#for long and boring technical reasons

[hatboyproject]

Reverberation Station

I have managed to find the sweet spot for audio level balancing in terms of gain, so my dialogue fits in with the vanilla audio except for a reverb effect. I need to figure out what the reverb setting is because it is the last man standing in terms of making this project as seamless as possible.

For any other intrepid modders out there, by the way, if you're staging new audio in the bridge, your audio should peak at -9db.

For most outdoor scenes, it's -12db.

This environmental reverb is a post-processing effect applied at runtime, and is not present in the raw audio.

I could cheat, and bake reverb into my audio files. That might help it. On my big PC speakers I can hardly tell there's a loss of reverb but it's really evident on phone speakers. I try to listen to my videos on several different sound systems to compare.

Hmm. Further testing required.

[plutoslastwords]

I love ur baby Norris fic smmmm

Can you do one where she gets hurt or smth and Oscar is there to help her and he is the only one she wants to look after her xx

bring your kid to work day (gone wrong)

lando norris x daughter!reader, oscar piastri x norris!daughter!reader

summary: baby norris has an accident when visiting the mtc, who will she listen to? not her dad!

warnings: slight description of a broken wrist

w/c: 1.9k

a/n: ahh tysm for requesting! i hope you like it 😁 thank you everyone for so much love on lost and found <3 keep the requests coming!

~~~

Unfortunately, children were not technically allowed at the Mclaren Technology Centre. To make matters worse, the only random uni student Lando had found willing to look after his daughter for 8 hours for the next few days had cancelled. It didn’t help that Max F, Lando’s only friend currently living in London, was in Brazil either.

Therefore, Lando had no choice but to take you to the MTC with him, making special arrangements with Zak and Andrea that you’d be on your best behaviour, you were an angel! (Most of the time..)

That brings us to now, you are strapped in the backseat of Lando’s car, in your booster seat, as he drives to the MTC, babbling excitedly about what you’re going to do today. 

“Gonna see Osc, Daddy!” you squeal, evidencing your adoration for the Aussie driver, who for some reason you’ve been completely attached to since the moment he joined the team. It's quite strange if you think about it, the quiet, reserved Australian and the hyperactive, excitable 3 year old, but he too is very fond of you.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna give him a big hug?” Lando coos at your excitement, he finds it endearing how much you love Oscar, and it also gives him an excuse to put babysitting duties onto his teammate.

You nod rapidly in response to his question, then completely forgetting about Oscar and going on to chatter about something that had happened at nursery a couple days prior.

Soon enough, Lando pulls his car into the MTC’s carpack, jumping out and coming round to unbuckle you and haul you into his arms, giving you a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You gonna be Daddy’s good girl, angel?” He asks as he walks into the building, bouncing you gently in his arms.

“Yes daddy!” You cheer in excitement, you were ecstatic to be able to visit your daddy’s work, your tiny face plastered with a massive grin.

“My best girl..” He murmurs as he greets some people with a small nod, making a beeline for his office, where you’ll stay whilst he works. He plops you down on the sofa that he has, grabbing your iPad from his bag and putting on a movie for you to watch.

“Okay baby, Daddy’s just going to go to a meeting, I won’t be long, if you need anything then Zak’s office is just next door, I love you my darling.” Too engrossed in your movie to speak, you simply nod and wave at him as he leaves.

In normal circumstances, Lando would never leave you completely by yourself for an extended period of time, but these were dire circumstances and he trusted that he knew enough people at Mclaren who would look out for you if you decided to pull an escaping act.

After about 20 minutes of watching your movie, you got bored, you had already seen this one before, and the songs weren’t as good when your daddy wasn’t singing them with you. You try to entertain yourself by playing some games that you have downloaded on your iPad, but even they did not give you the thrill and excitement that you need.

You remember in the car when your daddy said that Oscar was gonna be here today, but he hasn’t come to see you yet, a pout formed across your face at that realisation. Therefore, you climbed off the sofa, and decided to toddle around the MTC in search of the Australian driver.

With hindsight, Lando thinks that maybe he should’ve sent an email warning Mclaren employees that his daughter was going to make a guest appearance that day, because no one batted an eye as you wandered around the factory in search for Oscar.

You think you’re making progress, something in your 3 year old brain is telling you that Oscar is close, when you trip on your own feet, hurtling down to the floor right onto your wrist.

You let out a blood curdling screech, as pain shoots up your tiny wrist, immediately bursting into dramatic sobs, wailing as you sit on the floor clutching your arm. 

Luckily, you must have been blessed with the gift of prophecy, because as it so happens, Oscar was around this part of the building for his lunch break, stopping in his tracks when he heard your scream. Lando had said something about bringing you in this week… he thought, as he beelined to the source of the cries.

“Oh bug, what’s happened here!?” He exclaims worriedly, scooping you up into his arms as you continue to sob. You don’t make any coherent response, possibly something about your ‘wist’, but Oscar knows that you’re in pain and that is enough for him.

“Okay baby, I’m gonna get you to your daddy, okay?” He tries to put on his best soothing voice, but in reality he is slightly panicking as he holds his teammate's daughter in a bundle in his arms whilst she cries her eyes out.

You shake your head furiously at that, hot tears still rolling down your little face, “Don’t want daddy!!” You screech, your daddy had left you! You just wanted Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t really know what to do, and your screams will soon start to attract attention, so he can’t just be standing in the middle of the hallway doing nothing. He brushes his free hand over the top of your head, trying to calm you down with a soothing motion as he coos soft words at you, “Shh, baby, ‘M not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, breathe sweetheart…”

