#except when it pulls this kind of stunt

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Also, it has come to my attention that Tumblr has been unfollowing me from people I was sure I was following.

So, if you see any notification of me following you back, it's because TUMBLR DECIDED THAT I WASN'T WORTHY OF FOLLOWING YOU.

*grumbles*

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[physalian]

10 More Character Types the World Needs More of

Part 1 was specifically character dynamics, but I’m considering this a sequel anyway.

1. Fiercely independent character’s lesson isn’t to “trust people”

I’m not projecting. You’re projecting. There is a divide wide enough to fit the Grand Canyon between “trusting that someone isn’t lying” and “trusting someone to follow through on a promise”. Most dumpster fire attempts at these characters (almost exclusively women) rely solely on mocking them for the former because “not all men” or something.

Being consistently let down in life makes you hesitant to a) gain friends, b) pursue romantic interests, c) maintain familial relationships, d) get excited about any event that demands participation from someone who isn’t you. None of this is simply a bad attitude—it’s a trauma response. There is no lesson to be learned, and not even exposure therapy can help because it’s a real, legitimate, and common stunt people pull, whether they mean it or not.

So write one of these characters and legitimize their fears, give them someone who proves the exception to the rule, but do not let the lesson be “well they just haven’t found the right person yet”. Even the “right person” can let them down. It's about not becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy by sabotaging a good thing to prove it will inevitably go bad.

2. Conventionally attractive men who aren’t horndogs

I’m going to find every way I can to tell you to write more aces. This is to fight the stigma that attractive people must be attracted to people. Give me gorgeous aces and demi’s, men, women, enbys and everyone in between, who put a crap ton of effort into looking their best, and yet happen to not have a very loud libido. They look good for themselves, and not to impress anyone else.

Give me someone who could have anyone they wanted, gender regardless, and just simply has no interest. Or, they do actually have a significant other, but sex, how hot their partner is, or how horny they are, isn’t their internal monologue. I don’t even care if it’s unrealistic, it’s annoying to read.

And, you know, giving men male characters who aren’t thinking about sex all the time can be good, right? Right?

3. Manly warrior men who also write poetry

A.K.A Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Just give me more Aragorns, period. This dude is either covered in filth, blood, guts, and the last 30 miles of rugged terrain, or singing in Elvish at his own coronation while pink flower petals fall. A man can be both, and still be straight.

A man can also drink Respect Women juice, you know? He ticks off all the boxes—he’s gentle when he needs to be, not afraid to hide his emotions, kind to those who are vulnerable and afraid and need a strong figure to look up to, resolute in his beliefs, skilled and knowledgeable in his abilities without being arrogant or smug, and the first boots on the battlefield, leading from the front.

4. Characters who are characters when no one is watching

This is less a specific type and more a scene that doesn’t get written enough. This whole point comes from Pixar’s Cars. I. Love. This. Movie. It’s not Pixar’s best, for sure, but this is my comfort movie. The best scene, one that’s so unique, is when Doc (aged living legend) thinks he’s alone when he rolls out onto the dirt race track and comes alive tearing around the oval.

This character’s unbridled, unabashed glee and euphoria at proving to himself that he’s still got it, when he’s completely unaware of his audience, is perfection. Not enough credence is given to characters to just… enjoy being themselves. He’s not doing it to prepare for the climactic race, he’s not doing it for the plot, he’s doing it just to do it, not even to prove Lightning wrong—just for himself.

Give your characters a “Doc Racing” scene. Whatever their skill is. Maybe they’re a dancer, a skater, a swimmer, a painter, sprinter. Just let your character love being alive.

5. Characters whose neurodivergence isn't “cute”

A.K.A. Lilo Pelekai from Lilo and Stitch. Really, her relationship with Nani is peak sibling writing. But Lilo herself is just so realistic with how she interacts with the world, how she interprets her relationships with her so-called friends, how she organizes her thoughts and rationalizes what she can’t quite understand, and how friggen smart she is for an… 11-year-old?

But she’s not “cute”. As in, she wasn’t written by generic Suits who were trying to cash in on the ND crowd by writing what they think will sell, but also making her juuust neurotypical enough to still be palatable by the rest of the audience. Lilo’s earnestness is what endears her to everybody. But also, she doesn’t get a free pass for her behavior, either. Her “friends” aren’t forced to accommodate her and Nani isn’t written as the cold-hearted villain for trying to discipline her.

6. Straight male characters with female friends

Am I double-dipping a bit here? Yes. While I completely understand how tempting it can be, this type of character is in dire need of exposure and representation to prove it’s possible. No weird tense moments, no double-glances when she isn’t looking, no contemplations about cheating on his girlfriend (and no insecure jealous girlfriend either). Just two characters who enjoy each other’s company and are able to coexist in a space and be in each other’s spaces without hormones getting in the way. Peak example? Po and Tigress from Kung Fu Panda.

Let these two rely on each other for emotional strength in times of need, let them share inside jokes, let them have a night alone together at a bar, at home, cooking dinner, getting takeout, talking on the patio in a porch swing… with zero “will they/won’t they.”

7. The likable bigot

I’m actually on the fence with this one but it’s something I also don’t see done often enough and I’m adding it for one reason: Bigots aren’t always obvious mustache-twirling villains and the little things they do might seem inconsequential to them, but are still hurtful. So showing these characters is like plopping a mirror down in front of these people and, I don’t know, maybe something will click. They don’t have to be MAGAs to be dangerous, and only writing the extremes convinces the moderates that they aren’t also the problem.

Example: I have a “friend” who recently said something along the lines of “I have lots of gay friends” followed up shortly by “I don’t think this country should keep gay marriage because it’s a slippery slope to legalizing pedophilia.” You know. The quiet part being that she *actually* thinks being gay is as morally abhorrent as being a pedo. But she totally has lots of gay friends. Including one who was driving her during that conversation. (It’s me. Hi. I’m apparently the problem, it’s me.)

She’s absolutely homophobic, but the second she stops announcing it, she’s a very bubbly person. She’s a ~likable~ bigot and thus thinks she can distance herself from the more violent ones.

8. The motherly single father

I say “motherly” merely as shorthand for the vibe I’m going for here. “Motherly” as in dads who aren’t scandalized by the growing pains of their daughters, and who don’t just parent their sons by saying “man up boys don’t cry”. Dads who play Barbie with their kids of either gender. Dads who go to the PTA meetings with all the other Karens and know as much if not more than they do about the school and their kids’ education.

Dads who comfort their crying kids, especially their sons. Dads that take interest in “feminine” activities like learning how to braid their daughter’s hair, learning different makeup brands, going on nail salon trips together. Dads who do not pull out the rifle on their daughter’s new boyfriend and treat her like property. Dads who have guy friends that don’t mock him and call him gay. Dad who does all this stuff anyway and is *actually* gay, too, but the emphasis is on overly sensitive straight men’s masculinity here.

Wholesome dads: a shocking amount of single-parents to female anime protagonists.

9. The parent isn’t dead, they’re just gone

Treasure Planet is an awesome movie in its own right, but what’s even better? This is a Disney movie where the parent isn’t dead, he’s just a deadbeat who abandoned his son and isn’t at all relevant to the plot beyond the hole he left behind for Jim to fill. The only deadbeat dads Disney allows are villains and those guys are very vigorously chasing an aspiration, that aspiration just doesn’t include quality fatherhood. Or motherhood. Disney has yet to write a deadbeat mom, I’m almost certain.

I just wrote a post about the necessity of the “dead parent” cliche, but what is perhaps more relatable because it’s more common, and what earns even more sympathy and underdog points for the protagonist? The hero with the parent who left. Then there’s a whole extra layer of angst and trauma available when your hero can now plague themselves with the question of if the parent leaving is their fault. Death is usually an accident. Choosing to abandon your kid is on purpose.

10. Victim who isn’t victim-blamed or told by their friends (and the narrative) to forgive their abuser

Izuku Midoriya lost so much support from me the moment he told his friend, bearing the consequences of domestic violence across half his face, that Midoriya thinks he’ll be ready soon to forgive his abomination of a father. I am firmly in the “Endeavor is a despicable human and hero” camp and no I’m not taking criticism. I audibly gasped when I heard this line and realized Deku was serious. Todoroki needs friends like the Gaang to remind him that he's allowed to hate the man who's actions caused the burn scar across his f*cking face.

I understand that the mangaka apparently didn’t anticipate the vitriolic backlash toward Endeavor during his debut and reveal of his parenting tactics but the tone-deafness of telling a fifteen year old with crippling emotional management issues and a horrible home life that his abusive dad in any way deserves and is entitled to forgiveness on the grounds of being related is disgusting.

Take it back further to a more famous Tumblr dad: John Winchester. Another despicable human who got retroactively forgiven by his sons after his death in a “he wasn’t so bad, he really did try” campaign. It’s one thing if the character believes it, it’s a whole different matter if the narrative is also pushing this message.

Katara is a perfect example: She lets go of her grudge for her own peace of mind and stops blaming Zuko for something he had no hand in, stops blaming him simply because he’s a firebender and he’s around to be her punching bag. She doesn’t forgive the man who killed her mother, because that man doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. Katara heals in spite of him, not because of him, and had she let him off the hook, she would have gotten an apology for getting caught, not for what he did (which is exactly what happened).

