for the kitchen.

“Hi, honey,” he murmured against your lips as you came to stand beside him, lifting onto your tiptoes to kiss him again. Then, the two of you started unloading the groceries. “How was your day?”

You let out a small breath of a laugh through your nose at the domesticity of the question coming from him. You thought that the whole scenario must’ve looked like something out of one of those old-timey sitcoms about a husband and wife.

“My day was fine, dear,” you teased, folding the now-empty paper bags in front of you. “What about you?”

Bob reached over, his large palm cupping your jaw, turning your face towards him. His eyes scanned your features, glinting with that look you had come to realize was reserved just for when he looked at you – really looked at you. He had that perfect, lopsided grin on his face, and you melted into his grasp.

“Much better now,” he answered, pulling you in for another kiss. This one was deeper, warming you from the inside out. When Bob pulled away, his glasses slipped down his nose slightly, but he made no move to fix them. His face was still just centimeters from yours, his lips tilting into a smirk. “Hungry?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

You nodded weakly in his hold, and Bob stepped back, his hand falling from your cheek.

“Great,” he said, his smirk softening into something sweet and boyish, like the charged moment hadn’t happened at all. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

Bob hardly let you lift a finger the whole time he was cooking. Other than occasionally asking you to stir something for him, his main instruction to you was to “sit there and look pretty,” which you were more than happy to oblige. Sitting at the bar of the kitchen counter, you watched him work. His arms flexed while he chopped vegetables, rolling his shoulders to alleviate some of the tension from his day. He turned to your spice cabinet, reaching for something on one of the higher shelves, causing his t-shirt to ride up, revealing a sliver of golden skin. Your breath hitched inadvertently at the sight. Bob turned, having found what he was looking for, and caught your stare. 

“You alright there, honey?” Your eyes darted up to his, catching the way they glinted with amusement.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat that you hadn’t even registered was building. You stood from your spot at the bar, coming around to help him finish with dinner preparations. While he finished cooking, you took down plates and glasses, setting the table.

Dinner was perfect, filled with comfortable conversation. Then, you ended up right where you knew you would. After cleaning up the kitchen, you made your way to the couch. Settling against the cushions, you faced each other, talking idly, pretending that you didn’t know what was coming next.

Bob’s eyes flicked to your lips, just long enough for you to notice, before his hand lifted to cup your jaw.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you towards him gently.

You followed his hand, allowing him to pull you into his lap. His warm palm stayed on your cheek, and his other came to rest on your waist as you straddled him, anchoring you to him. You wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders. Bob looked at you intently, studying you, memorizing your features. He swiped the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, parting your lips like he couldn’t help it, like it was involuntary, the action far gentler than its implication. He held the front of your jaw, not rough, just stable, your chin settling into the crook between his pointer finger and thumb. Then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t like his usual kisses. Not like the soft, sweet ones he’d lay on your lips like a whisper. Not even like the hungry kisses he gave you when the two of you got worked up on this very couch. No, this kiss was deeper. It was a prayer, a plea, like you held all the oxygen in the room right there in between your lips. When his tongue slipped into your mouth, it wasn’t hurried or impatient, just slow, languid strokes, tasting every corner of your mouth.

The heat of it spread through you, and your hips jerked against his involuntarily. The friction sent a shiver up your spine, and you whimpered into his mouth. Bob released your chin, his hand moving to mirror his other on your hip to steady you, and you pulled away from his lips, slow, reluctant, breathless.

“Bob,” his name fell softly from your lips. It was a plea, but you didn’t even know what you wanted. “I’m sorry,” you said through a breath, almost like a laugh. Bob’s brows furrowed, his eyes full of confusion and concern. “We should, uh… we should stop.”

“Why?”

The question caught you off guard. Bob had always just unenthusiastically agreed, pulling away and leaving you to the comfort of your solitude, no matter how much you both wanted each other. Still, he wasn’t angry or insistent, just cautiously curious.

“We can stop if you want to,” he clarified, “but that’s not what you said. You always say we should. So why, Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, lying, and by the look in Bob’s eyes, you knew he could tell. He wouldn’t press if you left it at that, but the thought broke you a little bit, deciding he deserved the truth. “I’m scared of you seeing me,” you said finally.

Bob’s gaze immediately softened. His hands on your hips felt like the only thing keeping you from sinking to the floor, but nevertheless, he looked at you with such reverence. Looking at him, you knew your insecurities were pointless. You had always known that you shouldn’t compare yourself to others, but the thought of Bob seeing you after having been in the Navy for so long and seeing women in much better shape than you was a fear that was constantly nagging at you. The look on his face told you that he understood. 

Bob had faced his own insecurities – it was still a struggle for him to take his shirt off at the beach – but it had never crossed his mind that you’d feel that way about yourself. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the world, and suddenly, he was determined to prove it to you.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said softly, his voice hoarse with a kind of need that you couldn’t quite name. His hand lifted from your hip to touch your face again. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, the backs of his fingers just barely ghosting over your skin. His eyes followed where he traced, but yours never left his face, full of concentration. He moved lower, mapping down the side of your neck to the edge of your collarbone that was exposed where your t-shirt had shifted. Then, his eyes flicked back up to yours. “Can I show you?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding blearily, eyes welling up with tears, overwhelmed by the vulnerability of your confession and the tenderness of his touch. 

Without another word, Bob lifted you, his hands shifting beneath your thighs to support you. You yelped softly in surprise at the sudden movement, securing your hold around his shoulders, and Bob smiled.

“I gotcha, honey,” he reassured as he moved to your bedroom. He pushed the door open, and your legs tightened around his waist as he carried you with just one hand.. “Gonna take care of you.”

He laid you on the bed like something delicate, your head lowering to meet the pillows as he stood above you. You watched as he took off his glasses, placing them on your nightstand. Bob looked down at you, then carefully climbed onto the bed. You parted your legs, creating a space for him, and looked up at him, your chest heaving with each breath. Bob ran his hand up your legs as he settled between them, his palms following the outside seams of your jeans from your knees to your hips. When he reached the hem of your t-shirt, he stopped, running the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, looking back up into your eyes.

You hesitated, but finally breathed a quiet, “yes.”

You sat up a little, pressing your elbows into the mattress to support yourself, allowing him to lift the garment from your body. Bob’s hands pushed the shirt up your torso, his palms warm against your sides, gliding upward until his thumbs met the curve of your breasts. You sucked in, attempting to flatten your stomach under his gaze, hating the way it looked from this angle. Bob took note of your reaction and moved to work the shirt off more quickly, tugging it gently over your head and tossing it to the side.

The moment your shirt was gone, Bob leaned forward, kissing your lips and easing you back down against the bed. Your hands tangled in his hair, fingertips gripping the short strands. The kiss was short-lived, as he moved to plant another on the corner of your mouth, then trailed more up your jaw towards your ear. 

“You’re the greatest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered sweetly, his warm breath fanning over your neck.

You let out a sarcastic huff, an insecure, breathy laugh that ripped from your chest before you could stop it. You half expected Bob to stop, to pull away and look into your eyes and insist that you believe him. Instead, he just placed a tender kiss to the sensitive flesh below your ear.