He decides his best bet is to first bring you back to his office, and calling Lando from there, he knows he’s got some ice in there that he can put on your small wrist, which is quickly swelling and turning a purplish colour, which he decides is probably not a good sign.

Still whispering sweet words to you, he takes your sobbing form to his office, gently sitting you on his own couch and putting some ice on your wrist, cooing soothing words as you complain about the cold.

He then grabs his phone, quickly dialing Lando’s number. “Hey mate, you think you could come to my office, gotta slight problem here…”

Ever the protective dad, Lando immediately picks up on your wails from the other end of the line, “What the fuck is going on?!? I- I’m on my way.” He hangs up before Oscar can explain that no, he has not intentionally harmed his daughter.

In a matter of seconds, much quicker than his usual pace, Oscar notes, Lando is in his office, kneeling at your side. “Angel, what happened? Tell daddy what happened, where does it hurt?” He shoots questions at you.

You just shake your head at him, reaching your good arm for Oscar.

Oscar stands there awkwardly, stuck between his teammate’s betrayed expression and your sweet, sad, big, adorable eyes… he gives in, coming to sit next to you and pulling you into his lap.

“You gonna tell me and your daddy what happened, sweet girl?” He asks softly, smoothing your hair over.

Through hiccups and sobs you manage a few words “T-Tripped! Wrist is sore…” you sniffle, snuggling into Oscar’s lap.

“Your wrist, baby?” Lando asks, “Can you show daddy?”

You just hide your face in Oscar’s chest, shaking your head, and Lando just looks at Oscar slightly helplessly, his own daughter won’t even talk to him…

“You gotta show your daddy otherwise it won’t get better, sweetheart…” Oscar murmurs to you, feeling pity on Lando.

You sniffle but reluctantly pull out your wrist from where you’ve been hiding it from under the ice to show Lando, who has to suppress a gasp - for your sake - at how bad it really is. Oscar’s eyes widen also, as he exchanges a glance with Lando about what they are going to have to do.

Oscar, gently places his hands over your little ears, “You think you should take her to the hospital…? It looks broken…” Lando just nods grimly, the hospital was not his favourite place as a kid and since you’re practically his carbon copy he doesn’t think you’ll be a massive fan either. 

“Angel, daddy’s gonna take you to the doctor’s, okay?” Lando says as soothingly as possible as Oscar releases your ears, “They’re gonna make it all better and then it won’t hurt anymore, I promise..”

You think about it for a moment, you’re not a massive fan of the idea, but your wrist is really sore, and if your daddy is saying that they’re gonna make it better…

“Oscar come.” You decide. Oscar releases a strangled noise of surprise from his throat, and Lando’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“You want Oscar to come..?” He asks, you just nod, your mind was made up and there was no altering your decision. “I- baby, Oscar is very busy, he probably doesn’t have the time to come to the doctors, but daddy will be there, okay?”

You glare at him.

“I- uhm, I don’t mind coming if it’s gonna make her happy..” Oscar interrupts the one sided glaring match that you’re having with your dad.

“Really? I don’t want to disrupt your day, mate, I mean she’s already taken enough of your time today…” Lando starts.

“No, no, I’m sure, I could use a break from work anyway.” You grin at that, like you had never even broken your wrist at all, as long as Oscar was coming with you to the doctors.

So that is how Lando and Oscar ended up at the local emergency room, Lando holding you tightly whilst you grumbled something about wanting to be with Oscar. Either the lady working the desk recognised them and was too starstruck to deny them a doctor, or she saw your grumpy face and decided she didn’t want a screaming child in the waiting room and immediately got you to see a doctor. 

After an x-ray it was determined that yes, your wrist was broken, which broke Lando’s heart, his poor, sweet, girl…

Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad, and you were able to leave a couple hours later with a new, blue cast, as per your request. You had given up on your short lived resentment for your dad, and were snuggled up into his chest as Oscar drove you all back to the MTC. When you arrived, Lando spoke up;

“You gonna say thank you to Oscar for looking after you, darling?”

You wriggle out of his arms, running over to Oscar and wrapping your arms around his leg, “Thank you!” You giggle, the Doctor had given you a light dose of pain relief, so you were no longer screaming about your wrist.

“That’s okay sweetheart, you be careful, okay?” He cooed, you really were adorable. 

“Thanks, mate” Lando smiled at Oscar, scooping you back up, ready to get you home. Oscar smiled back.

The way back was funnily quite similar to the way there, you talked Lando’s ear off the entire time about just how much you loved Oscar!

~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! send in any requests you have xx

[no-144444]

Can you write military!reader x f1!driver like they back from tour and surprises the driver persanely I would like to read Lando but you write with your fav driver ofc

home soil- m.verstappen

꩜summary: you surprise max with an early homecoming

꩜pairing: max verstappen x fem! sargeant! reader

꩜a/n: if there's anyone in the US military, sorry! i probs got something wrong about how it works- i'm irish so my b if i did!

Max hadn’t been looking forward to Miami. He knew the car would be shit. He knew he’d be fighting Lando on track. He knew Oscar would pass him. He knew everything in store for him, and he still had no word from you. You went off-grid 2 weeks ago. He had no idea where in the world you were. What you were doing. If you were safe. In all honesty, he hated your job. He hated being away from you for so long. He hated the amount of unknowns it came with. He hated it meant you had to stay in the US. He hated that it took him 4 months to convince you that he wanted you, and to have you believe him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutter under his breath as he walked into his driver’s room. He could’ve ripped the thing apart. P4 in the race. He was pushing like crazy. 

“Alright?” your voice broke through every thought in his head and silenced them. You. You. Home. Safe. 

He didn’t care that he was sweaty. He didn’t care that he had media duties. He wrapped his arms around you, and for the first time in weeks, he finally relaxed. “You’re here,” he whispered like it wasn’t true. You chuckled against his skin, nodding into his neck. 