[highdefhoetry]

the strawhat pirates when they realize they love you.

summary: gender neutral reader. something wholesome for a change. this can be interpreted as platonic, romantic, or whatever other kind of relationship you want!

luffy knows you’re going to be one of his best friends as soon as he meets you. the two of you hit it off right away, spending almost every waking minute together laughing, eating, or doing some stupid shit like pulling rubber stunts on the deck after seeing who could chug the most juice. he wins at almost every game you play, but he never makes you feel like a sore loser. when you’re not around, he’s bored out of his mind waiting for you to get back. and when you’re together again, all hell breaks loose. the two of you get into a lot of trouble, but it’s worth getting a scolding from the rest of the crew. being with him is just so fun! 

usopp realizes what’s going on while he’s building a trinket for you. he stares at the empty space beside him at his work desk, suddenly missing your presence and feeling the weight of your absence. he got so used to you barging into his workshop, asking about every little piece and part strewn about and how everything fits together, that now it feels almost empty without you. you're the only one that shows an interest in his engineering. you're the only one that listens to his tall tales and actually believes in him. you're the only one that looks up to him as a hero. and when he does realize why he's got this fluttery feeling in his chest, all he can do is smile. he’ll make sure to build you the best weapon a warrior can wield!

it takes time for zoro to make sense of his feelings. he’s not a mushy guy, and he’s good at keeping his emotions in check. but that changes when you come along. he’s always been a loner, preferring time away from others to focus on training and growing even stronger, so it was difficult for him to adjust when you suddenly started hanging around him. but in time, he realizes that he doesn’t mind your company. he’s not much of a talker, but he finds himself blabbering on and on when you ask him about swordsmanship and combat. it’s the only chance he gets to talk about his life’s work. he even offers to train you, if you’re willing to go through his bootcamp of hell. that’s when it hits him; you’re something special. no one else gets to be this close to him. no one else gets him talking like this. no one else makes his heart soar, except for you.

sanji knows he loves you as soon as he starts memorizing all your favorite dishes. after his initial infatuation with you wears off, something deeper takes its place. a rich, decadent feeling of care that tastes oh so sweet. he hates when people come in the kitchen while he’s cooking and always kicks them out no matter who they are, but for some reason he can’t say no when he sees your face pop in. his heart melts when you offer to help him prep, and he swoons when he watches you chop vegetables or stir the simmering sauce for him on the stovetop. he doesn’t mind if the ingredients are misshapen, or if the minced veggies aren’t exactly minced. the food you make together always tastes amazing.

nami knows you’ve got her wrapped around your finger when you ask her for money and she doesn't say no. she always keeps a tight fist when it comes to finances, but for some reason she just doesn't have the heart to refuse. she’ll still make a fuss and complain; she worked hard to steal that cash, damn it! why would she just hand it over?! but one look into those eyes of yours and she’s done for. she’ll grumble about a 300% interest rate as you grab the cash from her hand, but she’ll forget all about it when you come back with that new thing you’d been eyeing in town for weeks. she’ll sigh, ask you to show it to her, and decide to waive the fees for now when she sees that wide smile on your face. seeing you happy is priceless.

robin knows she’s got it bad when she finds herself smiling for no reason every time you come around. you show great interest in her archeology studies, listening intently as she rambles about ancient polyglyphs and civilizations lost to time. with you, she feels like she can finally pass down her extensive knowledge to someone who is just as passionate about history as she is. the two of you often sit together in comfortable silence reading books about bones and artifacts, and while your face is buried between the pages, she’ll glance over and watch you with a small smile. her heart warms when she sees the focus and passion on your face. finally, she has a friend that will never leave her side.

[meerash]

BSD Man finding out you are having pre period cramps

Part 1 (I'll do Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi tomorrow)

Fukuzawa

"You all are dismissed. You can go home now" the president says after a long meeting that went on hours, it was for the protection of the some minister that you could focus on because your periods were near and oh god, does it hurts? Sitting for so long had made your back hurt like a bitch but there's nothing you can do.

You gather your file and make a move towards the exit before The president's voice cuts in your ears, "—not you, please visit me in the office"

His voices comes out as no nonsense, Yosano looks at you in sympathy but doesn't do anything. You hold a groan in your throat before following him in the office, all while hearing the office clear itself out.

"Yes, sir?" You ask him once he closes the door and sits on his chair. You notice how his silver hair are back to their usual length, he must have gotten a haircut, you note to yourself.

"You couldn't focus on the meeting today, what is it?" He asked, now that you are alone his voice is a little softer than before.

"I..." You scratch the back of your neck, you don't know how to approach that subject, "... It's just I had cramps." You speak finally, hoping not to sound embarrassed which you really were if the red tint on your cheeks was any evident.

Upon hearing your reason, The president's eyebrows comes together and he asks in a concerning voice, "Are you on your periods? You know we have monthly leaves for females for that"

"No, no, no" you try to correct him at once, "it's more of pre periods cramps" you wave your hands around like when you are trying to explain something complicated but doesn't have the write words, "it means that my periods will arrive in a day or two, kind of like warming flags."

"Oh..." He speaks after a while, "Are you okay now, how bad is the pain?"

You bring your finger and thumb together, almost touching but few millimetres apart, and a soft chuckle erupts from his mouth. all the seriousness gone, replaced with your favourite sound in the world, his laughter.

"Come here" he orders you and you follow him, standing before his chair that he has twirled in your direction.

"I said—" he pats his thighs, "—come here" and it was clear now that you were blushing.

Subconsciously your eyes went to the door, checking if it was really closed, before you hissed in embarrassment at him, "fukuzawa"

The man pulled you on his lap in answer, twisting your body around so that your back was faced with his chest, his hands glides on your waist, holding you steady "what, my lover?" He asked you, rubbing his thumbs on your lower back, massaging your pain.

A relived sigh involuntary leaves your mouth, at the relaxation you found by his big hands. If there is anything this man knew, it was how to give the best massage. You lean back in his chest as he continues massaging your waist.

His hot breath, tickles your ear, sending shivers on your spine when he sweetly whispers, "does it help?" and you reply in almost a begging whimper, "yes, it does."

"You know what else helps with cramps?" He asked in the sweet, calm voice of his.

"What?"

"Physical Intimacy"

Your face snaps at him, eyes wide open as you realize what he has suggested. It wasn't like you guys didn't had sex but in your relationship, it's always you who initiates or little subtle hints.

"Should we go home?" He asked you again, ofcourse he will ask you. He is the man of consent, he even asked you, if he can pet your cat which you thought was incredibly sweet.

"I... uh... Please?" You said finally, sex with fukuzawa isn't you'll ever miss, no chance in hell.

He picks you up in bridal style at once, opening the door, all while you were in his arms. You faces resting in the crook of his collarbone. Everyone else had already left or you'll never try this stunt. Nobody knows about your relationship in the Agency... Except Ranpo, who treats you like his mother despite being the same age and it's not like you don't spoil him like your own baby.

Ranpo

You were currently handling the police reports and case files of Ranpo's recent case. Sure, Ranpo solves almost case in minutes but that's all his does, you have to handle all his paperworks, which was increasing day by day now for he solves too many cases.

You look at the bundle of reports on your bed and sigh to yourself, not only does the lightening suck here but you can also hear the singing of Dazai from the next room. The walls of the dorm rooms were relatively on the thinner side. After putting on your headphones, you begin to work. Not half an hour, a sharp pain shoots in your lower abdomen making you double over in pain. You look towards the calendar and realise your date is almost here, a low gutteral sounds escapes your mouth.

"Couldn't have choosen better timing" you mutter to yourself, there are atleast three files pending for tomorrow.

You get up and look for some painkillers and realise you are out of them.

good thing the doctor lives next door to me, you think to yourself, making your mind to going to Yosano and asking her for some pills.

Before you can take a step in that direction, the gate slides open to reveal the greatest detective of the world in his pajamas, holding a bag, most likely snacks, you think to yourself.

"What is it?" You asked him, it came out a bit softer than you intended as if you body doesn't want to hurt the boys feeling, fuck this body, you think again.

"I missed you" he pouts in your direction, for the lack of better reaction, "The greatest detective comes at your door and you treat him in this way?"

"I'm sorry, My Greatest Detective but I am a bit busy and a bit in pain, maybe next time?" You plead in his direction, you don't time for this today, there are too many things to be done.

He huffs out, "I already know that, if I didn't, would I be the greatest detective in the world?"

A quizzical expression obscure your face, you tilt your head towards him, what in the world does he mean?

He rolls his eyes at your expression, "do i have to hold your hand and walk you through everything? I know that you have too many files to do, and you are having your pre periods cramps, and that you are out of pain killers and you gave your hot water bottle to kyouka few days ago, so you don't even have that, and your mood is a little sour which is why i am not minding that you didn't kissed me the moment i walked in"

He speaks like he is listing off things from a script, you didn't know wheather to laugh or cry. If he knows that everything sucks them why is he here to torment me?

He walks towards you, a lollipop in his mouth, he always have sweets in his mouth that's why you make him visit to dentist twice more than usual people.

"I got you yours things" He helds up the bag you thought holds his snack, instead when he empties it on the bed, they are just pain killers, a hot water bottle, and a box of tampon. I look at him but again before i could mutter anything, "you'll run out of your tampons on third day, for future"

"...thanks" you finally speak, in the slightest chance of hope, it hasn't occurred to you that Ranpo will ever use his detective skills like that but then again if you had thought about it, the reason yosano always had everything when you were on periods even before you two started dating was him. It was sure he liked to boast about things but his first priority has always been you, since thr day he saw you in the supermarket listening to kid with such intensity as if he was talking about something phenomenal when in reality he was just talking about his favourite cartoon. It was the same intensity of attention you flourished on him when you worked under his command (he begged fukuzawa to hire you, he already knew you will be a great worker)

"Now go to bed, Your great boyfriend will take care of everything" he hushes you, forcing you on the bed.

"But i have re—" you protest, but he cuts you off, "I know, I'll take care of it." He raises his brows and you know there's no fighting him now, not with that resolution.

Soon he hands you the painkiller with hot water and worked beside you as you rested. He had placed all the files on his lap, supporting the material with a pillow, working his way with one hand and the another roams through your hair, lulling you in sweet sleep.

You were almost asleep when he was finished with those reports. He placed them on your bedside table, cuddling next to you. You look up at his face which was centimetres away from your lips, his sea green eyes were looking in your direction with a love that no one had ever seen.

A soft smiles follows on his lips after you place a kiss on his jawline, he tilts your face upward with his chin,"tell me, darling. Am I the greatest?"

You wanted to roll your eyes at him but the sleepiness was too heavy, so you settle for the quite mutter of "yes, yes you are the greatest detective in the world."

"i mean the greatest boyfriend, my silly, who cares about the detective stuff." He whispers holding you closer. Even in your sleepy state, the words run a shock through your body, a blush crept up on your cheeks, you spoke only two words as you buried your face in his chest, "the best."

[pradabambie]

the roommate. rafe cameron x reader x felix catton. pt. 3

masterlist

"are you sure you like it?" you asked rafe for the fifth time, running your hands on your pink dress, trying to get rid of the few wrinkles.

"you look hot as fuck," rafe said as he planted a kiss on the crown of your head and playfully slapped your ass, earning a laugh from you.

"so, remind me again, why do you have to wear pink?" the blonde asked as he sat on the table, a blunt in his right hand, which he lit up "trying to calm the fuck down after the little stunt you pulled," he had explained.

"it's a little tradition felix and i have," you mumbled while retouching your mascara.

rafe rolled his eyes in response.

"can you try to loosen up tonight, rafey? it's important for me that the two of you get along."

you turned to look at him with your best puppy eyes, the kind rafe couldn't ever resist.

he sighed. "i promise to be on my best behavior," you smiled, "as long as he doesn’t touch you, talks to you, or looks in your direction!" he finished off with a grin.