“I mean it,” he mouthed against you, kissing his way down your throat. He kissed across each of your collarbones, stopping just before he reached your shoulders and returning to your sternum. “You’re breathtaking.”

You hadn’t even noticed his palm against your belly until it shifted, too preoccupied with his mouth. Bob didn’t miss the way your stomach clenched beneath him, and he moved his head lower, skipping over your breasts entirely. Locking his eyes on yours, he kissed just below where your bra met the curve of your abdomen, then again, lower and lower towards your belly button. When he reached the top of your jeans, he stopped again.

“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he rasped. You let out a shaky breath. He kissed along the line of your jeans to your hip bone, and his fingers toyed with the button of your pants. “Is this okay?”

You absentmindedly licked your lips and nodded, unable to look away from his ocean blue eyes. They’d darkened with lust and something primal, worshipful.

“You’re gonna have to use your words for me. Okay, honey?” he instructed.

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips without a second thought. “Please, Bobby.”

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing another kiss to your hip as he popped open the button of your jeans. 

You gasped at his words, surprised by their effect on you, as your back arched off the bed instinctively, your head falling back to the pillow. One of your hands moved to grip the sheets below you, the other still tangled in his sandy blonde hair. You could feel the corners of his mouth quirk upwards against you, smirking.

“You like that, Y/N?” Bob asked, lifting an eyebrow, pulling your attention back down to him. “You like bein' my good girl?”

You whimpered, but remembered that he had told you to use your words, so you breathed another desperate “yes,” hoping for some sort of praise in return.

“Jesus, honey,” Bob groaned, sounding just as wrecked as you felt. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He looped his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, slowly peeling them from your legs. His mouth followed, kissing down from your hip until he reached your knee. Then, he turned his head inward, pressing kisses up your inner thigh while he worked your jeans the rest of the way off of you. He copied the path he had made on the other leg, moving from your hip down to your knee and then back up your inner thigh.

It took all of your energy not to squirm, not to move away from the affectionate press of each of his kisses. He made no comment about the way your jeans clung to your thighs, didn’t bat an eye at your stretch marks, just kissed you over and over again.

“Wanna taste you, honey,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh just below where you ached for him. “Can I?”

“Please,” you whined, growing more desperate by the second. 

“Good girl,” he praised again, this time knowing the effect of his words. 

He watched as your thighs tensed beneath him, clenching around his shoulders as he hooked his fingers into your underwear. He pulled the thin fabric from your throbbing heat achingly slow, his eyes fixed on the center of you the moment it was revealed. He pressed a kiss to your mound, just above your clit, and you jolted, your body taught like a live wire of nerves. Bob pushed your knees apart with his elbows, one hand moving to rest on your lower belly while the other caressed your inner thigh, working its way upward. Finally reaching your apex, his fingers were impossibly soft against your folds as he used two fingers to spread you open, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of your glossy center.

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered, and a broken moan fell from your lips. Bob looked back up at you, his pupils dilated, irises dark like the night sky. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me all along.”

Your breathing was ragged, each inhale felt more like a gasp for air, and every exhale was shaky and stuttered. Your cheeks were flushed with a heat that spread down your neck and chest, tethered to the burning want between your legs.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, honey?”

You nodded dumbly, unable to form words, but Bob wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it,” he demanded, unmoving, holding you open. You could feel his warm breath fanning over your dripping core, and you knew you wouldn’t get what you wanted unless you did what he said.

“Yes, Bob,” you choked out. “I-I’m you’re good girl.”

Bob’s head dipped between your legs before you’d even finished your sentence, diving into you like a man starved. He placed an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, lips not staying long enough for any real relief, but still, a sob ripped from your throat. He moved lower, his tongue flattening over your entrance and licking a thick stripe through your folds. Your hips canted up, chasing the feeling of him, and his hand on your stomach pressed down, grounding you, while the other moved to grip your thigh, not rough, but firm. 

Bob continued to work you open with just his mouth, his tongue fucking into you as his nose nudged against your clit. Your grip on his hair tightened, tugging at the soft strands, pulling a low moan from him. The vibrations rattled through you like an earthquake, causing your spine to arch off of the bed. You grasped at the sheets with your other hand, trying to anchor yourself somehow, but Bob didn’t let up.

He could feel you tighten, your whole body tensing in pleasure. Your thighs pressed against where he held you open, threatening to clamp around his head and suffocate him – which he thought wouldn’t be a bad way to die. Still, he pushed you into the mattress, feeling you tremble beneath his strong hands.

“Talk to me, honey,” he rasped into you.

You were a mess of broken moans and whimpers; however, you obeyed.

“Feels s’good, Bobby,” you whined, your voice ruined from pleasure. “I’m so – fuck – so close.”

“Then be a good girl and cum for me,” he said against you, his mouth continuing to work you over.

He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves relentlessly until you capsized. Waves of pleasure washed over you as you shook, crying out, and Bob didn’t let up. He kept lapping at you, drinking in your juices like you were water and he had been wandering through the desert. Broken pleas fell from your lips, but you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

Bob finally lifted his head when you had calmed down, tugging his hair to stop him from overstimulating your sensitive cunt. He looked up at you, eyes shining, reflecting the soft light of the lamp on your bedside table.

You were both panting, just staring at each other, completely lost in the moment. You thought he would move, crawl up your body, and kiss you, but Bob stayed there between your thighs. He splayed his fingers wider against your stomach, and his other hand twitched on your leg, moving ever so slightly towards your messy center. Your eyes widened, realizing what he was silently asking you, and you swallowed, thick and slow, like it hurt.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, honey,” he whispered like he was trying to convince you. “Wanna see it again.” 

You mewled as his fingers brushed higher, still reactive from the orgasm he had just given you. Nevertheless, you nodded, giving him permission to touch you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he repeated, pulling another helpless moan from you as he brushed just the tips of his fingers through your folds, and you clenched delicately around nothing. “Is this what you want, honey? Need to hear you say it.”

“Mhmm – please, Bobby – want it,” you moan, voice cracking around the words as they formed in your throat.

Bob didn’t hesitate, dipping his middle finger into you. He prodded at your entrance and then pushed in slowly just to the second knuckle. Your head fell back against the pillows again, and Bob smiled at you. When you looked back down at him, he was already watching you, the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way your eyelashes fluttered as he started to thrust his finger in and out of you. Then, he added another, his ring finger joining the other to work you open. You groaned, low and wrecked, at the stretch of it.

He lowered his head again, sucking and nipping gently at your clit. You cried out his name, the pleasure of it too much. You tugged sharply at his hair, pulling his mouth away from you. A breathy “please” was all you could manage, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes from overstimulation.

“Okay, honey,” he said with a soft smile. He lifted onto one arm, moving up your body until his nose brushed against yours, his fingers never stopping their movement inside of you. 

Instead, they slowed, pressing deeper, curling into that spongy place that you could never reach with your own fingers. You all but screamed in ecstasy, and Bob swallowed the sound, his mouth claiming yours all over again.