“And I’ll be in Imola too,” you smiled brightly as his eyes went wide, his hands cradling your face like you could break at any second. “Got my leave approved.”

“That’s brilliant, schatje!” he smiled, and pulled you in for a kiss. 

Max wasn’t known for keeping his calm. He was a racer, he won, and he didn’t care how many times he got in someone’s way. 

You kept your calm no matter what. Cool, calm, collected. Calm enough to pull the trigger of a gun on a person and not have it faze you. Calm enough to date an F1 driver and keep him stable. Calm enough to be here tonight, and not make it a big deal that Max Verstappen was your fiancé. You were strong too. Tough. Sure of yourself. He liked it. 

That’s why he didn’t feel the need to intervene when he saw you being chatted up by some sleeze. He just smirked as the man inched closer, it was free entertainment for the night, which was always necessary at F1 events. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you reminded the man who had been hounding you for the past few minutes. Fiancé, if we’re getting technical, but Max rarely did. 

Charles flashed him a smirk. “Going to go over there?” he questioned. 

Max shrugged. “If it gets boring,” he chuckled. “She can hold her own.”

“She’s scary,” Lando admitted. “First time I talked to her she threatened to break my arm.” 

“You were flirting with her,” Alex reminded him. “I remember how pissed Logan was.”

“Oh yeah!” Oscar laughed, nudging Logan (who was beside him). “And when you found out about Max and Y/n.”

“He went ballistic,” Lando laughed. “Almost killed his sister!” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Logan defended, but even Max gave him a look. “Ok, but it is shitty to go after someone’s sister!” 

The group continued laughing as Max listened back in on your conversation. 

“Oh yeah?” the guy smirked. Was it Tim, or Tom? Either way, he was a dick. “I don’t see him.”

“Now you do,” Max interrupted, wrapping an arm around your waist and smiling in a polite ‘fuck off’ way. The man chuckled. He was some NFL player. “Have a good night-”

“Let the pretty lady decide for herself, thank you very much,” he smirked. You gagged. 

“I chose him,” you deadpanned. 

“You’re in McLaren merch,” he pointed out, flicking at the hat on your head. You felt Max stiffen beside you, you could tell he was holding himself back from a fist fight. As much as this guy deserved it, Max was no MMA fighter, and you didn’t really want to be the reason he got his shit rocked. 

“Yeah, my mate drives for them,” you shrugged. “Do we have a problem here?” you demanded. “Because if we do we can talk about it.”

“No problem sweetheart, just don’t know if he understands how to be with a real woman such as yourself. I don’t see you at many races-”

“No, you don’t. Usually because I’m fighting for your fucking freedom you ungrateful asshole,” you scoffed, flashing your military ID card. The colour drained from the guy’s face and, before he could speak again Max whisked you away and back to the table with the rest of the guys.  He watched as you joked and laughed with them, happy you were there in front of him. He couldn’t ask for much more. You were safe.

You were here.

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[elventhespian]

So like... it's a Thing in all fandoms where fans sort of latch onto fanon versions of characters and their dynamics with each other that are actually completely off-base, right? I don't know if this phenomenon has an official name, but I've seen it so many times and it's fascinated me every time. Especially when a character's popular fanon selves don't end up just diluted from their source material, but straight up OPPOSITE their canon portrayal.

So one of my "favorite" variations on this was how the early PotC fandom used to get Will EXTREMELY wrong, especially in comparison to Jack, and it made finding in-character fics SO. DAMN. DIFFICULT.

I've talked about this MULTIPLE times before, as have several other fans. It's a dead horse being beaten. But basically certain prevalent takes on fanon!Will have in the past leaned towards a personality that was very patient and grounded and even demure to contrast against Jack's off-beat personality and Elizabeth's fiery rebelliousness. Because Elizabeth has the drive to push back against social norms, Will became the foil who fell back to his pre-pirate version, reluctant to break rules unless she pulled him into it, even in post-CotBP timelines. Likewise, Jack was the one with the WTF decision making, while Will was more rooted in reasonable decisions.

And by their appearances, archetypes, and certain elements of their world views, you'd THINK that's how it works. When we meet Will in the governor's foyer, Will is so lovestruck and doe-eyed and subservient to the governor, I think that people thought that's just Who He Is. Especially because he often acts as Jack's straight-man foil in the comedic elements. Straight-laced. Rigid. Even boring or timid.

But if you actually pay attention to the movies, it's very much the opposite. In canon, Jack's USUALLY the level-headed one who just happens to have chaos follow him, because of the way he can wield it. He thinks in long run, tries to solve problems with words and as little fighting as possible as often as he can. Ideal situations for Jack are more like a thief--he wants to be in and out of the job as silently and slick as possible. The scenarios he's in are insane, because the way he throws other people around with those scenarios is kind of insane, but he himself remains largely cool and collected.

That's Jack.

THIS is Will:

Canon!Will starts out literally so impulsive and rash, Jack has to physically manhandle him at certain points to keep him from blowing up his plans--and then still gets taken out because he underestimates his listening skills and impatience. Will corners Jack into what is functionally a cage match to the death by sanely locking the door with his sword and very nearly wins. He is constantly at 11, constantly demanding things be done faster, more directly, and at the same time quietly scheming behind Jack's back almost from the get-go. He does flashy jumps and flips off of things because using the stairs is too slow or whatever. He shows up in DMC yelling at Jack to give him his compass at the point of the sword, and insisting he'll get Davy Jones' key by just "cutting down everyone in his path."