"now let’s get out of here before i change my mind about letting you out in that tiny dress."

a couple of minutes later, you were already at the door of the pub. the scent of smoke and alcohol invaded your lungs, and the pounding music invited you in.

"there she is! over here, love!" lex called for you from the other side of the crowded room, waving his hand to get your attention.

the pet name seemed to annoy rafe, who clung to you possessively as you guided him to the table.

you introduced your boyfriend briefly to the rest of the people there, not that they paid any attention, except for a couple of your closer friends, who got up and greeted him.

felix saw an opportunity when rafe was distracted making small talk with one of your classmates.

he lowered his head to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck as he said, "you look fucking incredible tonight, not that i can say it out loud, but just so you know."

he winked as he stood straight again, making you look up at him since he was so goddamn tall.

"so, pink, felix? really?" rafe mocked as he pointed at the fuchsia shirt the boy was wearing, matching perfectly with your dress. "what’s that about?"

felix, catching the comment, grinned in response. "come on, mate, not everyone can rock the posh boy look like you do," he said, taking another sip of his beer.

as the night unfolded, felix and rafe engaged in a subtle competition for your attention.

if felix wanted to do shots with you while licking salt off each other's hands, rafe would get extra touchy with you on the dancefloor, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer and closer to him, so close that you could feel him.

and when rafe went into a full make-out session with you in a corner, a result of the building tension the two felt while dancing, felix got needy and wanted to take pics with you in your matching outfits. of course, he wanted rafe to take them, so he could stare right at him as he placed his hand on your waist.

he was getting to rafe, and he loved it.

eventually, you all got drunk and returned to the initial table, taking a break from the nonstop dancing and drinking.

the conversation was light between the few people left, and at one point, felix leaned in, his voice low. "you know, you and i should get matching bracelets someday. what do ya think?"

his finger traced imaginary figures in your hand.

rafe, catching wind of the conversation, shot felix a disapproving look. "she doesn't need more bracelets. she's got plenty. all bought by me."

felix chuckled, acknowledging the tension. "easy there, tiger. just a suggestion."

“i need to get some air,” rafe said to you as he got up from his seat.

“you don’t want me to come with you?” you were kinda worried felix’s banter was getting to him.

“no, baby, you’ll freeze,” he stopped you from complaining by planting a kiss on your lips, holding your face with both his hands. after that, he made his way to the outside of the bar.

you didn’t notice felix staring, and you didn’t notice when he went after rafe.

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knows there's only one way to contend with what Carl did, and he will gladly do it for you. All he wants is his house, his kid and his girl. You on the other hand don't know quite how to deal with anything that's going on, because it all seems out of your control. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, fighting, blood, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You were so anxious for your first day of work, you actually woke up way too early and spilled blazing hot coffee all over your scrubs, forcing you to make a detour back to the bedroom to get changed. All you seemed to be able to think about was that video. That goddamn video. You wished you never looked in that box in the attic.

Once again, you were on the verge of tears as you pulled on a clean top and went to wake Noah up for the day. Everything felt like too much right now unless he was with you. The fact that you were as dependent on Noah as he was on you was probably nothing to brag about, but he really lit up every time you read to him or made him food. And you felt much better inside when he was snuggled up with you or holding your hand. 

You felt like his mom. You felt like you belonged here with him. He trusted you to take care of him, and you always would. But your confidence where Bradley was concerned felt stunted now, and you couldn't even talk to him about it. If you were even strong enough to bring it up at all. 

Noah climbed out of bed and went right to you for a hug, never questioning if he was welcome with you. "Morning, sweet Noah," you whispered against his soft hair. "Did you have happy dreams?"

He yawned and said, "Yeah. I was a pink dinosaur, and all of the other dinosaurs were afraid of me. So I got to eat all the Skittles."

"Wow," you said with a laugh as you carried him into the kitchen for breakfast. "That's the best dream I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, I know." 

He ate some eggs while you successfully drank your coffee and vanilla creamer without spilling it this time. And when you dropped him off at daycare, the same girl was working at the front desk.

"Hi, Noah," she said sweetly before handing you the clipboard to sign with a bland expression. You kissed Noah on the cheek and watched him walk in with the other kids before you signed your name. "And will you be picking him up again today, or should we be expecting another babysitter?"

You froze, and a startled laugh escaped your lips. "I'll be picking him up. And I'm the only babysitter." She appraised you again, so you added, "Only the best for Lieutenant Bradshaw and his son," before you spun on your heel and strolled out to the parking lot. 

You were driving the Bronco. You were in charge of Noah. Bradley was acting like some sort of sugar daddy boyfriend with the credit card you had tucked in your wallet. You shouldn't have been feeling insecure at all. You tried not to think about anything except getting to work on time for your first day. 

And being out of the house did help. You met all of the doctors and other nurses, and some of them were your age. Dr. Kelly treated you to lunch, and you got to chat with her a bit. You learned you'd get to assist with a few special needs kids later in the week. It was exciting. You had your own tiny workspace. Being there occupied your mind. 

But when you were asked to fill out a small stack of new hire paperwork in the afternoon, your pen stopped on the page multiple times. You hesitated twice before you eventually wrote Bradley's address as your own. You wrote his name and phone number down as your emergency contact, but you felt ridiculous writing 'boyfriend' where it asked for your relationship to him. After a brief debate, you wrote it anyway and moved on. And a beneficiary for your life insurance? Well, you didn't really have anyone else, so you put Noah. 

And then when you handed everything back in, you felt kind of like you were pretending to be an adult. 

----------------------------

Bradley waited on his bunk for Carl to return. It was getting late, and he wondered where the fuck he was. Without completely dismantling the tiny room, Bradley had searched through as much of Carl's shit as he could. And that was after confirming that he was only missing the one polaroid that you sent with him. 

His ears were ringing. Fingers twitching. He was absolutely repulsed by the thought of anyone else looking at that picture. But especially Carl. That was a line you just didn't cross with a bunkmate. Bradley had seen some wild shit in his days, walked in on some things he wished he could unsee. But you simply did not mess with personal items. And you certainly didn't take anything under any circumstances without permission. And if it was anything pertaining to a wife, girlfriend or significant other, it was absolutely forbidden. 

And if you broke any of these unwritten rules, well... you should know what you were in for. 

When Bradley heard a key in the door close to midnight, his hands automatically curled into fists. Your pretty face popped into his mind, smiling up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. Even though you weren't here, you deserved to be defended right now. He'd protect you and Noah until he used up his dying breath. And that just meant things weren't looking too hot for Carl at the moment. 

The other man strolled in wearing his gym clothes, and it struck Bradley that Carl was probably a little older than he was. He was in good shape, too, but that wouldn't stop Bradley from beating the absolute shit out of him if necessary. 

"What's up, Carl?" he asked, remaining seated with his fists planted on either side of him on the bed. When Carl seemed barely able to meet his eyes, Bradley knew for sure.

"Hey," he replied awkwardly. "Just wanted to hit the gym when it was empty."

Bradley just watched him for a few seconds, silently demanding eye contact. When Carl finally stopped bumbling around and met his eyes, Bradley slowly stood. "Where is it?"

Carl's eyes flashed with panic as Bradley rolled his shoulders and took a step closer in the already limited space. "What? What are you talking about?" He tried to back away, but there was really nowhere to go. 

"If you make me ask again, it's going to be a lot worse for you, man."

"I... I..." Carl's eyes followed Bradley's left hand as he loosened his fist. And then Bradley slammed him back against the door. 

"You know better," Bradley growled. "This isn't your first deployment. You know the rules. And it belongs to me. Where. Is. It?"

"The photo?" Carl whispered as Bradley pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum with even more pressure. 

Bradley raised his voice. "Where the hell is it? It better have never left this fucking room."

"I have it!" Carl swore, and Bradley released him.

"Get it," Bradley said as calmly as he could, but his voice was shaking. He watched Carl dig around in his bedding, procuring the photo of you and your perfect tits and your barely concealed pussy. Bradley had a flashback to Noah's birthday party when Jake kissed you. Then he pictured you at the fraternity house, drunk and helpless. Carl was about to pay a pretty large price. 

"Here," he grunted, extending the polaroid out to Bradley. Once he set it down on top of his dresser, making sure the photo was still perfect, he turned back to Carl and sucker punched him right on the nose. 

Blood was gushing onto his gym shirt as Bradley said, "That's fucked up, Carl. You had my photo in your bed."

He was holding his nose, looking at Bradley with guilty eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"That's my girl, you piece of shit." Bradley was seething as he rammed Carl back up against the door. 

"She's your girl?" he asked, trying to stop the bleeding with both hands now. "She looks barely legal. How old is she?"

Bradley released him and took a step back before he did more damage than he intended to. "Do you really think it's a good idea to ask me that, Carl? You probably jerked it to my girlfriend after you stole my photo, and now you're asking me how old she is?" He was panting, letting the rage flow through him, and then both hands curled into fists again.

"Shit, I didn't- I wasn't-"

"You're not very bright, are you?" Bradley asked, cutting him off. "I'll let you walk out of this room with your face mostly intact as long as you guarantee that you'll wear your bruises around this carrier without even so much as looking in my direction. And don't you dare visit the infirmary. Your indiscretion doesn't blow back on me. You got it?"

Carl looked resigned as he lowered his hands from his face and nodded. "Yeah. I got it."

Then Bradley landed one more punch, hard as hell, and Carl staggered around the room for a few seconds before he managed to take himself out into the hallway and toward the bathroom. Bradley carefully picked up his polaroid, and his heart ached. He was yours, and he'd have done anything to see your beautiful face in person right now.

And if Carl didn't so much as speak to him or look at him again for the rest of the deployment, it would be just fine with Bradley.

-------------------------

You always felt like you were rushing around. When you got out of work an hour early one Wednesday, you decided to use the time to go grocery shopping before you picked up Noah. It was easier to get just the necessities this way. The downside was that you were definitely getting lost in your own thoughts as you stood in the produce area selecting apples. 

It was almost a relief that Bradley hadn't contacted you yet. If you had to look him in the eye right now, you weren't sure you could do it without crying. That USB drive was currently on top of the refrigerator where you couldn't see it, but it was still enough to upset you when you thought about it. But at the same time, you missed your boyfriend and wanted him to come home, and you knew Noah would benefit from talking to him.

You wasted so much time looking at fucking apples that you were going to be late if you didn't get going. You winced as you used the purple princess credit card to pay for the food, and then you organized everything in the back of the Bronco. You loved driving it and briefly wondered if he'd still let you after he got home. 

You pulled into the gas station that was just a few blocks from Noah's daycare, once again using Bradley's credit card. You sighed as you inserted the card for payment and then started to fill the tank. And then you looked up toward the next row of pumps, and you were sure you knew that BMW. A second later, you met Meredith's gaze, and a chill went through your body.