You kissed sloppily, tasting yourself on him. Bob took your bottom lip into his mouth, biting it just hard enough to redden it, enough to make it sore, before he soothed it with his tongue. He pulled away, a small string of saliva connecting your mouths. When it snapped, pooling just at the lower edge of your lip, you swiped your tongue over the combined spit and swallowed. Bob groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your heated skin, picking up the pace of his fingers and shifting his thumb to circle your clit. Your whole body jolted under him. “Can you take your bra off for me, honey?” he husked into your shoulder, pulling the strap with his teeth and letting it snap against you.

He lifted from his place in the crook of your neck to give you the space you needed to arch forward enough to reach behind your back and unhook the clasp. Bob watched as you slid the straps down your arms and tossed the bra to the side, instantly forgotten. 

The rhythm of his fingers never faltered, continuing their relentless pace, as he latched onto your nipple. There was no teasing, no trail of kisses to the spot you needed him at – it was immediate, like he had forgotten where he was. Bob suckled at your breast, rolling the hardened bud of your nipple between his teeth, swirling his tongue. He lifted with an obscene pop and moved to the other, giving it the same attention as the first.

Your climax was building, your hips rocking against his hand, chasing it. Bob didn’t stop you, just letting you take what you wanted. He was involuntarily rutting against your mattress, unable to contain himself as he got lost in the feeling of you.

And then, you came. It was like a dam breaking, pleasure flooding your system as your vision blurred. You clawed at his shoulders, clinging to Bob for stability because it felt like the earth was shattering beneath you. His name spilled from your lips, choking on the end of a moan that ripped through your chest, as he worked you through the high. He slowed his movements, but didn’t stop, your walls fluttering around his fingers. His head lifted from your chest, and he kissed you fully, then pulled away, pressing his forehead into yours.

“So good, honey,” he whispered against your lips, the side of his nose nudging yours. “You did so fucking good.”

You panted into each other's mouths, Bob’s fingers stilling inside of you, as you came down from the unbelievable high. A moment passed, his body pressed into yours, before you realized something.

“Bobby,” you breathed, the nickname sweet like honey on your lips. He hummed in response. “I need you to take your clothes off.”

Bob let out a soft, tired laugh from his nose and lifted off of you. He sat back on his heels so you could look at him, still in his t-shirt and jeans, between your trembling legs as you propped yourself up on an elbow. Bob pulled his fingers from your pulsing core, and they glistened with your release. You gawked as he opened his mouth, licking the pads of his fingers before sucking them in completely. It was borderline pornographic when he released them with a quiet pop and wiped away the saliva onto his pant leg, holding your stare the entire time.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a smirk before tugging his shirt over his head.

You sat up fully, running your hands down his abs, marveling at the toned muscles. You knew Bob would be fit – he was in the Navy for god’s sake – and you’d seen him without a shirt a time or two, but seeing him like this, in your bed, was a whole different experience. You reached for the button of his jeans, popping it open and dragging the zipper down, when you heard Bob chuckle at you. You looked up at him sheepishly, eyes wide, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t be.

Bob just smiled at you sweetly, taking your chin between his fingers and pulling you in for a kiss. It was tooth-rotting – the kind of kiss that made your head spin, made you forget what you were doing. When he released your lips, it took you a second to reopen your eyes, savoring the feel of him for just a moment longer. 

One of Bob’s hands covered yours on the waistband of his jeans, tucking your fingers into his boxers as well and helping you to push them down, just enough for his cock to spring out. You inhaled sharply at the sight of him. He was long and thick, flushed from base to tip, with a deep blue vein that trailed the length of him on the underside. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him, and you looked up at him for permission.

“Go ahead, honey,” he said, giving you that same sticky-sweet smile from before. 

He bit his lip as he watched you, tracing your index finger along the vein until you reached the base of him, then wrapping your hand around him firmly, fingers not quite touching. You jerked him a few times, enjoying the way his breath hitched in his chest, before leaning in and kissing his tip. The precum that had beaded there spread across your lips, and you licked them clean, lifting your gaze back to his tense stare.

“Jesus,” he groaned, watching you intently as you leaned back in to wrap your lips around his tip, never breaking eye contact.

You swirled your tongue around him, taking more of him into your mouth. Bob tangled his hand into your hair, pulling you off of him, to your surprise.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep that up, honey,” he admitted. Before you could protest, Bob moved his hand from your hair to the front of your throat. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t apply any pressure, just placed it there, stopping you. “Lie back,” he instructed.

Bob removed his jeans and underwear fully, then followed you, slotting his hips between your open thighs and settling his chest against yours. He supported his weight on one hand while the other reached down to line himself up with your entrance. He slid between your folds a few times, coating himself in you, his tip catching on your clit, causing you to whimper, a shiver running up your spine.

“You still want this?” he asked, looking into your eyes earnestly, searching for any sign of hesitation or reluctance. 

“More than anything,” you confirmed, the first coherent thought you’d been able to form this whole time. “Wanna be close to you. Wanna be yours.”

Bob couldn’t help but smile, the words simultaneously making his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

“You are mine, honey,” he said against your lips. 

Bob kissed you hard while he slid inside you effortlessly, all of the buildup preparing you for the perfect stretch of his cock. He buried himself in you in one slow thrust, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob was devouring you, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your open mouth. It was everything and nothing like you thought it would be. It was hungry and tender and wanton and vulnerable.

He released your mouth and brought his hand back to rest on your throat. It wasn’t possessive – it was like he needed to feel your pulse in his hand just to be sure that you were there, that you were real. His fingers splayed against the soft skin, his thumb moving up and down the side in a caress. Bob looked at you the way he had after your first date, the same look he gave you in the kitchen and every day in between, the one that told you everything you needed to know.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he choked over the words, like they had been torn from his mind and he hadn’t realized he was even speaking. “I’d give you anything you want.”

Your hand moved to his that was braced next to your head, working its way under and intertwining your fingers as you looked up at him, eyes mirroring his. Your other smoothed a path along his shoulder before stopping at the nape of his neck, curling into the soft strands of his hair.

“Bob,” you sighed dreamily before your gaze sharpened ever so slightly. “I want you to fuck me.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost like a snort of a laugh, but still soft.

“Yes, ma’am,” he rasped, latching his mouth back onto yours as he began to thrust in and out of you.

He built speed, finding a rhythm quickly, pounding into you. You were being split open on Bob’s cock and pieced back together by his words. Each powerful thrust was matched with a groaned praise, telling you how perfect you felt around him, how well you were taking him, how good you looked underneath him. It was dizzying.

Before you knew it, you were babbling. Bob’s carefully crafted compliments were cut off by your whimpers and moans and cries. You needed more, it was too much, you couldn’t decide, and Bob could see you spiraling. So he did the one thing he could think of. He shifted his hand up from its place on your throat to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing to the front of your chin and pulling your mouth open. Then, he pressed in. Your lips closed around the tip of his finger, and he pushed it in further, running the pad of his thumb to lay flat on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he praised as you sucked him in.

You clenched around him, and Bob knew you were close. He continued to talk you through it, giving you what you needed to reach your peak. Bob pulled his thumb from your mouth, breathy moans spilling from your lips as he pressed the spit-coated digit to your clit. 