Even when Will mellows out significantly in AWE, there are remnants of this contrast still there. Jack's plan for leading Beckett to Shipwreck Cove seems to have been a very reasonable and underhanded effort to deliberately make sure Elizabeth is inside the Cove while Will is on Beckett's ship, in command of the Compass. Meanwhile Will's plan was to leave a breadcrumb trail of vulture-sea gulls feasting on dead soldiers' corpses.

What I'm getting at is, yeah, Jack's a charismatic "rogue" and Will's a "romantic hero" TECHNICALLY. Jack makes quippy jokes, and Will glares and scowls and WTFs back. But not only are they are both more alike than people give them credit for, they are also totally opposite their roles' traditional personalities in ways that the fandom tends to overlook.

TLDR; Jack's crazy, Will's a sweetheart. But Will is also a manic gremlin, and Jack doesn't always know what to do with him about it, so they often end up something like this:

And more fans need to play with this fact, the end.

[mariasont]

moose and meese

spencer discovers plural nouns aren't nearly as complicated as your choice in swimwear

pairing: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: fem!reader, post prison spencer, hot tubbing, probably some shitty translations bc i am not a translator like reader and i used google, spencer staring at readers boobies prompt: here wc: 0.9k

Spencer considers himself relatively immune to manipulation, persuasion, coercion — any of those techniques really, especially when wielded by attractive, intellectually formidable women. But somehow, you slip right past his carefully constructed defenses like they’re made of tissue paper instead of reinforced steel. 

He briefly entertains the notion of filing some sort of official complaint regarding your swimwear, which, frankly, seems less like actual clothing and more like strategic warfare targeting his respiratory and cardiovascular functions.

As if the torment of sharing a room with you wasn’t already sufficient punishment — being forced to listen as you disappeared behind the bathroom door, imagination betraying him with merciless clarity at the sound of the shower and clothes hitting tile — now he had to contend with a hot tub.

A hot tub conveniently wedged between your room and Morgan’s room, effectively annihilating any chance at privacy.

Not that Spencer actively craves privacy with you.

He absolutely doesn’t.

At least, that’s his official story.

“Hey Spencer,” you murmur, adjusting your bikini strap in a movement that’s entirely unnecessary, “I know my face isn’t that boring, so unless there’s a math equation on my chest, your eyes might wanna wander north.”

Spencer meets your gaze with a flat, unimpressed expression, internally kicking himself because, really, when did he become that guy?

He genuinely hadn’t meant to stare — it was just that your chest was conveniently located directly in his line of sight. Prominently. Unavoidably. 

Now he’s officially a douche, at least according to the voice in his head, which sounds disturbingly like Morgan.

“Oh, I wasn’t —” Spencer falters briefly, warmth prickling at his ears. He clears his throat. “But to be fair, what you’re wearing isn’t exactly designed to promote eye contact.”

You laugh softly, sinking deeper into the bubbles. 

“Cheeky observation, Dr. Reid.” You laugh softly, sinking deeper into the bubbles. “But by all means, stare all you want, I promise not to hold it against you,” you shrug, flicking a little water his way. “Just, you know, remember to blink occasionally. Especially when I’m attempting one of my very meaningful heart-to-hearts.”

Now Spencer feels like an even bigger ass.

Had you actually been talking? 

He winces slightly, offering you an earnestly apologetic glance. “Sorry. You have my full attention now, I promise. Please, continue.”

“Right so, why exactly is the plural of goose geese, but the plural of moose isn’t meese?”

Spencer snorts quietly, eyes rolling toward the hypothetical ceiling.

“Wouldn’t you know the answer to that already?” he muses dryly, raising a brow. “I was under the distinct impression that obscure linguistic inconsistencies were your specialty.”

“I mean, of course I know the technical reason,” you scoff, circling your finger aimlessly through the streaming water. “Vowel gradation, archaic linguistic forms, irregular noun patterns — whatever.” Your expression turns mildly serious, lips pursed in contemplation. “But seriously, Spencer, no amount of theory can justify how wrong it feels to say moose instead of meese.”

“I guess English has never been particularly consistent or accommodating to logic,” he murmurs lightly, gaze flickering downward momentarily, just long enough to confirm that permission was indeed granted. “Makes you wonder if other languages handle pluralization with the same arbitrary cruelty.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you nod enthusiastically, completely unaware you’ve fallen right into his carefully laid linguistic trap. “Take German, for instance. Sometimes the plural barely changes, like der Vogel to die Vögel, but then you’ve got something as simple as Haus becoming Häuser, which just feels intentionally deceptive. And in Russian,” you continue, “the rules practically change depending on the day of the week. Moose, by the way, is лось, and it somehow manages to be even more frustrating.”

Spencer is fully aware that he’s being intellectually dishonest right now, nodding thoughtfully at your explanations even though he could probably recite them verbatim in his sleep. 

But feigning ignorance grants him the subtle pleasure of hearing your smooth pronunciation as you demonstrate.

“You’re incredibly persuasive when you start throwing around languages. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or intimidated.”

You grin slyly, tilting your head. “I’d aim for impressed, personally. Intimidation feels a little harsh, don’t you think?” Your voice dips. “Unless that’s what you’re into, of course.”

Spencer regards you evenly, but can’t entirely suppress the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth when you scoot closer.

“Careful,” he says. “Keep pushing your luck, and someone might start misinterpreting your intentions.”

You tilt your head coyly, leaning in just enough to draw his attention downward again. "And who exactly would be getting the wrong idea?"

He’s helplessly drawn toward the distracting lines of your bikini — he mentally scolds himself, but the reprimand lacks its usual sting. There’s a curious tightness in his chest, suspiciously similar to anticipation, though he’s trying very hard to ignore that particular analysis.

"Pretty sure that would be me," Morgan announces cheerfully, stepping out from his room and regarding the two of you with blatant amusement. "But go ahead — pretend I’m not here."