You were afraid your voice was going to shake, but you called out, "You're not supposed to come near me."

She laughed maliciously. "This is a gas station, and I was here first. So maybe you should stay away from me."

"With pleasure," you snarled. You had to close your eyes against the sick feeling that rose inside you. Naked. You could picture her naked. Bradley used to love her. 

"You already ruined my life," Meredith snapped. "So your little restraining order stunt really doesn't matter to me." Then she was climbing into her car, and you watched her peel out of the parking lot and into traffic, heading in the opposite direction from Noah's daycare. 

Your hands were unsteady as you finished up at the gas pump. She was right; she had been at the gas station first. She was with Bradley first. She was Noah's mom before you ever came into the picture as his babysitter. She was everywhere, and she wouldn't go away.

----------------------

Bradley emailed you days ago to let you know he would be able to FaceTime with you and Noah tonight, but you'd only written back, "Sounds good." You didn't give him any updates. You didn't call him Daddy. You didn't say anything else. 

Sounds good.

He grunted as he worked out in the gym. The sooner he could get this deployment completed and get home, the better. Carl's face was starting to look better now, but Bradley smiled every time he saw the bruises. He had no idea what excuse the other man had given for looking like a raccoon with two black eyes and a bent nose, and he didn't really fucking care. If anyone assumed he was the one who caused the bruising, they probably also assumed it was warranted. 

Those polaroids were wrapped up and put away now. But Bradley wanted the real thing. Your body and your voice. He'd been thinking about how insufficient it felt to call you his girlfriend. Just the same way you'd always felt like more than Noah's babysitter to them. But now with your lack of a real response, Bradley felt a little foolish for thinking about proposing to you. 

When it was time to make the call home, he sighed deeply. And when you answered your phone on the living room couch, your expression was hesitant. 

"Princess," he rasped, holding the iPad with both hands. "Baby. I miss you."

It felt like an eternity before you responded. "We miss you, too." 

He had so much he wanted to say and talk about, but your voice was just a little too soft, and your eyes were just a little too sad. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

"Here. Talk to Noah." And then you were out of the frame, and Noah was there. Bradley laughed as he talked about daycare and making something called peanut butter snails and going for hikes. He held up some of the coloring sheets he had worked on, and Bradley noted that you had dated all of them. You always did little things like that. Now he'd be able to see which days his son worked on the coloring sheets when he got home. 

"I miss you so much, bub."

"Will you come home soon?" Noah asked, and Bradley's heart absolutely melted. 

"Really soon. And we can go to the beach and maybe take a little vacation, okay? Now can you sit with Princess so I can talk to her, too?"

And then you were immediately back in the frame and scooping Noah onto your lap. So you must have been standing right there the whole time. 

"That's better," Bradley sighed. His house, his kid, his girl. "You have no idea how much I wish I was on that couch with you." 

You smiled softly. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"I'm not sure, Baby. Not soon enough. Tell me about work."

So you indulged him in a few stories, and it sounded like you fit in there. You liked your coworkers, especially Dr. Kelly. You loved all the kids you got to talk to and care for all day. But you still seemed a little distant.

"Are you sleeping okay?" he asked. "Any issues?"

You pressed a kiss to Noah's cheek and said, "We just miss you. That's all."

"We want you to come home," Noah whined. 

"Please?" you added softly. 

"So soon," he reiterated, wishing he could give you both a kiss. "Watch for my emails?"

"I will," you promised. 

"I love you. Both of you."

Then you and Noah said in unison, "I love you, too." And then he had to end the call.

------------------------

Well it was done now. You were on your way to get the last few things from your place with Noah before you turned your key over to your landlord. Or former landlord. You were done paying rent here, and now you could start helping Bradley pay his mortgage. In fact, he would be home in a few days, and you'd talk to him about it then. There were actually a lot of things you wanted to have a conversation about.

"Do you remember when you came here for dinner? And I made you spaghetti in my little kitchen?"

"That was a long time ago," Noah insisted, and you held his hand as you walked up the sidewalk. "You live at my house now."

"Yep," you replied softly as you let go of his hand and dug around in your bag for the key you hardly ever used now. "Let's just hope that makes your Daddy happy and not annoyed since I never really gave him a verbal answer," you mumbled, finally locating the key. 

As you shoved it into the lock, Noah knelt down and picked something up from the porch. "What's this?" he asked, reaching his hand up to you.

Your eyes went wide. "Drop it," you said right away, and he let the piece of broken glass fall back to the porch. But there was more. Both of you were standing in it, and when you reached to turn the knob, there must have been a shard there.

"Shit," you gasped as your right palm started bleeding. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you kicked the door fully open. One of the panes of glass in the door had been smashed, and there was more of the mess on the floor inside. "Don't touch anything," you hissed, and Noah started crying. 

You kept him close enough to take a few pictures as soon as you were able to fumble with your phone. You took seven photos of all the glass plus the item that had been left. For you. It was just a dollar store coloring book, but there was a note on top of it written in crayon. Have fun playing house.

It had to have been from Meredith. Who else could have done it? She was already claiming you ruined her life. And ever since you saw her at the gas station, you were nervous that wasn't the last of her.

Blood was starting to pool a little bit in your upturned palm, and there wasn't much you could do at the moment except for ruin your shirt. "Let's get out of here," you whispered, and the two of you walked back across the porch, the glass crunching beneath your feet. 

You were able to buckle Noah with one hand, but even when you got back to Bradley's house, you were still bleeding. And the glass needed to be removed. So you finally caved and called Natasha. 

"I kind of need your help," you told her vaguely over the phone.

She laughed in response. "I kind of need a lot of things. What can I do for you?"

"Can you come by and help me remove a piece of glass from my dominant hand?"

"Fuck. Of course. I'm on my way," she replied, all tones of joking  gone. 

She was there in less than fifteen minutes, and she washed her hands right away. Then she used the sterilized tweezers that you handed to her to carefully remove the glass. "Just the one piece?" she asked, meeting your eyes. 

"I think so. I already checked Noah really thoroughly."

Nat's expression darkened. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

You were pressing some gauze against your palm now. You might need stitches. You would probably benefit from getting stitches. But you couldn't do them yourself with your left hand, and you didn't want to leave Noah right now. Not even with Nat. He was watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon on the couch, and you didn't want him further away from you than that. 

"It was just some broken glass," you replied. 

"Here?" she asked, looking around the kitchen.

"No. At my old place. It's fine. I just need to tell my landlord about it, and I'll replace it." You were amazed how easily you were able to keep your voice steady. 

"Right," Nat replied with an unamused look. "Bradley will be home in a couple days? Do you want me to stay here until he's back?"

"Of course not. We're fine," you insisted, averting your gaze.

She stood to leave and sighed deeply. "Please call me back if you need anything, okay? And do us both a favor and don't lie to Bradley when you pick him up."

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "I won't," you said softly. And after she left, you took Noah into bed with you and snuggled him tight. 

---------------------

I hate Carl. I hate Meredith. I want Daddy to come home. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 32

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[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Short Temper

Dark!Poe Dameron x Fem!pilotReader

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: Leia being such a sweetheart to reader, 18+!!, punishment, Poe being kind of possessive, p in v, blowjob, deep throating, overstimulation, dark Poe, Black Squadron members being silly lol.

Today was a rather stressful day at the Resistance, a pilot in Black Squadron was sick and you had to jump in and take his spot for a training simulation. But today, everyone knew Commander Poe Dameron had bad mood, he couldn't sleep the last night due to a Generator near his quarters kept beeping.

You just finished up preparing your X-Wing as General Leia Organa came up to you along with C-3PO by her side.

"Hey," she gave you a warm smile, "I saw how nervous you looked earlier when you had to jump in for today. Don't be, Black Squadron has the nicest pilots I've ever worked with." Leia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

"I know. Well, except Poe today." you laughed making Leia chuckle

"Yeah, except him. But please keep an eye on him, I don't want the whole base being moodier than him."

"Where are you going?" you asked curiously.

"I and C-3PO are going to Coruscant for a meeting. And until then, Poe will be in command until I'm back."

"Alright. But please be back as soon as possible, we don't want Poe to lose his shit." you chuckled.

"I promise I will. Take care." she gave you a pat on the shoulder and another warm smile, turning around and leaving for her meeting.

-

Soon enough, all pilots of Black Squadron gathered at the hangar, they all welcomed you, immediately cracking jokes with you and sharing laughter.

After a while one member spoke up, "Well, here he comes, Commander bad mood himself."

You had to suppress a laughter and went to your X-Wing. Then Poe approached you,

"Hi there, jumper. Got everything prepared?"

"Yes, sir." you nodded.

"Good. All you have to do is to follow my lead and don't do anything stupid." with that Poe walked to his X-Wing and climbed in.

----------------------------------------------------

The training simulation went well for the most part, but at one point you pulled off a stunt inside a nearby asteroid field to destroy the target. You chased the target through the field, doing some really close manouvers but at the end you successfully destroyed the last target while Poe was barking at you over the comm to get back and not risk your life for a dummy target. But you got sick and cut off your comm.

Now Black Squadron was back at the hangar, you changed into your mechanic uniform to re-new some paint on your X-Wing. Soon everyone else got out of their X-Wings and up to you. You thought they all would scold you but instead they laughed,

"Damn, you pulled off quite the show! Ha!"

"I wish we could have seen Poe's face when you've made it out of there alive."

"Poe did not like that at all!"

"I bet if you pull off more stunts like that, you could be even better than Poe!" Another one laughed.

"Oh oh... Poe's coming." one pointed at the black X-Wing that has just entered the hangar and landed.

All the other members of Black Squadron quickly pissed off to avoid Poe's temper but you decided to stay to prevent further provocation.

Poe removed his helmet and climbed out of his cockpit, immediately walking towards you. As you saw him coming closer, you took a deep breath and prepared mentally for the scolding you're about to get.

"What the hell was that?!" Poe barked, his tone was authoritive and demanding answers.

"Poe- I'm sorry, I-" Poe cut you off,

"You risked your life for a fucking training target, pulling off dangerous stunts inside an asteroid field!" Poe left no room for arguments.

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again!" You pleaded but he sighed in annoyance and shook his head.

"Sorry won't cut it." he responded sternly.

"What do you mean, Dameron?"

"Oh, you'll see. Come with me."

You stood there confused and Poe raised an eyebrow, "Don't make me repeat myself. Come with me now." he ordered almost coldly.

You did as he asked and followed him. He lead you into an empty supply room with a table and some chairs inside. He turned on the lights and motioned for you to enter first. After stepping inside, Poe typed something on the console beside the door and it turned red, signalizing the door is locked.