You came around him with a shattered cry, your climax hitting you like a freight train. Your hand on the back of his head moved to grip his shoulder, leaving crescent-shaped divots on his freckled skin. Bob’s name spilled from you again and again as you pulsed around him, milking out his own orgasm. 

“Jesus fuck, honey – I’m gonna – where do you want –?” He was stuttering, unable to finish a sentence.

“Inside,” you moaned, feeling him throb at the thought alone.

Before he could ask again, to make sure he had heard you right, he was cumming. Hard. He collapsed into you, hips still moving against yours, fucking his release deeper, until he couldn’t anymore.

You laid there breathlessly clutching each other, unable to move or speak for a while. Then, slowly, the feeling came back into your body. You stroked Bob’s hair and turned to kiss his temple. He nudged the crook of your neck, where he had buried his face, and kissed you softly. It was quiet except for your collective breathing and the pounding of your heart. Finally, you broke the silence.

“I can’t believe we could’ve been doing that the whole time.”

[maybe-boys-do-love]

The Iron Ladies: A Queer Winner

The Iron Ladies (2000) shouldn't be mentioned in the same breath as Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, or To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar. In many ways, it ought to come first. For those who don't know--which is far too many--it's a Thai sports comedy film directed by Yongyoot Thongkongtoon based on the real life 1996 national champion men's volleyball team made up of kathoey athletes (a gender category in Thailand that includes what Westerners would term both gay and transgender individuals who would've been assigned male at birth). The film wonderfully captures the absurdity and queer joy of an event like that occurring.

You will love these characters, especially Jung (Chaicharn Nimpulsawasdi) whose optimism and familial support are the heart of the movie. But Jung's not the central character. In fact despite a suggestion early on, The Iron Ladies reveals itself as a true ensemble piece. I cried multiple times over how lovely these friendships were, like a femme version of the We Are cast. The team effort is one of its unique strengths in the realm of queer films. The breadth of experiences and desires represented are so much more diverse than we're often allowed. Partial closets, supportive parents, post-ops, muscle queens, a lesbian whose tired of bigoted men and just wants the fucking job done right.

Especially in our more recent era of representation wars online, you'll think the breadth of characters and their flamboyance were created specifically for dramatic effects. But the footage of the actual team shown when the credits role reminds us that that queerness and camp is a real life experience for so many.

Camp is rarely so economic with its storytelling. Each scene's brief, meaningful, and hilarious before cutting to another often already in the middle of the action. The film edits around the games until the final, leaving the emphasis for the story: the team's collaborative growth, the accumulating fans, the politicking by the league against the team. As austere as the edits are, though, there's still room for full drag performances or a Hong Kong style action scene. How wonderful it is to create the f a n t a s y!

This film feels like it could change people's minds and save people's lives. I don't say that lightly. It has mass appeal while staying true to its deeply progressive politics. In Karl Schoonover and Rosalind Galt's Queer Cinema in the World (shout out to @flowerbeasblog for the rec), they discuss the concept of 'the Queer Popular' specifically in relationship to this movie. It was the second highest grossing film in Thailand at the time, set off a wave of kathoey inclusion in the Thai film industry, and remains one of the highest grossing films to date, but it also performed extremely well internationally across Asia and the rest of the world (it played in US cinemas for eight months). The authors describe that "it deploys generic devices and stock characters of the underdog sports film: outsider athletes, a mean jock with a bullying coterie, and an inspiring coach." The Iron Ladies also has an easy model to depict how an audience should respond to it cheering in the stands of the film's courts.

Searching for access points and accessibility to mainstream culture is not assimilation when the creators maintain queer perspectives. Many of us Americans in the 2000s remember how impactful Glee and Modern Family were, to the point that many consider them as major influences on the eventual gay marriage legalization. Schitt's Creek more recently seemed to have a similar pervasiveness amongst heterosexual culture. Entering into QL, I felt thrilled to see series like My School President and Cooking Crush offering the same kind of broadly appealing friendly comedies. The Iron Ladies offers a clear Thai precedent to strategies BL employed to wedge its way into the sea-changing force it became. The 2000 film presents more jarring queer characters with cruder language, but it handles it all with so much dexterity within such a familiar structure that it stays winning for all audiences. In both its its story and the way it tells the story, its a lesson in staying true to yourself while remaining a good sport.

It's available to watch for free on Youtube here and has a sequel I've yet to watch.

[jynxeddraca]

Date Everything House Headcanon

How old is the house?

Far as I have seen, there is not a firm answer to this. You can argue with Volt about the house not being "that old", but it's obvious the house isn't new. There are conversations about owners in both the 80s and the 70s. Also, Dolly says that there was a mid-century renovation/cataclysm and the Dustonite site only survived because it's under the original floorboards. She estimates that that site is around 80 years old. Assuming the year in-game is the same IRL - this would put the house at having been built by at least 1945.

I think the house is much older than that though. Again, Dolly mentions a mid-century renovation happened. Mid-century is generally used to refer to the 1950s, but ranges from around 1945-1970. If the house was built in the 40s, it wouldn't need a renovation. I actually think the house was built sometime in the 1920s.

Hear me out.

If you ask how old Eddie is he'll return with a question about how old is the house, which means he is probably one of - if not the - oldest non-structural object around. I think the biggest clue about how old the house is, is from the Breaker Box itself. The club is described as being a "classic speakeasy". These took off in the 1920s when Prohibition was in effect and even many modern speakeasies tend to roll with at least a vague 1920s aesthetic. Both Eddie and Volt do have a slightly more modernized 1920s style to their clothing. They both wear vests over button-up shirts, the shirts have pin-striping to them (Eddie's being actual wires on his shirt) which was popular in the 20s, and while both of their pants are closer to modern skinny-jeans - pants that are tailored closer to the body (though not form fitting) doesn't seem to be an uncommon choice as opposed to straight-legged pants.

Another thing that hints at this is when Volt greets the audience during the first interaction, he calls them 'Scofflaws'. A 'scofflaw' means 'a contemptuous law violator'. It originated in 1924 when a wealthy Prohibitionist sponsored a contest to coin an appropriate word to mean “a lawless drinker”. That's not a particularly common word to just know. Sure, Volt might just be leaning into the speakeasy theme, but I like the idea this is just a normal part of Eddie and Volt's vocabulary.

But the house being that old also makes a lot of sense considering Eddie and Volt's arc in the game. Electrical components absolutely do wear out and people don't always update wiring like they should. Modern appliances and tech use far more energy than what a breaker box built in the 20s would be able to handle. Eddie talks about it slowly creeping up on him and feeling drained all the time and it makes sense. Yes, there was a mid-century renovation, and I imagine there was at least some updates to the breaker to handle the updated electrical demand - but Eddie and Volt also bring up that there was a faulty wire. Though admittedly, it might be faulty because Eddie used it to split Volt off of him.

But I digress. The power surges and fluctuates in the Breaker Box, the player and Eddie and Volt comment on it. The player can also mention they are in the electrical closet often 'generally to flip a breaker after it rains'. So the power in the house in general is also doing stuff and I assume it resolves itself after Eddie and Volt's good endings.