Spencer shoots Morgan a look that clearly communicates imminent bodily harm, but Morgan simply grins wider, wholly undeterred.

"You two carry on," he says casually, turning toward his door but pausing briefly to wag a finger playfully. "And Reid — just a friendly reminder, these walls aren't exactly soundproof.

Spencer watches him disappear, vaguely considering whether throwing himself under the bubbles would save him from further humiliation or just prolong it.

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[koolades-world]

there was never a boring moment with the brothers, and roadtrips were arguably the most interesting.

to start, the car was barely large enough for all of you. the back row technically only had two seats, but you crammed and made it work. however, that was only the beginning of your problems.

you might have been able to (barely) for the entire family in the car, but that left little to no space for bags. you, levi, lucifer, and beel essential played a huge game of tetris, slotting in luggage where you could, and as much as you could. some of the luggage did have to go on the roof, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

the next issue that always rose inevitably was the seating arrangements.

lucifer and mammon were the only two who drove. you could, but were usually needed to help break up bickering, even if mammon was supposed to be busy with driving.

something that didn't change, regardless of the driver, was the levi was happy sitting in the back row. he had his own set up, no matter where in the row he was. belphie was also happy in the very back, as long as he had his cow spot pillow and blanket. beel also always sat in the middle row, because he needed the space.

when lucifer drove, while he'd prefer to have you on the passengers side, it usually went to asmo. he and mammon were the two biggest instigators, and mammon was more likely to cause issues up front. asmo was actually helpful, and helped lucifer with whatever he needed. this left satan, you, and mammon. of course, everyone wanted you to sit next to them. because of this, the three of you rotated where you sat. when mammon got too rambunctious with asmo, he'd be banished to the back row. when satan got too worked up with being in the same car as lucifer for too long, he went to the back to unwind. and when you were tired, you curled up with belphie in the back.

when mammon drove, asmo couldn't sit up front, so lucifer would instead. this left asmo, satan, and you to rotate through the car, so you did so in a similar way when lucifer drove.

whoever sat on the passengers side had to help with navigating, and collecting the consensus from the rest of the car for breaks and food. it was a job both lucifer and asmo excelled at for very different reasons. stops didn't happen often when lucifer drove, but mammon seemed willing to stop every half hour if nobody stopped him.

depending on where you sat in the car, what you'd spend your time doing varied. if you were in the back row, you were usually slumped against belphie, fast asleep. somehow, he made it comfortable. if you happened to be awake, levi would be telling you all about what he happened to be playing. if you were in the middle row, you were welcome to help yourself to whatever beel was munching on. if asmo was next to you, the two of you spent most of your time messing around with filters. there were hundreds, and some were better than others, so you always ended up with at least a couple silly photos to help you remember the trip by. if you were next to satan, you were guaranteed a quiet seat mate. the only thing he wanted was to hold your hand while he silently read <3. if you were next to mammon, the complete opposite was true. he was constantly flapping his gums, whether than be arguing with one of his brothers, or rambling to you about his last ear modeling gig. either way though, you still enjoyed his comforting presence. his voice could never become grating to you. if, for whatever reason, you happened to find yourself in the passengers seat, you were treated like the passenger princess you deserved to be. you got to control the music, and you were always treated to whatever amenities you wanted.

however chaotic the trip might be, you always enjoyed it. part of the journey was the road you took to get there, not just the final destination. the brothers probably would’ve ripped each other apart without you in the car anyways. what was a family vacation without the newest member?

[ana-cantskywalker]

Having BIG™ feelings about how most of the Jedi that survived Order 66 were literal children.

Children whose brothers turned on them, and whose parental figures were ripped from them for reasons that they would never understand. Children who didn't know how to live in a galaxy who accepted them, much less one that didn't. Children who had to shed the identity they'd had longer than they could remember just to survive. Children who watched as their people were labeled terrorists and the things they held sacred were desecrated to the purpose of hurting the people they were made to protect.

Children who had to pick up the (often literal) sword of those who'd come before them to protect innocents and hold onto what scraps of their culture that were left. That, to their limited knowledge, believed themselves to be the very last of their kind. Children who bore the weight of bringing justice to the deaths of thousands of their kin, not through revenge, but through the restoration of peace. Who in the fight towards peace, had to once again become weapons instead of peacemakers.

Of them training padawans when they were technically still padawans themselves. Who had to teach what broken pieces of their culture that they could still remember, because they were still learners when they stopped learning. Who taught in the middle of surviving in a galaxy that was out to get them on all sides. Whose padawans never got the chance to go to Ilum, or see the Temple on Coruscant, or bond with other padawans, or any other experience that should've been theirs by birthright.

If I think about it for too long my brain stops working and I cry.

[charmwasjess]

Lightsaber Theory: Obi-Wan "Sith Lords are Our Specialty" Kenobi consistently loses duels to Dooku not for any reason of technical form mismatch or lack of ability, but because Dooku is not even pretending to try to kill him. Resultantly, Obi-Wan can’t figure out what the fuck is going on when they fight. 

Obi-Wan: (preparing to defend an expected lethal strike) You’ll answer for your enormities, Count!

Dooku: (giving him the lightest love tap on the leg) Don’t be so sure, my special good lineage baby boy, so perfect in my eyes. 