"Uhm, Poe? What are you doing?" you asked slowly and carefully.

He turned around to face you, "I'm going to teach you a lesson. A lesson to never risk your life for some stupid stunts." he walked towards you and pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

"Get on your knees." he ordered.

"On my knees?" you asked confused.

"Do it." he growled.

You hesistated but slowly getting down on your knees. You slowly realized how Poe wanted to punish you.

Poe slowly unzipped his orange flight suit, "You know, I had a really bad fucking night. And your disobedience was the last drop."

He reached inside and pulled out his already hard cock, giving it a few strokes.

"Suck it." He ordered, tilting his head to the side slightly as if daring you to disobey.

Slowly, you leaned in, his other hand coming up behind you and grabbed the back of your neck. His hand was hot against your cold skin, it almost made you afraid of Poe.

You gave his cockhead a few licks, looking up at him and saw the desire in his eyes. A desire to grab your head and fuck your throat so hard it will be sore the next day. But he wanted you to do everything.

"Go ahead." His hand on the back of your neck gave you a warning squeeze.

You leaned in and took his girth in your mouth as far as you could. He was so big you couldn't fit him all the way. Poe groaned deeply and you looked up to see his eyes fluttered close and his head thrown back.

"Fuck, keep going." he looked back down at you and licked his lips hungrily.

-

You kept sucking him, the only sounds filling the small room were the wet sounds and Poe's groaning.

"You're so good at this." He praised and moved his hand upwards to tangle into your hair.

-

"I'm gonna cum. You better swallow every drop or else you will suck my cock again and again until your stomach is full of my cum."

Poe warned as his breath got ragged and he suddenly plunged his cock all the way down your throat, making you gag as he came down your throat.

He released you and you got back up, turning around and ready to leave.

"Where do you think you're going? I didn't say we are finished here. I'm not done with you yet. Come back here."

Poe stood up and walked towards you.

"But you just came." you protested and he chuckled,

"And? Did I say you could leave? We're not finished. Not by a long shot, sweetheart."

Poe grabbed you and pushed you against the wall face first.

"This is a lesson in obedience after all." he leaned close and unfastened your uniform pants, pulling them down along with your panties.

"You know, maybe I will keep you in my squadron. See how you will be become my good little girl and follow your Commander's orders like you should."

he reached out and stroked your clit rythmically, the pace increasing stroke after stroke.

Your moans filled the room and Poe soon pushed two fingers inside you after you were dripping onto the ground beneath you.

-

"Yes, keep moaning, let the whole base hear how much of a good girl you are for me." He incouraged, your breath getting ragged as you felt your orgasm approach.

Poe felt your cunt clench around his fingers, but his pace only slowed down momentarilly as you came down from the orgasm.

He kept pumping his fingers in and out of you, slowly. Your poor pussy was overstimulated, you couldn't take anymore and Poe suddenly removed his fingers.

"Now I think you're wet enough."

Poe was already stroking his once again hard cock.

"What do you mea--" you got cut of by the sudden intrusion of his big cock into your overstimulated entrance.

Poe leaned in close, "Ohhhh, your pussy isn't going to be spared from my cock." he drawled out and leaned down towards your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin. Then he suddenly bit down.

You gasped, and squeezed him in response which made him groan.

"Fuck, you're so tight, honey." his thrusts were slow at first, but he quickly increased the pace as he heard your moans and whimpers getting more needily.

-

His grip on your hips got tighter and his thrusts harder and faster.

You felt your second orgasm build up, making you arch your back into him and your moans getting louder.

"I knew you would love my cock, baby. But Don't worry, you will get more of me."

Poe felt himself getting close again too, and soon enough he buried his whole girth inside you and came hard. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as his breath slowly returned to normal. He pulled out and handed you some tissue to clean yourself up. Poe cleaned himself up too and put himself back into his boxers.

Poe turned his attention back to you, watching as you pulled your panties and pants back up.

"You better listen to me from now on and do what I say. Because if not, then this will be a common thing." He waited for your answer.

"Yes." You nodded weakly.

"Good." With a satisfied nod, Poe unlocked the door and stepped out, leaving you there overstimulated but satisfied.

[rafesapologist]

a request but if you don’t like it ignore:)

Rafe plays some kind of sport, (football??) and reader wears a jersey with someone else’s number?

🩷

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 - 𝐣𝐨𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞

summary: you and rafe cameron have been together throughout the duration of college since meeting at a freshman seminar during your guys' first week attending university. you've stuck by your jock of a boyfriend consistently ever since, witnessing all the highs and lows of his athletic career while playing for your school's football team. it's now both of you twos senior year and your boyfriend's football season is drawing to a close, leading you to come up with the idea to play a prank on him in honor of his last game. with the help of his best friend, topper thornton, you come up with a devious scheme that you know will illicit a rise out of an unsuspecting rafe. it's finally saturday night and your school's team won their final game, now excitement was at an all time high and celebration was to be had. the night couldn't have gone any better, until rafe notices you wearing his best friend's jersey number instead of his.

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, violence, angry rafe

author's note: hii! thank you for the request :) your wish is my command mwah requests are open !

It was a picturesque, boisterous Saturday night just after your university's last game of the season had just wrapped up. A chorus of delirium erupted amongst the filled stadium once the final touchdown had been made, concluding the game and ruling that it was your boyfriend, Rafe's, team that had won. It didn't come as much of a shock to you as it did to everyone else when your boyfriend had been the one to score the last few points that won the team it's finishing game, due to the fact that Rafe was an exceptional athlete for as long as you could remember. However, despite your lack of surprise, you still felt a large quantity of enthusiasm following his accomplishment.

It had been an agreement amongst the football team and their girlfriends', you included, that had they won, there would be an afterparty at the Boneyard in order to celebrate. You had predicated ahead of time that the team would win regardless, so you took it upon yourself to end the season with a good, old-fashioned prank on you beloved partner, Rafe. As a way of doing so, you got in contact with Rafe's closest friend, Topper, to come together and plot the perfect stunt against him without his knowledge. The two of you came up with the idea that you would be showing up to the afterparty sporting an oversized football jersey with the catch being that the number written on it wouldn't be your boyfriend's, instead it would be his best friend's.

You were eager to show up at the Boneyard once the game was over just to be able to finally see Rafe face-to-face, even more to get his reaction once he realized you were wearing somebody else's jersey number. You ended up driving over to the location with a group of friends that you had arrived at the game with, making sure to text your boyfriend that you would be meeting up with him once you made it to the beach.

"Rafe is gonna kill you and Topper." One of your friends joked from the passenger seat as you neared your destination, shaking their head as they pictured the thought of Rafe's reaction once he saw what you had on.

"He wouldn't even raise his voice at me," you shrugged as you took a sip from the seltzer can that was in your hands, "but Topper, yeah he's dead." You stated, causing you and your friends to erupt in a fit of laughter throughout the car.

Impatience consumed you as you watched the car pull into the parking lot nearby before coming to a complete stop. You quickly hopped out of the vehicle and could see the flames of the bonfire that had been set up close by, telling you that you were close to where everyone else had been. You attempted to control your giggles and keep your composure while you treaded closer to the sight, feeling jitters in the pit of your stomach as Rafe and his teammates come into view.

"Hi baby." You greeted, your voice flowing with honey that was a sweet-surprise to Rafe's ears.

"Hey princess," Rafe welcomed as he turned to face you, his scleras coated a faint shade of red as the evidence of the alcohol in his system, "missed you." He murmured, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You basked in the way his lips felt against your skin as he opened you to his embrace, his free arm snaking over your shoulder to pull you into his side with glee.

"Ohh shit." Kelce interposed with his eyes glued to the jersey you were wearing. Immediately, you pressed your lips into a thin line in an attempt to conceal your laughter, silently praying that Rafe had not caught a glimpse of the expression written on your face.

"What?" Rafe catechized his friend for his sudden comment, looking over at the boy with confusion plastered on his features.

"Your girl is wearing Topper's number, bro." Another teammate added, gesturing to the large article of clothing you had on.

"What the fuck?" Your boyfriend remonstrated as his azure-shaded eyes surveyed your body, flickering over the numbers placed across the jersey. He observed the atypical digits, quickly recognizing them to have belonged to none other than his best friend. Fucking Topper.

Rafe's jaw began to clench, becoming noticeably tense and jut forwards at the slightest bit. You noticed that way his nostrils flared just before he took one last swig of the beer in his hands, throwing it on the grown with aggression after intaking the remaining liquid in the can. Your eyes widened, your jaw also falling open as you watched the provoked boy storm off in the direction of Topper as he stood obliviously with the crowd of individuals at the bonfire a few feet away.

"Rafe!" You shouted, trailing behind the long-legged boy as he stomped over in the direction of the cluster of people. Unfortunately for you though, your boyfriend was much faster and agile than you were, his long stature at his advantage when it came to getting places quicker.

Your efforts to gain Rafe's attention went unnoticed as he picked up speed. Panic set in as you spotted him place a hand on Topper's shoulder, swiftly turning him around to face him.

"Why the fuck is y/n wearing your jersey number? Did you fucking give it to her?" Rafe fumed, shoving Topper with enough force that caused him to stumble back a bit. Much to your boyfriend's surpise, the blond Kook simply laughed in return, his hands held up in the air in defense.

"I don't know how she got it bro. Must like me better or something." Topper mocked as he chuckled tauntingly, a clear attempt to get a rise out of the already seething boy.

"Don't fucking play with me right now, Topper. How. Did. She. Get. Your. Jersey." He demanded.

"You should ask your girl." The blond smirked with an ever-present smug look on his face, which of course, pissed Rafe off to no return. Without a second breath, you found yourself standing there frozen, simply a bystander in the midst of chaos as it began to ensue as your boyfriend remorselessly swung at Topper. You felt as if your eyes were nearly going to pop out of their sockets as you watched in disbelief at what had unfolded in just a few moments.

"Rafe, stop! It's a joke!" You cried out, but your voice went unheard.

"Dude, that's enough! She said it was a joke." One of your boyfriend's teammates interjected into the matter, grabbing Rafe's shoulders from behind and pulling him off the assaulted boy.

"You-Huh?" Rafe questioned breathlessly as he spun around to look at you, his eyes flickering between you and the person who had pulled him off of Topper.

"It was a prank," you admitted, sighing as your adrenaline started coming down, "for your last game. Topper and I came up with it together just to mess with you."