Anywho, in summary, I think the house was built sometime in the 1920s.

[insomniadreamzz]

Paint us in red

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader finds out Wednesday goes to the Ball with Tyler which makes her obviously jealous and she wants to get in between them. Secretly Wednesday hates that she went with him thanks to Thing. She actually wants you as well.

Warnings: lesbian Smut, mentions of Blood, Wednesday receiving

Note: I am so bad at describing clothes so I added a picture to the cover, yea reader is wearing something like the middle pic lmao

It‘s that time of the year again where every student of Nevermore dresses up just for this one special evening. A ball where everyone should have fun and just enjoy themselves.

Actually…

You were in your room, about to get dressed like they said the dress code would be, cringing inside when you think about the white. A wild knocking on your door interrupting you as you opened your dorm room, surprised to see Enid rushing inside.

„I can’t believe what Thing did!“ She sighed, taking a place on the edge of your bed as if it was her own. „Uhm…hello to you too. Come in? Take a seat?“ You said, making her feel instantly uncomfortable realizing how rude that was. „Sorry! I just. Thing made Wednesday go with Tyler to the ball! That’s terrible I know you wanted to ask her.“

You gave her a sad smile, shrugging your shoulders. „I know Enid. I was having a coffee at the shop where he works, I saw Thing giving him a letter I knew he typed down. He just wanted to be nice helping her to have a date.“ You said but there was still pain in your voice.

„And you just let it be like that? Even a blind one would notice you fit so good together. Look at all of this!“ She pointed around your room. You liked dark stuff as well and enjoy dressing up in black clothes, partly even a little gothic like, that’s why tonights dress code made you cringe.

„Just because our favorite color matches doesn’t mean we fit as a couple Enid.“ You crossed your arms, frowning at the werewolf.

„Okay but I see it in her eyes when I mention you. Anyways…Tyler isn’t the right one for her. My senses tell me he isn’t that innocent as he shows…“ She made a little disgusting look, wrinkling her nose.

„Okay okay and what should I do in your opinion?“ You gave in, trying wouldn’t hurt you, there is nothing to lose anyways. „Well!“ Enid stood up, walking over to your closet and opening it…rude.

„First of all don’t wear that white thing. Wednesday doesn’t either and as you see I am also not fully following the dress code. Wear something that she would like seeing on you! How about that?“ She picked out a long coat that looked perfectly for a gothic ball. „And maybe something dark underneath? A dark tight shirt maybe? Dark pants…oh and I bet you have dark boots that will fit as well!“ She mentioned with such a wide grin, you couldn’t say no.

„Ah…fine I will try to impress with my dark style. If the headmistress will kick me out because of my dressing it’s your fault.“ You gave her a serious look but a second after both of you laughed.

———

Later you made it to the ball, your outfit did catch some peoples eyes who weren’t distracted with dancing but you were only searching for one person that’s also wearing black and it didn’t take you long to spot her. You saw her dancing with Tyler which made your stomach twist but you know calmness will be the key, keeping yourself distracted by getting a drink, talking to some classmates.

You lost track of her during trying to distract yourself so you decided to get to a more less crowded place and to your luck you saw Wednesday sitting with Bianca in exactly the soot you wanted to go, both of them looking at you, Wednesday eyeing you from head to toe while Bianca stared at you with wide eyes, not expecting you to pick that kind of outfit. „Woah. Someone looks really fitting to you.“ Bianca told Wednesday but she only gave her an unimpressed look. „She just has a better taste in clothing like anyone else in here.“

You try not to smile too much at hearing Wednesday’s comment about your choice of clothing as you walk towards them. „Can I sit with you?“ You ask, Bianca standing up instantly as if she got stung by a bee. „I wanted to go anyways, have fun freaks.“

With her leaving, you decide to sit down next to Wednesday, close enough for you to talk but far enough to have enough space between you so she felt comfortable, knowing she needed her space. „Did I interrupt something?“ You ask her and she looked away as if she suddenly got a little bit nervous around you. „No. Just a boring talk with queen bee.“ She mentioned with her usual monotone voice, making you chuckle a little at the nickname she gave Bianca.

„Queen Bee huh? Whatever…you look very beautiful. That dress suits you.“ You eyed her.

„Thanks. Your style is very pleasant to look at as well.“ Even if it sounded like she was unimpressed, it was a compliment and she didn’t give compliments that easily.

„I do like that better than the actual dress code. I see you went with your favorite as well.“ You are still eyeing her and you knew she could feel your gaze burn into her. When she turned to face you, you saw a little spark in her eyes. „I didn’t think you would actually come.“

Her words made you frown, why would she think that? Did she know?

„Sorry about Thing. It was his stupid idea and I couldn’t say no. I got your note. There just happened some events that made…me not answer it.“ It kind of hurt you to know she got your note where you asked her if she wanted to go with you and didn’t respond but on the other hand she was apologizing which made you feel relieved as well.

„Oh? I thought you ignored it and put it into the trash can.“ You said with a chuckle to hide away your disappointment.

„Listen. I went with Tyler to thank him for his help, platonically.“ She went on to explain herself and it was kind of cute. Her serious gaze couldn’t hide the fact that she felt bad for ignoring you.

„Well…now I can’t see your date anymore. Do you maybe wanna dance with me?“ You finally asked, not wanting to waste another chance to be with Wednesday and her answer surprised you even more. „Sure. I don’t do this stuff, physical touch isn’t my style but we can.“

That’s true. She danced with Tyler but didn’t really touch him, didn’t really get physical with each other. You expected another excuse but her actually saying yes surprised you. Enid wasn’t lying, Wednesday did like you.

„Well then.“ You stood up, reaching out for her and that’s when her hand reached for yours, her skin was cold but softer than you thought.

It felt like everyone else wasn’t existing around you as you danced together, being close together, her hand resting on your shoulder while yours on her waist. You ignored everyone elses stares and mumbling.

„Wow they look like a dark gothic couple. I am sorry dude. I lost her too.“ Xavier said to Tyler and you could hear it, loving every bit of it. Everyone thought that you fit perfectly together. Alone the view was saying a lot, you are the first one Wednesday touched without feeling disgust or uncomfortable.

The way her dark eyes looked into yours, your gaze moving just for a moment tonher dark painted lips and then back into her eyes again. She noticed but she didn’t do anything about it, yet.

Suddenly you felt something dripping onto you, it felt like rain but of course it wasn’t possible since you were in a building. Then you saw it was blood that dripped onto you. A prank that made everyone around you run and scream in panic except Wednesday, she stood close to you as she looked up with a smile, clearly enjoying this kind of prank.

She moved her finger to her mouth, sucking on it and her grin only grew as she noticed it was real blood. „They really put everything into that prank, I like it.“

Wednesday liked everything dark, even a joke like this one and that’s why you loved her, you loved her craziness and that she was just unique. You looked at her with a smile, your eyes telling her how much you adore her and she looked at you with the same intense gaze. „Still here?“ She squeezed your shoulder, making you get back to reality. „Sure why not? Isn’t this scenery perfect for us?“ You dared to say and she seemed to be satisfied with your answer. „Let’s make it more perfect.“

You wanted to answer but you felt her arms snaking around your neck, making you cup her cheeks and kiss her instead. After all, actions say more than any words could, the iron taste of the blood not making you feel uncomfortable or back off. You loved exactly this kind of craziness.