Obi-Wan: …What?

Dooku: What?

Which Dooku and Obi-Wan proud lineage moment is even the most unhinged? There are so many to choose from! Is it Dooku’s frequent inability, both in AotC and TCW, to keep from spontaneously gushing about Sidious’s plans and even his own dark secrets to Obi-Wan?? Is it the time in Labyrinth of Evil where Dooku drags a long-suffering, bored Grievous over to watch a holorecording of Anakin and Obi-Wan thwarting his plans yet again, to point out how beautifully they’re working together as a team and how much he likes watching their lightsaber work evolve? Is it in the recent Brotherhood novel, where Obi-Wan just has to casually namedrop Qui-Gon to get Dooku to do exactly what he wants?

Obi-Wan is a big problem for Sidious in his mission to destabilize and corrupt Anakin, and Sidious knows it. He needs him out of the picture to do the same isolating, evil bullshit that worked so well when ensnaring Dooku himself. But the war has been going on for years now, and guess who remains inconveniently alive? And whose job was that to take care of? Oh yeah. I remember. His useless, Padawan assassin-collecting apprentice: fucking Count Dooku. By the time of RotS, Sidious has specifically ordered Dooku to make fucking sure Obi-Wan is dead only for him to completely ignore the command about a half-dozen times.

Going by the Stover RotS novelization, in the same scene where Dooku also literally refers to Obi-Wan as his fucking grandson actually, add that to our earlier list, Sidious reiterates that KILL OBI-WAN is the plan (over the sound of Dooku’s loud complaining) moments before that final duel.  I kind of wish we’d gotten a shot of Sidious's incredulous, enraged expression as Dooku knocks Obi-Wan unconscious and pins him safely out of the way. He is, once again, going out of his way to not kill Obi-Wan in that duel, and this time directly disobeying his Master to his face after they just had a conversation about it. You just know exactly what Sidious must be thinking at that moment. Oh, Dooku. You are so fucking fired.

[limethefirst]

Kidnapping Buddy

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x teen!reader (platonic)

warnings: kidnapping (it’s silly though)

summary: you find yourself kidnapped by Robotnik but Shadow finds you quite interesting

a/n: request my mutual sent me recently so I knew I had to come through 🙂‍↕️, here you go!

You didn’t think you’d be spending your day tied to a chair in Robotniks weird Crab helicopter, but here you were. Unfortunately you were considered a useful asset as bait against your parents and Sonic to keep them from trying to stop him from ‘ruling the world’.

It was dumb and extremely boring, especially with no one to talk to. Then he showed up, Shadow was assigned with the task to make sure you didn’t escape, you were a sneaky teen after all. Robotnik himself knew that because you had foiled his plans several times before with your (technically) brother Sonic.

You guys were like two devils when combined together, it was actually quite frightening for Robotnik, which contributed to the reason why you were kidnapped. Keeping you away from Sonic was his idea of lessening the verbal abuse he got from you two.

Shadow didn’t know that though, all he knew was that you were supposed to be their leverage in case of emergency and he was to treat you as such. Too bad he was underestimating you.

As Shadow walked into the room you were held, his gaze never left yours. He fixed himself to lean against the wall, arms crossed as he studied you. You looked harmless enough, he didn’t understand why Robotnik even wanted you here, the mission would’ve gone just fine without you.

Shadow closed his eyes for a second, thinking to himself before opening them up again only to see you had untied yourself. Your arms free as you rubbed your sore wrists.

“This flight sucks, where are the snack?” You asked Shadow, a smirk placed on your features as you teased him subtly.

Shadow stood there dumbfounded as to how you were able to untie yourself in less than five seconds. Thanks to Sonic and all the mishaps he’d had with Eggman your parents thought it was good to teach you a few essentials in case something like this happened.

“How?” Shadow asked you. Somewhat blocking the only exit.

You let out a sigh and sat back down on the floor, not really seeing a reason to leave, “This isn’t the first time..” you smiled as you looked around the room.

He stood there a bit longer before walking closer, seeing you didn’t seem to have much of an urge to leave, “Explain.”

And so you did, you went on an annoyingly long rant about how Robotnik liked to try and capture you or your family members to use against Sonic but it never worked.

As you talked Shadow found himself engrossed. He sat across from you, no longer worried if you escaped, he’d probably catch you anyway. While you told your stories he noticed you were very expressive, it reminded him about his short encounter with the other hedgehog he’d briefly met.

“That sounds obnoxious.” Shadow mumbled, his brows furrowed and armed crossed.

“It really is!!” You exclaimed, your arms thrown in the air as you huffed. You didn’t really know Shadow well and you knew he was the enemy but he was honestly fun to talk to, at least more than Robotnik and Stone were.

Before you’d realized it you had already spent a lot of time talking with Shadow, he may have been a bit intimidating but he was genuinely really cool. Even he seemed to enjoy himself around you, finding amusement in your stories. He honestly hoped you’d be able to escape or your brothers come and save you.

Time continued to pass as you spent time with Shadow, talking about mindless things. His responses quick but it was more in his nature to listen anyway. You were a fun ‘prisoner’, even if you would argue you willingly let yourself be kidnapped (you did not).

[astraljedi]

Be a Good Girl, What’s My Name? (Tommy Miller)

Summary: You’ve been calling him “Timmy” for weeks to just rile him up. But Tommy’s done playing—he’s going to make you say scream his name.

Pairing: Tommy Miller x Reader

Warnings: Smut without plot, edging, teasing, cursing, unprotected sex, P in V, fingering and some oral. Possessive and jealous Tommy.

Word Count: 2.4K

Songs: Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson/Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet

A/N: Decided to write something for fun, dirty and short while finishing the other fics I'm working on. This is for all my Tommy Miller babes, Enjoy! 🤪😈

-