Rafe stared back at you with an unreadable expression on his face, seeming as though a thousand thoughts were scrambling through his mind in that very moment. His chest rose and fell heavily as he stood there, mouth agape. He shooked his head as he scratched the back of his neck before he turned back around to Topper who has in the middle of trying to pick himself up off of the ground.

"My bad, Top." Rafe mumbled quietly with his hand extended out for his friend to grab, to which he complied and held onto it as he lifted himself up.

Topper sighed, brushing the sand off of his body as he stood upright. "I guess now we know what happens when you fuck with Rafe's girlfriend." He noted.

Rafe chuckled in response as he nudged the blond headed boy, "They'd be dead."

"What are you saying about me?" You inquired as you approached the two boys. Rafe's focus immediately shifted to you, his eyes shooting over in your direction while you came up to him. You stood before him with your hands on your hips, a non-verbal communication that you were scolding him for his actions.

"Nothing baby, just that I'd kill anyone who touches you. That's all." Rafe smirked as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a tight embrace against his chest, kissing the top of your head tenderly.

"It's not like I'd choose any of them over you," you giggled, wrapping your arms around his torso as you looked up at him yearningly, bliss twinkling in your eyes, "the dick is too good." You whispered, catching him entirely off guard. Rafe's first reaction was his eyes widening at your crude-humored comment, then switching to a deep chuckle as a smirk formed across his face while he looked down at you.

"All yours princess." Rafe attested with certainty, his glossy eyes gazing at you with a look you were all too familiar with. You felt butterflies float in your stomach under his lustful stare, realizing that the night was far from over.

"How about we go prove that on the beach over there?"

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Gator Tillman x Reader

Summary: Your husband has a problem with alcohol, which creates problems with the law. His latest stunt just might put him behind bars for a long, long time. Luckily for you, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman has offered you a way to save your husband from such a fate. But serving justice Gator’s way may be a tight fit…

This shouldn’t be happening. You hated Gator Tillman, and he was, at the very least, indifferent about you.

“Got yourself in a tough spot, don’t ya?” he grinned down at you, his breath dusting your nose. It smelled like that disgusting vape he was always puffing on, some kind of mango/pineapple combination. The smell reminded you of Fruit Stripe, except instead of smelling like a single stick of gum, it smelled as if Gator had crammed the whole pack in his mouth at once. Too sweet, so sweet it was nauseating. And yet…

“Aren’t ya gonna answer me, pretty girl?” Gator pressed, leaning in till the tip of his nose brushed yours. “I mean, you can still say no if y’want. I’ll be a gentleman about it...” The corner of his mouth rose in a grin. “…Promise.”

You believed him. Gator didn’t scare you; he pissed you off. All the times he’d arrested your husband, the way Gator had talked shit about him to his face…it made you sick. Your husband may have been the most infamous drunk in Stark county, but he was a human being, too, a fact Gator cruelly ignored.

This time, your spouse was facing more than a couple of nights in county jail. The Tillmans had warned your husband that their generosity was running thin. After countless failed attempts at maintaining sobriety, your husband hadn’t been able to stay out of trouble. This latest incident, which had happened last night, was his worst infraction yet: he’d beaten one of his drinking ‘buddies,’ so severely, he’d put him in the hospital.

“It’s really none of my business anyway,” Gator continued. “Whatever happens to your old man, I mean. That’s in your hands-.” Gator took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs in little circles over your skin. Your cheeks warmed instantly, a heat pooling deep inside you. You hated yourself for wondering what the same action with his fingers would feel like rubbing circles over other parts of your body. Gator clicked his tongue to get your attention; your eyes flicked up to meet his.

“Now listen,” Gator added, his eyes and tone now darker with impatience. “I ain’t got all day. I can clean up your old man’s mess if you want-.” Gator smiled lecherously. “-But you’re gonna have to make a little mess of your own, first…”

You bit your lip, wondering how exactly this was going to go down. Because you knew it was going to happen-you were going to do this-but how would Gator expect you to pay your husband’s debt? In what way?

Gator answered your question by reaching in the back of his truck and pulling out a tattered blanket, which he tossed onto the ground. “No sense in gettin’ your knees dirty, sweetheart,” Gator murmured, taking another drag of his vape. “Told ya I’m a gentleman.” He tipped his vape toward the ground, indicating where he wanted you-“Go on now; you know what to do,”-and you went down on your knees.

Gator removed his utility belt and let it fall to the ground beside the blanket. He unbuttoned his cargo pants and pulled the zipper down, cock pulsing when his hand grazed it, stopping just short of revealing it. He watched the look of confusion color your face when he didn’t go further. “Use your mouth to get it out,” Gator said flatly.

You complied, scooting closer on your knees so your face was level with Gator’s crotch. He didn’t smell sweaty and disgusting ‘down there,’ like you’d assumed he would. The lingering scent of sandalwood body spray mixed with Gator’s natural scent blended into something heady and masculine. You pressed your nose against the soft cotton of his blue boxer briefs and inhaled, deeply.

Gator grunted contentedly, his big hand closing over the top of your head, fingers threading your hair. “Y’like it down there or somethin?” he murmured above you. The metallic click of Gator’s vape pen sounded as he clicked it on, followed by the raspy pull of him taking a long drag. His fingers tightened in your hair, another grunt leaving his throat as he rubbed his crotch against your lips, prompting you to instinctively part them.

Gator was big. You massaged the outline of his cock through his underwear, his thickness spreading your lips wide apart. His tip was pointing upward, confined by the waistband of his underwear, making his full, heavy balls even more prominent. You’d have been lying to yourself if you’d said his cock didn’t intimidate you a little.

Enjoying himself and your submission at his feet, Gator lazily rubbed his crotch against your face. He wasn’t in any kind of hurry…he didn’t have to be. Gator had brought you out to the middle of nowhere, and ‘nowhere,’ was easy to come by in a place like Stark County.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, exhaling another cloud into the country air. “Your other set of lips this good?” His language was crude and tacky, and for god knows what reason, you were loving it. Gator pocketed his vape, then pulled off his jacket and shrugged it aside. You were dripping all over your panties, saturating them with desire.

Slipping your teeth over the waistband of Gator’s boxers, you tugged them downward. Once free, Gator’s massive cock landed heavy against the top of your head and bounced back, a sticky string of precum clinging to your hair. You let his underwear slide down around his ankles. Gator shuffled out of them, his cock bobbing just out of your lips’ reach as he moved. The precum still connected his tip to your hair, breaking only when you lifted your head to close your lips around him.

You gingerly suckled at Gator’s tip, preparing yourself mentally for the task of taking him down your throat. You curved your tongue under the first couple of inches, stroking the veins that bloomed at the ridge where his tip met his shaft. Gator clutched your hair more deliberately, his eyes now closed, lips parted softly. He pressed his hips forward slowly, urging you deeper onto his cock. Your throat constricted as his tip met your gag reflex. Saliva bubbled from your lips around Gator’s cock as your throat rejected him, but you forced yourself still. Gator had established a slow rhythm at this point, thrusting gently in and out of your throat with one hand still locked in your hair, and the other on his hip.

You were able to take him about five inches deeper before choking, the threat of vomit forcing you to push off of Gator’s cock. Rather than be pissed off, as you imagined he’d be, Gator knelt to the ground, meeting you at your level. His eyes were trained on the space where your t-shirt tucked into your leggings, like he was contemplating the quickest way to get you out of them.

“Get on your back,” Gator told you, his hands reaching for your thighs, his eyes fixed between them. “Wanna see if it tastes as good as it smells.”

He yanked your leggings down so forcefully they ripped at the sides, but you couldn’t have cared less. He’d tugged your underwear down at the same time, revealing your wet, glistening pussy like a treat to be devoured. Gator hooked his arms under your legs, locking your body in place, and buried his nose between your lips. You gripped the fabric of his shirt like a vice, your body wracked with the electricity of his tongue licking in and out of you aggressively. Gator groaned hungrily into your cunt, moaning soft words against the moist heat his tongue couldn’t swallow enough of to satisfy his craving for it.

After eating you to orgasm twice, Gator suddenly rose to stand over you, breath coming in bursts, unsteady on his feet. His typically slicked-back hair was completely disheveled, wet with sweat and fallen against the sides of his cum-soaked face. Gator reached forward and took you by the hair, lifting your face to meet his crotch. “Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he panted, his voice a pretty mix of authority and desperation. “You’re gonna take it all and thank me for it after, understand?”

You nodded, your eyes heavy-lidded in the dumb, blissful afterglow of climax, Gator’s hand gripping your hair so tightly he could have nodded your head for you. Groaning through his release, Gator emptied himself over your tongue, semen spilling down your chin and collecting in the fabric of your shirt. You worried immediately about the stains it might leave behind. How would you explain them to your husband? Regardless of the consequences, you decided that having to wash the deputy sheriff’s cum from your clothes was a small price to pay, in exchange for your husband’s freedom...

@justmeinadaze

[chaifootsteps]

hb could have actually worked Stolas in to the 'Blitz needs to believe people can love him so he won't die alone' plot without it being so disgusting and yucky

OK so hear me out - everything plays out the same up to Ozzie's

then in s2-4 instead of doing The Circus and making Stolas the main character, we stay with Blitz. if S1 was about who he's hurt in the past s2 is the point at which he begins trying to mend fences, but actively instead of the writers just forcing him to do it because he realized in Ozzie's he doesn't like how things are now

have the 'crashed Moxxie's anniversary' actually pay off with M&M being frostier than usual and Blitz being afraid he's about to lose them too. have Loona be annoyed when Blitz is overbearing when she's trying to make new friendships and accidentally sabotaging them with his over-protectiveness

have it be a story of Blitz simultaenously trying to make it up to people from the past (not all of whom forgive him) while he's trying to avoid repeating the same mistakes in the present with his new family

have the circus accident be more directly his fault - maybe he's practicing a stunt to win his father's love and causes the fire that way, even though he obviously didn't mean to

and have him begin to be emotionally vulnerable in small ways and he feels it pay off when others respond in kind instead of mocking or hating him like he fears. Trash 'Oops' as an episode but keep the emotional beat of Fizz forgiving him being the turning point for Blitz forgiving himself a bit, too, because Fizz's forgiveness is the thing he's secretly longed for during the entire show (next to Barbie's, who should also get vastly more screentime). have arcs to handle each of the main cast and flesh out IMP first and foremost

then as he begins to heal and treat people better, return to the Ozzie's plotline. have it be a thread throughout s2 of following Blitz's perspective of the fallout, not Stolas'. Show how confused he is by what Stolas is doing and why he's so happy to avoid him for those months off. have him make small comments to the people in his life about how deeply unhappy Stolas makes him and have them actually notice, because Blitz hated himself so much before he just rationalized what was being done to him as something he deserved

have the full moon argument play out as-is, but instead of what happens during apology tour, have Blitz think what he needs to do is apologize to Stolas to complete his character growth and love someone. Except make it clear to the audience that he has nagging doubts about all this - especially when Stolas pulls the 'I can't believe you didn't ditch taking your daughter to the doctor's office to come save me despite sending your employees to help because I fundamentally don't value your family or your time' card

And then right when it looks like he's about to cave and give Stolas what he wants - he doesn't.