Everyone else was out now, it was only you and Wednesday left in that building.

In this moment you already lost yourselves into a heated kiss, humming softly as her tongue moved along your lips, asking for entrance and you let her in, letting her tongue explore your mouth as your hands moved down along her body until you reach for the fabric of her panties, feeling her excitement. She was already wet from just making out.

„Look whos needy…“ You had to tease her, making her bite down on your lower lip to make you gasp in return. „Shut up and touch me.“

Hearing those words from her incredibly turned you on, your hand slipping underneath her panties to find her wet needy cunt, rubbing her wet folds and giving her clit also some attention as you circled it and rubbed it, gaining a soft little moan from her.

You kept kissing her, muffling her moans as you went further and slipped your finger inside, rubbing her from inside, hitting her sweet spot, her hips moving in rhythm with you, knowing she wanted more so you added another finger, pumping them faster inside of her and curling them to rub her sweet spot more, knowing she was close when you felt her walls clench on you.

„G-God…fuck…“ She cursed under her breath, throwing her head back which gave you perfect access to her neck, kissing her there without caring about the iron taste, sucking and licking on her sensitive skin on her neck, the sensation of it only making her feel more closer to her climax. You felt it so you moved a bit faster inside of her until she cried out your name, her nails digging painfully deep into your shoulders, clenching so much on your fingers.

You kept her close, helping her ride out her orgasm by slowly moving your fingers and then bring them to your own mouth, licking them clean. The taste of her on them was addicting.

There was definitely a blush on her cheeks even though she would never admit it, panting softly as she gazed at you, hands still on you for support.

„No word to anyone…I never made those sounds…“ She mumbled and you just smirked at her. „Sure.“

[copingcopia]

Oh look it's projecting onto Papa time again

Well, Frater today technically. I don't really know how to categorize this. SFW, Frater x You relationship exploration... thing. About 1k words.

You met him when he believed that part of his life might be over. Transitioning from Papa to Frater had been abrupt and jarring but, after some time, there was only one word Copia would use to describe his new role - lonely. As Papa, he could have anything and anyone he wanted. Even as a former Papa, this should have still been the case. But in confusion and overwhelming uncertainty, he became this. Frater. Locked in his not-even-an-office office, angry and bitter, eventually worn down to almost complete numbness and detachment.

He realized a little too late that he should’ve used this time to learn to be a person again. By the time the fog of grief had started to lift, he had rightfully been written off as grumpy old  Frater. The jealous brother. The head of their church who could barely be bothered to show his face, either for sermons or soirees. 

But then suddenly you were there. Bringing him papers and the occasional coffee. Smiling at him when passing in the hallway. Laughing at his jokes in meetings, even when he didn’t mean to make them. 

New to the organisation, you had zero expectations of him. To you, he wasn’t the old Papa. He wasn’t the reluctant Frater. After far too long, he eventually worked up the courage to tell you that he actually would prefer tea in the afternoon over coffee. And, without really knowing why, also added he would prefer you call him Copia. He remembers the moment so vividly. You repeated the name back to him, trying it on for size. He had spent so long being so afraid of being the man behind the role, but hearing you say his name that day made him immediately question why he would ever want to be anyone else.

He needed to hear you say it again, all of the time. He would find any excuse to talk to you and to call you to his office. He was absolutely consumed by needing you near him. He told himself, almost nightly, that it would be better to stay away - stop now before he made a fool of himself. But by the next morning, it would all be forgotten as he practically ran to his desk to wait for you.

When you had been the one to suggest more regular breakfast meetings, one-on-one, he thought he might faint. Only slightly less embarrassingly, he had made some sort of noise which you had luckily understood as agreement. And, to Copia’s utter amazement, his complete lack of ability to speak had only encouraged you to confirm it as a “date”.

By the end of the first very long breakfast “meeting”, he didn’t need to remind himself to breathe anymore. By the end of the week, after meeting every morning, he had even managed to stumble his way through a few puns which made you laugh. Oh, how he adored that noise. But, even more incredibly, every stupid comment he made, every faux pas, only made you flirt harder. Made you move closer. Furtive glances quickly became longing gazes, occasionally broken with playful smirks with each accidental brush of limbs. 

At Friday’s breakfast, panic set in as Copia realized you would be apart for the weekend. It felt so pathetic to admit, but also wonderful in equal measure. He knew that moving slow and steady with something so precious was the most sensible approach, but he felt like he had wasted so much time already. He needed to grab you and hold on as tight as he could, even if that risked shattering everything. He needed to claim you before whatever unholy deity that sent you realized their blessing had been given to him by mistake. 

He managed to stammer out a dinner invitation for Saturday evening, still for some reason convinced he was somehow misreading the way you looked at him. You took a moment before replying, and the fear in his eyes almost broke you. But you had no reservations about Copia. Any quiet worries that only existed because he was your boss now completely disappeared. The only thing you needed him to know was that Saturday evening was too far away - you needed him now. Days ago, actually. Maybe weeks.

And so you told him. A simple yes, followed by a brave step forward and a kiss which made both of you dizzy. Your lips crashing into his was like a shock to the chest bringing him back to the land of the living. Copia, the man, was finally awake again. Feeling you pressed against him, just as desperate to taste him as he was you, shoved everything else far into the background. His doubts and insecurities all just white noise now, he knew that to be loved by you would save him. 

However, old habits die hard.

Every day, he tried to prove that he deserved you. He loved intensely, but not fearlessly. He became obsessed with loving you. He knew it was overwhelming but he could not stop. Needing you was compulsive.  You were an addiction that he had no intentions of quitting, even when his own fervor exhausted him.

---

You reassure him daily of your devotion to him, but you have no idea how to really cut through. You could never leave him, even when you fear being there is driving him insane. Sometimes you feel like you’re getting closer to a healthy balance, but there’s always something hanging over him. 

The passion between you had never faded, burning as strongly as it did in the beginning. He touches you the same way as he did the first time in his office, ravenous and reverent, terrified by the way you make his body sing. He worships you like you’re his only true salvation. He holds you like letting go will kill him. 

He looks at you sometimes like he's already lost you.

[catesartworks]

Dunno if anyone had already asked you this but why does fake!Phoebe think that just because reincarnator!Clara is a maid, she can just treat her so poorly? I mean, she *knows* she's a reincarnator too who didn't really have awareness at that time, but she keeps acting like her life doesn't matter or isn't real despite being another "real" person in this world she's in.

Does she think other lives just kind of stop when she isn't paying them any attention, and that's why she thinks after all she did, she can just try to extort her as Bridgette?

And also in her original life, as Helen, was she always racist and classist? I think i remember she reincarnated from 2014 and remarked about things like "this is how things are supposed to be" when watching those new Regency era lavish movies. I also say this cus issues of racism in the 2010s were more glossed over and subtle without many realizing it.