The low chatter of the Tipsy Bison crowd blends with the hum of the music box tucked in the corner, an old and classic tune drifting through the golden sunlit bar. I polish glassware beneath the warm rays, getting everything ready before the evening rush rolls in—when the afternoon patrol finishes up and fills the bar after a long shift.

My midnight patrol shift was boring as hell, a punishment from Tommy after I called him Timmy non stop during our last shift together. Yesterday, he’d switched my spot at the last minute, right as I was locking up here after a long busy night. Barely three hours of sleep before I had to change into my gear and haul myself down to the stables. 

Fuck you, Timmy.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, loud voices filling the bar. I don’t need to turn around to know the scrape of that barstool behind me is him. No one else drags it out like that. 

He taps a finger on the counter—slow and demanding. He’s waiting for me to turn around and give him attention. But I’m in no rush. These glasses? They suddenly look a little messy and unorganized. I reach up, stacking a few neatly on the shelf. The rag slips from my hand, landing on the floor, and I bend to pick it up, taking my time. 

Over my shoulder, I catch his eyes trailing up the length of my bare legs, lingering at my hips, my tight denim shorts hugging every curve. I toss the rag into my back pocket and finally face him, elbows on the counter as I lean in.

“Evenin’, Timmy,” I smirk, resting my chin on my hand. 

Let the game begin.

He rolls his eyes, arms folding across his chest like he’s holding back. “You enjoy pissing me off?”

“I do,” I hum, pulling back and turning again toward the shelves. I reach for a clean glass, making sure to grab the one on the highest shelf, giving him a reason to keep watching. Then I pour a generous amount of the whiskey I know he likes—probably more than I’m technically allowed to. 

I can be generous, when I want to.

I slide the glass toward him across the counter, my grin tugging wider. “Just how you like it, Timmy.”

Tommy closes his eyes, inhaling like he’s trying real hard not to play in my scheming. “You keep pushin’ with this little game you like playing, it’s gonna catch up to you.”

“I like our little game of cat and mouse,” I whisper, leaning just a bit closer, just enough.

“As much as your midnight patrol?” He downs the whiskey in one gulp, not even flinching. I shoot him a glare and snatch the glass from his hands before he can finish lowering it from his smirking lips. 

“At least Jessie knows how to shut me up on patrols.” I refill his glass, though with less this time. No reward, not yet. He clenches his jaw as he grabs it from me, eyes dark and sharp.

He doesn’t say anything else, falling quiet and letting me take the win, for now. I toss him a wink and walk away to serve another customer—Jessie, parked at the far end of the bar. I pour his drink and laugh when he tosses me a terrible joke.

Behind me, the slam of a glass against wood cuts through the music and chatter. Tommy’s still in his seat, but barely. His eyes catch mine, his stare is dark and unreadable, fists clenched at his sides before he stands.

No one else in the bar seems to notice, or maybe they’re just doing a real good job pretending they don’t. Like the heat between us isn’t filling the bar, making it feel small and stuffy. 

He walks out without a word. But even after the door swings shut behind him, my eyes stay there, burning into the spot where he stood, waiting for him to come back.

It’s almost midnight when I flip the closed sign on the front window, shutting the door behind me as the last group of customers stumble out of the bar. I straighten the chairs, clean up the couple of beer bottles on the booth, and get started on the rest of the night’s chores—alone.

I don’t turn off the music, letting it echo in the empty space, like it’s keeping me company. While I wash the dirty glasses, Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson fills the calm and empty bar. I sing along and sway my hips to the chorus, stacking the clean glasses onto the drying rack.

“Surprise, it's time to feel what's real, what happened to Miss Independent?” I belt out, lost in it—until the sound of the door slamming shut makes me jump. 

A lock clicks behind me. 

My hand darts for the knife on the counter, but before I can even turn around, I’m pinned against the bar and the blade clinks to the ground. Strong, rough hands grip mine behind my back, holding me still.

I know those hands.

Tommy.

“Something you need, Timmy?” I raise my chin, even as our bodies stay pressed together.

“You like pushin’ me over the edge. Calling me the wrong name. Flirting with these boys right in front of me. Now,” he murmurs, “it’s my turn to play with you.”

He brings a hand up, knuckles brushing my cheek. His nose grazes the skin of my neck, inhaling my scent deeply. 

A growl vibrates against my skin.

“I’m gonna mark you, leave you smelling like me. Let these boys know you’re mine.”

I bite my tongue, trying to stay composed, but my body betrays me. I squeeze my thighs together—my underwear is already soaked.

“I’ve got a new game. You do what I say, and I’ll let you come.”

His hand trails from my cheek down to my waistband. The button of my shorts pops open with ease, and then his hand slips beneath my underwear.

“You gonna stop me?” His lips hover just over mine, eyes locked with mine like he's asking for permission. His hand doesn’t move and I need him to.

I shake my head. I don’t trust my voice.

“I need your words, sweetheart.”

“Don’t stop. Please.” I gasp as his fingers slide in with ease, finding my clit and teasing mercilessly.

“All this for me?” he taunts, pinching gently. I try to grind against his hand, but his other one keeps me firmly in place.

He moves fast, circling my clit until my chest is heaving. One of his fingers presses at my entrance, but he doesn’t give me what I want. Not yet.

“What’s my name?” he asks, slowing the rhythm just enough to make me ache.

“Timmy,” I choke out, a smug smirk curling my lips. 

I love this game.

He growls, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking it back. “That’s not my name, darlin’. Try again.”

His hand leaves my hair only to tug my tank top down, exposing my breasts to the cool air. His lips find one of my nipples and suck it into his mouth, tongue swirling, teasing, pulling. I arch against him, my hand flying to the back of his head.

Then he slides a finger into me, and my moan is ragged. It’s not enough—I need more. He gives the other nipple the same attention, and when I glance down, his dark eyes are staring up at me. The sight alone makes my walls clench.

“Tomm—” I start, but bite it off before I give him the satisfaction.