He tells Stolas now he's learnt to love himself and he has people in his life again who've proven to him that he can be cherished and his worst self won't be rejected so long as he puts the work in to make things right when he screws up. He tells Stolas he used to think the owl was the closest thing to real love he could ever have - feeling used, abused and degraded. But he knows better than that now and he isn't about to let a pompous self absorbed royal bully him into being the perfect consort he wants. He goes further than that, even, telling Stolas he was bought to be his friend and pitied him from the start - and even now he wouldn't trade places with him even if he could

Because Blitz has rebuilt his life by looking in the mirror, holding himself to task and trying to be better. Meanwhile Stolas - who has had every advantage Blitz hadn't and could have chosen every step to do things differently - has actively pushed away both Via and Blitz with his 'never my fault, promise to do differently while getting worse all the time' behavior

Then Blitz walks out of his life for good, because now he has regained a sense of self worth he can see that he deserves better than the "love" Stolas was offering

and the one person he does apologize to, besides Barbie/Fizz/Moxxie/Verosika/etc? Striker. He apologizes for calling him a supremacist (still happens in this rewrite but as a sign of how hard Blitz is trying not to think that Striker has a point about Stolas) and that he isn't interested in fighting with him any longer

And Striker just responds with a smile, because he knows it means what he hoped all along would happen, has happened. Blitz is finally free from Stolas - and when he's ready he can move on to a love who respects him instead of just wanting to use him

I want this. If we can't have this in canon because Viv is Viv, I'm glad we have it here and now.

[starlight-eclipsed]

DPXDC Social Media AU

Fic below!

The video started, the camera focusing on the scene before it. A teenager’s bedroom was shown, decorated with posters of space and model rockets. It was deceptively normal, had it not been for fans pointing out that they weren’t labeled LexCorp, Wayne, or any of the other leading names in aerospace.

“Hey everyone!” The teen in question greeted, smiling at the camera as he waved. “Danny here! Sorry for the radio silence—two of my rogues decided to do a collaboration and kidnapped a bunch of people. My parents grounded me and took all my video games since I kinda trashed a bunch of their equipment saving them, so I finally had enough time to record this. Again, grabbing a smartphone from you guys’ dimension was absolutely the right call. Looking forward to when the ones here will get to that level and I can use mine in public.”

Sitting back in his seat, Danny waved his hands. Papers from around the room were pulled up in the air, showing a variety of news clippings, report cards, and event flyers from the last year. “Sweet, that worked! I know it’s been a year, but I’m still getting used to these powers. Anyway, today’s topic is: secret identities! Specifically how much they can suck sometimes.”

The papers drop as he spins in his chair and folds his arms.

“Okay, so I’m gonna start this by saying I only speak for myself. Your dimension has a ton of other heroes who have all kinds of perspectives on this kind of thing. It’s also not an invitation to start harassing your friends and coworkers if they pull any stunts like the ones I’m gonna talk about. Some people are just flaky, some have other things in their life going on that they don’t want to talk to you about. In the extremely unlikely chance that you’re right and the friend who keeps bailing on you is a vigilante, you should leave that shit alone. No matter how justified you are in getting upset that they don’t have the time for you, trying to expose them can kill not only them, but everyone they want to protect. Don’t do it.”

Clapping his hands Danny tilts his head to listen for something before continuing. “With that out of the way and my whole family leaving the house, let’s get to it. Going ghost!”

A flash of light marks the transformation, revealing Phantom at the end. He adjusts the camera so that he remains in frame as he now floats in his room.

“So if you’re new here, let me run through the basics. When I was fourteen, I died and came back wrong. No, I won’t go into the details—I don’t need any of you getting any ideas. I can appear as human, so me and my two best friends decided to keep it a secret from my parents, who are ghost hunters. The current arrangement is that I go out as Phantom to fight off aggressive ghosts when they attack, and the rest of time I try to lead a somewhat abnormal civilian life.”

“Onto the topic. Now, the main reason people keep their identity secret is so that their enemies can’t use it to hurt them. I…sorta do that? I mean I’d be in a lot of trouble if ghost hunters figured me out, and the government here kinda revoked my human rights so there’s that. But there’s no hiding from other ghosts. Not when we can sense each other. I’m just lucky for the anti-ghost hunter solidarity, it’s probably the only reason my rogues haven’t revealed my human identity to the world.”

He shivered dramatically.

“So, humans. People. Being a superpowered vigilante is all fun and games except when an attack happens during class. I don’t even ask to go to the bathroom anymore, the teachers gave up on stopping me,” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Don’t get me started on how many times I’ve gotten grounded or given extra detentions because I was busy stopping someone from torching a building or possessing someone to ruin their life in creative ways. I can’t just tell them why I wasn’t there, so I either have to act like an idiot who forgot that I have classes to attend or pretend like I was skipping on purpose. Which I was, but not like that, ya know?”

“Another thing! My grades have completely tanked. I used to be a straight A student, I needed to be if I wanted to be an astronaut. But no, I had to go and get myself killed, and now my biology is all messed up so I can’t even qualify for the physical if my grades were good enough. Which they aren’t, because now I spend most of my time brawling whatever ghost of the day. And like, sure. I could do my homework and study in the rest of the time I have that’s not spent sleeping. But that’s exhausting, and honestly I’d rather take the F than spend all my time working.”

He sighed, slumping down a bit in his chair.

“It just sucks. My sister is setting records on her exams, and I’m a few pity-grades away from being held back a year. At least now I can handle most of the regulars by myself, so I’m not dragging my friends down with me. They deserve better.”

Danny opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by mist escaping his lungs. He groaned, using his telekinesis to put his room back in order (notably cramming his graded assignments behind his dresser) and reaching for the camera.

“That’s my cue. Here’s hoping I can handle whoever’s out there fast enough so I have time to get started on my book report. Over and out.”

The video ended there. For many, that would be the last they’d hear of what was speculated to be the best performance-style LARP series for a while. Fans would start analyzing the footage not in the comments section, which was disabled, but in a separate online forum.

However, there was one place, albeit less well known, that one Danny Phantom would respond in.

———

Anonymous said

its good to see yuo posting again, but you looked really stressed. are you ok?

phantompaining

lol no

—

metwise said

I completely agree with you on your recent video. Vigilante work is hard; I was lucky when I started out, and I still nearly died many times over. Don’t let your grades get to you, if your school system is anything like this world’s equivalent then it is based heavily on busywork. Next time you’re visiting this world, try looking into online schooling. There should be free resources online you can download and follow along at your own pace to supplement the classes you miss. So long as you score well on tests, you can make up for the homework grades.

phantompaining

oh ill have to look into that, sounds neat. not sure if ill get around to actually studying any of it, but its better than nothing. i cant wait for my earth to catch up with yours, online school sounds so much better

gottabeoakin

Ayo is that Red Robin? Why tf is he takin some kids larp so seriously

implusivefruit

bold words from the deathnote rp acc

—

phantompaining

shoutout to my rogues, who beat the shit out of me, dropped some new ghost lore, then backed me up in fighting an army of the undead

also mech suits hurt like hell how does skulker do it

beetletakethewheel

Mech suits shouldn’t hurt??

phantompaining

my parents’ one runs on lifeforce

anyway if i had a dollar for every time i woke up somewhere i didn’t pass out in these last few days i’d have enough money to buy a burger

killmetwise 

How much do your burgers cost

phantompaining

(:

—

phantompaining

when the hell did so many supers start following me where are you people coming from

superttk

‘why r there so many heroes’ says the hero on the hero site

01101001-01100011-01110101

its like the only anonymous platform left that doesnt suck

totallynotharleyquinn

Free entertainment <3

phantompaining

ok fair

phantompaining

wait a second

—

coalminesinger said

Hello Phantom! I just wanted to check in on you after your last few posts. Did you enjoy your weekend off?

phantompaining

nope lol, technus escaped and I used one of my parents inventions to split myself to try and relax while handling the ghost issue and just made more work for myself

metwise 

#on the plus side my house is now on the beach #just in time for summer

You live in the middle of town???

phantompaining

yea putting it back is gonna be a pain

—

phantompaining

ok this is gonna be a heavy one folks. like arkham asylum levels of shit. i just spent the last week with my family convinced i was going insane, and i need to vent

:readmore:

discowinginginging

That really really sucks, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.

I went through a similar experience (only I was under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug that made me see, hear, and feel the villain in question, who wasn’t actually there). I was lucky enough to be on a team with someone who could read my mind and figure out what was happening, but if you can’t do that the next best thing is figuring out code words with anyone in the know. Obviously it’s not perfect, but some kind of word indicating that you feel like something is very wrong could save you a lot of trouble.

More under the cut.

:readmore:

phantompaining

…that could work? ill have to talk to my friends about it, but it sounds good

#thanks #still cant believe so many of yall are following this

[bones4thecats]

Hii can I request Ror Buddha meeting with his wife yasodhara again unexpectedly? Except his wife is the most chillest,nonchalant woman ever. Thank you💕

A/N: Hello there Anon!! I’m guessing you wanted the reader to be themed after his wife Yasodharā, so I did that. I hope this was what you wanted!! Enjoy~~

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●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🍭 He left, just up and left you and your infant son without saying a simple goodbye. And it stung, it stung you for the rest of your life. Your son asked about him whenever he found it fitting, in which you just gave him the basic info in which you knew of him at the time, which is rarely, if ever, changed. And until your death, you never saw him again.

🍭 You just enjoyed your afterlife alongside your son and your old close friends until the eldest Valkyrie sister came to speak to you of a battle that was being held against the gods.

🍭 Ragnarok.

🍭 Of course, you refused to fight them, you weren’t fond of getting violent for barely any reason besides keeping humans alive.

🍭 Instead, Brunhilde asked you to oversee the contestants to make sure certain ones didn’t get the wrong ideas. And you agreed, knowing certain ones from the talk around your palace in Valhalla.

🍭 At the time, you were watching the still healing Sasaki and Jack when you heard the announcement coming from Heimdall’s horn down on the battlegrounds. And you would never forget the words that echoed through the land.

“ I’m gonna fight for mankind. Ya dig? “

🍭 They sounded so familiar, yet so distant.