The reason Phoebe treats Clara so poorly is because she is operating on two ideas: That Clara took what was OG!Phoebe's (love, attention, a good ending) and that as a housemaid her duty was to be at her disposal. Clara isn't playing along with her fantasy, which irritates Phoebe even more than if she was just like in the novel.

The thing about Otome Isekai/Rofan is that most maid characters don't have much inner life outside of the protagonist. They only exist as props or obstacles. Even if they have their own reasons to be the way they are (like Mina from I am the Real One, if I was in her shoes I would be pissed me and my brother were living in poverty while Keira uses peoples tax money to buy airships for a date but that's just my view) it's brushed over so that the protagonist has a win over them.

Phoebe most likely doesn't think any sort of inner life of Bridgette's is as important or deep as hers. She's basing it off the relatively light writing of maid characters in the genre and how dependent they "should" be on nobles like her. She didn't really care that Clara was a reincarnator because she's lower class. In fact, it made her even more wary of her because she was afraid she would use future knowledge to gain the upper hand or try to improve her position. But on some level, I think Phoebe missed Clara as a fellow reincarnator and "real person" (not like she'd ever admit it, though).

Phoebe is also upset that the setting she reincarnated into, Teffrah, isn't all white like her favorite disney movies portrayed Europe to be (think movies like the Little Mermaid, Cinderella, the Tangled movie and the first Frozen movie) or European period dramas she watched. So she is taking it out on Bridgette/Clara for basically existing in her perfect fantasy world where she was supposed to be pretend people of color didn't exist.

This hasn't been mentioned in story yet, but a lot of the targeted hate for Clara wasn't only due to her being a female character who "got in Phoebe's way", it's also because Clara was described as having brown skin instead of pale skin.

Many readers ignored her novel description and imagined her as white anyway. When she was finally illustrated, some racist readers further harassed the author (who was already being harrassed for "favoring" Clara over Phoebe) for not conforming to their vision of what kind of people should exist in their European fantasy setting. It made them hate Clara even more.

So yes, Phoebe was pretty racist in general already. She was probably pretty active in the disney fandom, which was rife with racism in 2014 online circles when she died and still is.

As for her classism, she was actually lower middle class in her first life as a child. She wasn't rich by any means growing up. But she did end up making a good living with her bakery job and was able to come into some money later on.

[ninyard]

hello I would like the kevallison smut ?? Please

The promised kevallison headcanons (aka how the two of them figure out what the other person is into + how they might go about doing it)

When they start hooking up it’s all pretty standard stuff. Allison gets him off after a game. Kevin eats her out if there’s ten minutes free in between classes and an empty dorm room. They’re a booty call before, during or after a night out, or a no-strings-attached way to get some frustration off their chest. Their friends-with-benefits situation is more often than not just a quick fuck when they’re bored. But it's kind of just… that? It's just fucking. It's a handful of different positions, in a handful of different places, but nothing more than fucking, finishing, and leaving. They don’t feel a need to bring it any further though, in some ways hesitant that the other will catch feelings if it gets too intimate. But from the get-go their agreement is clear - if either starts to get attached, or jealous, or even thinks that it might be worth pursuing, they stop. It doesn’t happen, of course, but in the beginning they really try to err on the side of caution until they know that for certain.

There’s one of two ways that their casual hook ups becomes more... interesting every now and again: one) accidentally. two) intentionally.

If it is accidental, I think they stumble upon the other’s kinks by the Grace of God. It's a quick fuck that turns into something more because one of them picks up on how the other's demeanor changes and they realise oh. oh. That did something for them. The moment when it happens is so intoxicating and sexually charged; So intense at the realisation of how turned on the other person is, that they’re just waiting for someone in the dorm room over, or outside the bathroom at a party, or in the almost-empty parking lot to ask did anyone hear Allison and Kevin fucking last night? For either of them, single and used to quick fucks with strangers that don't mean anything nor have the longevity for experimenting with, getting to dip into their fantasies is unparalleled pleasure.

If it’s accidental, it’s a pleasant surprise for them both, and Kevin and Allison have that in common - they are both incredibly, heavily turned on by their fuck-buddies feeling satisfied. It happens, where sometimes Kevin just wants to be blown without returning the gesture, or where Allison wants to come without having to put in the effort it takes to give back. More often than not, though, whether it be with each other or with other people, they're most satisfied when the other person is satisfied, too. So when the topic of kinks and turn ons is broached, or accidentally revealed, it doesn't matter that it's Kevin, or that it's Allison. When they've been fucking for long enough that they find themselves discovering these things, they're comfortable enough with each other to not feel embarrassed about what happens when they have sex. If it makes her wet, and it keeps him hard, then it doesn't matter. They don't talk about their sex lives outside of when or where it happens - a kink or two isn't going to change that.

For Kevin, sweet submissive baby boy who just lives to be praised - oh, when Allison finds out, it opens this door for changing their dynamics that she hadn't even realised existed. Kevin gets so turned on that he practically melts, and Allison eats it up like it's the hottest thing she's ever laid eyes on.

They've found themselves standing up against a wall in a bathroom at a party somewhere, too many suggestive looks across the room leading to a desperately desired handjob or two, and Kevin is fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He struggles with it for a second, before pulling the black leather out from it's square frame and Allison offhandedly says good job with a laugh as she trails kisses up his neck and her fingers down his stomach. She feels his reaction to her words before she notices how his eyes glaze over with the thoughts in his head; how he stills at her words, how he's yearning through his sigh when she follows with a knowing whisper of oh, you want me to tell you how good you're being?

Him in her hand, the long acrylic nails of her free hand dragging lines down his neck, Allison feels how needy he is and softly purrs in his ear to tell her how much he wants it. It's not lost on him how she plays with him like putty between her tender fingers, but still he looks into her eyes with his eyebrows knitted into each other, too close to argue; The please that escapes his lips trapped in between a gasp and a moan is rebutted with her sultry say it again. I want to hear that pretty voice beg. It takes the stalling of the rhythm in her working hand before he finds the ability to whimper out his desperate please, please, please. She's using her free hand to hold his face still, their eyes locked together, while he can barely keep himself in one piece. Her thumb is soft over his lips, brushing over little gasps and short breaths, holding him while she whispers a question and he falls apart in her hands.

If Kevin loves to be topped by strong women, Allison loves to hear a man moan. And she’s never heard him like this before, his lips drawn apart just inches from hers, one hand steadying himself against the wall and the other tugging and pawing at the skin of the small of her back. She doesn't let him look away as she guides him to climax with her soft words of gentle praise. How pretty he looks when he's trying his hardest to be quiet, how well he's doing at keeping himself composed.

Allsion doesn't care that she's accidentally unlocked this submissive side of Kevin; firstly, he's hot as hell when he's this desperate, and it's not as if she's going to be leaving that bathroom and calling him a good boy on the court, because that's not how this works. She's fucked him angry and she's fucked him needy - the passion of fulfilled fantasy only working on a different level to anything else.

(When he's caught his breath and started to clean himself up, she washes her hands and admires her work; his rosy cheeks burning up as she watches him in the mirror. She pushes herself up onto the vanity, and when he can finally bare to look at her again, she says I'm proud of you with a playful smile. Kevin covers his face to laugh in semi-embarrassment, his head shaking as he finds himself in between her legs. They don't talk about it too much before he returns the favour.)

Then there's, Allison, sweet Allison, who's interests work in harmony like a perfect composed song. We knows she loves to hear the men she sleeps with, but there's two things that really get her going that more often than not go hand in hand - rough sex, and loud sex. Living in dorms, it's hard to indulge, especially the second, but usually she'll just pull him close, with his lips to her ear or hers to his. Allison gets off on hearing the person she's fucking, and Kevin is not an exception to that.

They've somehow had a stroke of luck - an empty house in Columbia and some time to kill. Kevin is on the edge of the bed, and Allison is facing Kevin while sitting on his lap, her knees resting on either side of him, in a skirt that is already so short that it's barely even there. They're making out, and Kevin isn't really thinking, but he slaps her ass - something he'd done once or twice before, but never that hard, never that loud. Allison sits back, hands on his shoulders with her mouth open wide. She doesn't get the chance to finish her questioning what are you doing? Before his mischievous smile curls around, what, this? as he laughs and does it again. When she stands up off of him in a half-protest, shaking her finger at how close he was getting to really getting her going, he follows her up. He stands in front of her with feigned apologies for his boldness. She leans into his kiss, with arms wrapped tight around her waist, but instead of pouting his lips, he picks her up and throws her back onto the bed while she scream-laughs.

Body over body, on top of her then, a hand finds it's way in between strands of shiny blonde. A hand that she takes into hers, guiding his fist to grasp a handful of her hair. When he doesn't hold it hard enough she tugs it gently, keeping his fist closed with her hand around it. Looking down at her, he purses his lips with an oh that pauses his other hand while it pushes up her skirt to touch her over her panties. Reading him while waiting for the laugh that never comes is agonisingly long, as she braces herself for the mortifying conversation that he was not going to be entertaining it. Instead he waits for her hand to trail away before pulling her head, hard, back into the bed. And when she shuts her eyes and parts her lips in pleasure, he is quick to bring his hand up to her chin, tilting her head back. The two smallest of his fingers fingers tuck themselves neatly behind her ear, the other two tight between her jawline and her cheekbone. The ball of his thumb is resting on her chin. She doesn't stop him when his thumb trails down from her cupid's bow and into her mouth. She doesn't stop him when he takes it out hold it around her throat, either. Kevin is careful to scatter wet bruises down her chest where they won't be seen. When he's standing back to take off his pants and she’s lifting her top over her head, he asks, you want it hard? and she responds do you even fucking have to ask?

Her skirt is up over her hips and her thong down her thighs. He’s on his knees with her legs over his thighs, maybe he’s pinning her hands down above her head with one big hand over her little wrists. Headboard banging, unrestrained volume, handprints on ass cheeks and scratches across spines. Allison gets sex-drunk when he manhandles her. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s loud, it’s so hot that it’s on fire. It’s eye-rolling, being in a daze afterwards type of fucking. It’s mascara running down cheeks, how the fuck am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after having that done to me type of fucking. It’s needing to have a shower immediately afterwards type of sweaty, messy fucking.

(It’s probably one of the only times they almost/kind of get caught. Not because of the noise, or the sex itself but because of the aftermath. Andrew and Neil clock INSTANTLY the missing and changed details when they regroup - how Kevin’s hair is freshly washed, how Allison has taken her heavy makeup off leaving only a fresh coat of mascara and some lipgloss remaining. How they can barely look at each other in case it reminds them of what has just happened. Their puffy lips, their general daze. Yeah, they fly a little too close to the sun that time - not enough time afterwards to recuperate from an absolutely dirty, filthy, fucking.)

If it's an intentional thing, a discussion about what they're into, and they know before getting into it/it's a conscious choice/it's intentional/some sort of discussion/WHATEVER? There's a few ways I could potentially see it possibly coming up.

A game of Never Have I Ever or some other drinking game with the group and the discussions of kinks come up; Kevin drinks when somebody mentions a praise kink, or being dominated. Allison drinks when somebody mentions liking it rough. Their looks to each other are quick but knowing, Kevin's raised eyebrows when Allison drinks to say she doesn't mind being degraded, the flick of her eyes when he drinks to say he doesn't mind begging for it.

They don't hang around after hooking up, usually. Clean up, get dressed, and leave. That's the routine. But they're talking afterwards for a little while, and the subject of fantasies comes up, and while shes fixing her makeup and tying up her hair she asks him what's the one thing he'd go crazy for. he considers it for a little bit but then gets embarrassed because it's a way harder thing to talk about when you're not actively turned on or drunk. They offer each other tiny pieces as they joke about it, starting tame before they eventually just say it out straight. (she calls him princess when she's leaving and he calls her a slut before she shuts the door.)

They ask each other outright. Kinda similar to accidentally figuring it out but they ask each other for it instead of the other person just doing something and stumbling upon it. Maybe Kevin asks her to tell him how good he feels and she asks why, are you into that? and they like. talk through it . Do you like it when I ask you this? Can I call you this? Do you like it when I tell you you're doing such a good job? Talking through sex can be so hot and even hearing the questions out loud sets the imagination off on a fucking marathon. Maybe Allison asks can you choke me? and he asks her how she likes it before agreeing. Do you like it when I hold you like this? Do you want me to spit in your mouth? Do you want to shut the fuck up and listen to what you do to me? It's a much more thorough discussion than them simply going oh, i think the other person has [blank] kink, so i'm just gonna go ahead and do that. It's a request, instead. Both of them knowing what they want and knowing how to ask for it? Yeaaaahhhh

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

man,,, if only someone here was a magical princess from another dimension,,,

anyway i had the thought of how, in fantasy terms, star's little octopus is kind of like the symbol on a knight's tunic and then i blacked out and this spawned on my ipad

[anintroverteddarling]

My honest reaction during that one scene--

I KNOW HE JUST EXPLICITLY EXPLAINED TO US WHAT HE WAS GONNA TURN US INTO AS HIS ART PIECE BUT HEARING HIM COMPLIMENTING OUR APPEARANCE WAS JUST ADSKBJFSADKBFAJSHDFJDHAFSBHDSAFBFADLSHKBDFS

[the-brolliologist]

There should be a tone tag for when the person you're talking to is your best friend and the love of your life and they know everything you've ever hidden from the world and they hold you gently and have kissed you (?) and have been with you through the lowest parts of your life and the only thing that gets you through the day is the knowledge that you'll live together in the future and they were the first person you ever dreamed about and you have the distinct notion that they were created from the stardust beside you at the beginning of the universe and you know that the day they die is the same day you'll die but noooo, all we get is /p and /r

[bayrut]

severance ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[11-eyed-rook]

they should invent a society that doesn't force its impossible and confusing social cues onto neurodivergent people.

[lichtecht]

i do think aromantics get to hate love actually. i do think we get to have anger and spite and i do think we are justified to express it!!