“ If the gods aren’t gonna save mankind, then I will. And if any god gets in my way… I’ll kill ‘em. “

🍭 It was your husband, the one who left you and your son in that palace centuries ago. But you couldn’t think to yourself for long before the obnoxiously loud cries of anger from the gods interrupted said thoughts.

🍭 “What is the matter with you?! Why would you, how could you betray us?!” One yelled.

🍭 Buddha sighed and held the horn up to speak, allowing Heimdall to sigh and stand beside him, giving up from jumping to grab the instrument.

“ I care for my kind, some more than others, even if I never showed it when I should have most. And I’m gonna make up for that here and now, if anyone has a problem with that, well, oh well. ”

🍭 Your heart fluttered, knowing what he had meant.

*Let’s skip for after the fight, as fighting is not my thing to write*

🍭 He was all bruised and bloody, his long hair draped behind his back as the air moved it swiftly away from his face. You stood up and began to run to the healers after he was rushed away, fearing the worst, though you didn;t show it, not wishing to worry your son and fellow humans.

🍭 Seeing his state in the healing room was gut-wrenching, but you knew you needed to do this now, or else you’d regret it like no other time. Knocking on the door, you trudged in after hearing his light ‘come in’.

🍭 It was now or never. And you picked now.

“ Hello there, my dear. ”

🍭 His eyes widened as he turned towards you. Your voice was one he would never forget in millions and millions of years.

🍭 “Y/N? Is that really you?” He asked, eyes straining to stare at your form. You walked carefully to the healing god, a smile spreading farther across your face with each step. You had looked at his face, still youthful as ever.

🍭 He was still your husband.

🍭 “Yes, it is me, love.” You replied.

🍭 He smiled, laughing as he watched you grab the side of his face and hold it towards your’s.

🍭 “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He asked.

🍭 “No, and you haven’t either, seeing the stunt you pulled down there, going against the gods and all.” You jokingly answered.

🍭 “Well, we have a lot to catch up on, now don’t we?” Buddha jokes.

“ Yes, my love, we do… ”

[sky-kenobye]

Fic idea that I've been obsessing over in the last couple of days:

TLDR: Obi-Wan gets dumped on his wedding day, Anakin suggests they get married instead to save Obi-Wan the humiliation (and money), he agrees, they get married and nobody realises the stunt they pulled (except for the few people they told), and they both realise that actually it's great to be married to each other and that they wouldn't have it any other way, and probably get their happily ever after.

(A lot more details under the cut for those who are interested!)

Obi-Wan is getting married to someone (I was thinking Satine at first but I don't want to bash on her just because she's in the way of my ship so let's say an original character 🤷), Anakin is his best man, and it's a kinda big and traditional wedding and they did the 'you can't see your bride until the ceremony' stuff, so Obi-Wan is already at the city hall(?), while the bride will be coming later, just before the start of the ceremony.

It's less than an hour before the start and some early guests are already getting there. One of the bride's guest (Padmé?) is arriving when she gets a phone call from the bride, telling her that the wedding is canceled, sorry for calling at the last minute but she had to call all the guests and she was the last one. At the same time Anakin is coming out of the building for whatever reason and Padmé is like 'wdym it's canceled? The best man is here, and I can see other guests!'. The bride kinda panicks and hangs up, and Padmé flags Anakin down to ask what's going on.

He's also baffled because Obi-Wan didn't say it was cancelled, he's ready to get married and everything and he saw him about 10 seconds ago. They try to call the bride back but she doesn't answer, then they try to call another guest of the bride that Padmé knows. She answers and they learn that apparently the bride called in the morning and said that Obi-Wan had cancelled the wedding and dumped her at the last minute and they were each calling their half of the guests to tell them not to show up (which is clearly a bunch of lies from the bride).

They go and explain all of this to Obi-Wan who's confused and angry and heartbroken. He manages to get on the phone with the bride who properly dumps him, and by that time there's very little time before the ceremony was supposed to start. Most of the (Obi-Wan's) guests are there, and it's kind of (very) humiliating to have to go in front of all these people that he knows and tell them "wedding cancelled, I've been dumped, you can go home", and on top of that it wasn't a super cheap wedding so that sucks, and the catering is already ready so he'll have to throw away a ton of food? Not a great situation.

So Anakin has an idea: what if they get married instead? It's crazy so Obi-Wan tries to argue against it:

We can't get fake married! Then let's get real married!

People will still know I've been dumped and I'm pathetically trying to save face! None of the bride's guests will be there so i doubt it.

It was still her name on the wedding announcement. Okay then, maybe she dumped you like idk a month ago and I took the opportunity to declare my secret love for you!

And we got married less than a month later? It's hard and expensive as shit to cancel a wedding on such a short notice so we took the opportunity! It's not so unrealistic for me and I could probably convince you to do it.

But then we'll be married. Yeah, so? There are worst things in the world.

Obi-Wan is skeptical but not saying no yet, and Padmé is like 'honestly coming from anybody else I'd think they lost it, but from you two? I can see it. Not even sure I'd be all that surprised tbh'.

Obi-Wan's not having a great time and getting married to Anakin sounds a thousand times better than telling people what actually happened so he says fuck it let's do it.

They form a quick battle plan: Obi-Wan will go talk to the officiant to change the bride's name to anakin's (is it legally possible in any country? Probably not but let's pretend it is and that the marriage is still valid), Anakin will find them new best men/women (probably quinlan for obi-wan and ahsoka for anakin? Or padmé since she's already in the loop) and brief them on the situation, and Padmé will find a ring that fits Anakin (she borrows one of the guest's, maybe Owen Lars'?).

Only a few minutes late, they come out in front of all the guests, do a quick speech explaining the unexpected change (with a few lies of course), and the ceremony begins. Everything goes smoothly, Obi-Wan improvises very moving (and actually 100% honest) wedding vows, Anakin is crying and forgot they needed wedding vows but manages to put a few sentences together which are equally as honest as Obi-Wan's and make people cry too (they think he forgot his vows because of the emotion). They put the rings on each other, kiss and all of that, and when they leave the building they're both beaming so wide that it doesn't occur to anybody to be suspicious, the grooms look so happy and in love!

Then it's time for the reception and everybody has a great time, the grooms have a very sweet first dance, and they're all over each other the entire evening, how adorable! And if they disappear for a little while (Obi-Wan may be happy to get married to Anakin but he still just got dumped, so he may want to have a few minutes to breath in a quiet corner and get a good hug) then everybody assumes they're making out in a closet or something. Owen laughs at them for forgetting the rings (which is what he assumes is the reason they needed his ring), and they get a lot of friendly ribbing for 'keeping their wedding a secret' from pretty much everybody.

And maybe after a few drink they do really disappear to make out and decide that marrying your best friend that you've always kind of been into without ever admitting it is pretty amazing actually.

[theredofoctober]

SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

---

"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind. 

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind. 

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing. 

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage. 

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling. 

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee. 

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts. 

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness. 

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

p5 hs au where they’re mostly all musical theater losers except one day transfer delinquent akira decides to try out for the winter musical and gets the lead male role despite having absolutely no vocal and or acting experience at all and akechi—dedicated to his craft nerd, semi-spotlight hoarder—is infuriated at this, even more so that he was chosen to be this delinquent’s understudy despite readily earning all other male leads prior. to make matters worse akira seems to genuinely want his friendship and everyone else in the department adores him so akechi has to be cordial and their relationship slowly progresses from akechi laying in bed at night weighing the merits of poisoning akira right before opening night to him begrudgingly agreeing to help run lines in the goddamn attic of his uncle’s cafe that was supposedly his residence for the whole delinquent-expulsion thing he’d wedged himself into to him kind-of-sort-of-maybe enjoying his company outside of rehearsal more—platonically, obviously, no really, because goro didn’t even swing that way to begin with, just because he was a broadway geek didn’t make him gay, alright—he’d expected (sumire teases him about this relentlessly and it almost makes him want to pull a poisoning stunt on her instead. but then who would be the show’s leading lady?). and of course, the musical opens without a hitch, and goro sneaks into the audience for act I and wonders why he ever doubted kawakami’s casting in the first place, because akira’s voice is strong and melodic and echoes—yes, it fucking echoes throughout the cheap auditorium, mic and all—and there’s the slightest hint of perspiration upon his brow and goro can see the sheen of the makeup he’d applied to the former’s face long before the show had began, and, in any and all ways, he is the perfect prince eric to sumire’s ariel, and if there’s a something in his chest every time akira sings or acts or dances and absolutely enraptures the audience with his stupidly magnetic everything, goro chalks it up to the magic of theater. intermission arrives much too soon, and he sneaks backstage to revitalize the cast for a stellar act II, and suddenly akira is dragging him to a secluded dressing room, eyes wide and frantic and he tells him that he can’t do this, he’s not an actor, he’s not a singer, and he is certainly not a prince eric and at the end of all this rambling he tells goro that he has to go out there in the next act in his stead because god knows that he was more deserving of the role than akira himself ever was and he’s probably just making a huge fool out of himself and their entire department out on stage and sumire deserves a fellow lead who has far more experience and talent that he could ever provide—and then, there are lips on his. it’s quick and chaste because it is intermission after all, and they’re on a time crunch, but goro knocks their foreheads together, not caring in the slightest about tarnishing akira’s makeup, and they breathe in each other’s being, and, well, akira’s been wanting that kiss for far longer—the first time he saw goro—than he’s willing to admit, and when the former tells him to get it the fuck together because he’s killing it out there and also the crowd would probably beat akechi with hammers if he replaced him because, yes, akira’s performance had been so astonishing and riveting even only one act down so far, he laughs softly, helplessly perhaps, and then he nods, trying desperately not to cry because he doesn’t think he has the time to fix his makeup any more extensively than he already will have to in the next few minutes.

so akechi send akira back on stage to finish the musical, and he watches from the audience once more as the chemistry between the two leads, as well as just about everything akira does, enraptures the whole audience, and their performance concludes with deafening applause. they nearly collide with one another, both desperate to reach the other post-performance, and he hugs akira so tightly and laughs and cheers so loudly that it’s drawing slight attention, not that akechi would ever care about what anyone thinks anyways, and he certainly displays his lack of care for passerby-confusion when he’s pulling akira into a kiss so deep, so desperately-desired by both for so long that they’re lost in each other completely, so lost that they don’t hear sumire’s light, amused gasp or the click of ann’s polaroid, because why would they break a moment they both want to stay in forever? and akechi thinks to himself, maybe he could get used to this guy stealing his roles if it meant he gets to occasionally wake up in the attic above a homely little cafe with a cat purring next to him and grey eyes staring forever into his.