“I know you want to say it,” he purrs against my chest, adding a second finger and pressing his thumb to my clit. The rhythm speeds up again, and I’m shaking, the coil building so tight I can hardly breathe.

“What’s my name, baby girl?” he groans, kissing my jaw as his fingers work me closer and closer.

I tangle my fingers in his hair, my hips bucking, but just as I’m about to fall over the edge, he pulls his thumb away from my clit. He holds me there, whining at the loss of sensation.

Tommy brushes his thumb over it again—just once—and my body arches.

I grab his face, pull him close. My lips graze his as I whisper with a cocky grin, “Timmy Miller.”

He snarls and pulls his fingers out, leaving me trembling and empty. He steps back, leans against the opposite counter, and sucks my wetness from his fingers.

“Don’t want to play anymore, darlin’?” he teases, smirking. “Want to taste yourself?”

I nod, breathless. He pulls me in, and I crash against his chest. His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me into a messy, hungry kiss. His tongue slips between my lips, tasting myself on his tongue.

His knee slips between my thighs, forcing them apart. I grind down on his jean-covered thigh, the friction almost enough to undo me again. My hands cling to his shoulders, desperate for his touch, for anything he offers.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, lips brushing my neck, “and I’ll give you what you need.”

But I’m stubborn. I don’t want to give him the win. “Let me think about it,” I whisper, tugging at his hair as his teeth nip my neck.

“Such a little brat,” he mutters, stilling my hips and lowering his leg, making me whine from the loss.

His other hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling, lowering his jeans. He pulls out his cock—thick, already leaking at the tip—and I lick my lips at the sight.

“Bad girls don’t get to suck me off,” he growls. “You just stand there, lookin’ pretty, and think about what I asked you.”

The hand on the back of my head lowers me down to his waist and holds his cock near my mouth. “Spit.”

I obey. He spreads it down his shaft, mixing it with his precum. He pulls me back up and makes me watch him stroke himself. His other hand grabs my hip, pulling me closer to his side. 

My walls clench around nothing. I need him—inside me, stretching me, filling me to the hilt.

“Please,” I breathe. “I need you. Fill me with your cock.”

Tommy switches places with me, pressing my back to the bar. He kneels and yanks my tight shorts and underwear down to my ankles. I step out of them and he tosses them aside. My palms press behind me on the counter, steadying myself.

He kisses up my thighs, hands spreading me wider. His nose brushes my swollen folds.

“You’re soaking, sweetheart.”

Then his tongue flattens against me. One long, slow lick that has me buckling my knees. His hands hold me firmly, keeping my hip still, lapping and teasing until I can barely breathe.

“Only for you,” I gasp.

He chuckles, the vibration making me shudder.

Just when I’m about to fall apart, he pulls back and presses against me. His cock rubs through my wetness, teasing the entrance, and then—slowly—he pushes inside.

“This is my pussy,” he growls. “Not for boys like Jessie. This is for a real man to handle.”

I gasp, clinging to his biceps as he lifts one of my legs to his waist. He pushes deeper. His forehead rests against mine, eyes shut tight while I adjust to his size.

“Fuck,” I whimper, trying to move my hips, but his grip on my waist has me pinned. He sets the pace—slow and in control, like he likes it.

“You’re gonna take what I give you,” he growls. “If you want more, you know what to say.”

I shake my head, tears gathering on the edge of my eyes. 

It’s too good. I need more, harder, faster.

Tommy pulls back, leaving only the tip in. “Say my name, say it baby, and it’s yours.” One hand slides between us, circling my clit again.

It’s too much. Too slow. Too hot. He bites my chest, sucking marks into my skin.

My hair clings to my damp neck and my head spins.

“Be a good girl. What’s my name?” he pants, pulling his fingers away.

“Tommy!” I finally cry, and he slams into me, burying himself to the hilt.

“Tommy—Tommy,” I chant, my voice wrecked as he gives me everything I’ve been begging—needing. He thrusts hard and deep, finding that perfect spot with every snap of his hips.

“Is this what you needed?” he grins. “To fuck the brat outta you?”

I answer with a kiss—sloppy and messy, needing him even closer than he already is. My other leg wraps around him, and I meet every thrust with my own.

The coil that has been building up tightens and tightens. It’s unbearable. 

Sweat clings on my forehead and chest, my moans coming out needier and louder. Tommy knows I’m close, feeling my walls clench around him and my own thrust growing sloppier. 

“Please, Tommy,” I sob. “Harder.”

“I got you. Let go for me.” His voice is strained, raw. He reaches down again, rubbing my clit as his thrusts grow more frantic.

“Eyes on me, darlin’,” he groans. His forehead touches mine and I look into his eyes, and then It snaps.

The orgasm tears through me like fire.

Tommy follows, cursing and chanting my name, jerking inside me as he comes. His hand cups my face and pulls me into a breathless kiss, his cock still pulsing deep inside.

I don’t even notice the music stop, the sound of our breathing and our hearts panting filling the empty bar. Tommy is still inside me, looking deep into my eyes as he pulls a few wet strands of hair away from my face. 

“Still wanna call me Timmy?” His voice is hoarse, and smug.

“If it gets me this kind of fucking, I’ll do it again.” I laugh, my body still trembling. “Worth it.”

He pulls out slowly, and I wince at the loss. Feeling sticky and empty. He dips his fingers between my thighs, scoops up our combined mess, and brings it to my lips. I moan around his fingers, sucking them clean.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m taking you home.” He tucks himself away, buckling his jeans. Tommy helps me into mine, leading my shaking legs into my own shorts.

We finish cleaning the counters, stacking the last glasses on the shelves. And when we’re done, he closes the bar door behind me, one arm tight around my waist, keeping me close.

“Does this mean I don’t have to do midnight patrols anymore?” I ask, hopeful.

Tommy smirks. “Let me think about it.”

[tayraedoll]

Radio Daddy

My entry for @6esiree contest! I hope you enjoy this little story!

18+ MDNI

This is my take on what the dynamic between Alastor and a Gen Z radio host would be like. A little bit of rivalry, a little bit of sexual tension, and a lot of attitude.

Word count: 2979

TW: Smut, P in V Intercourse, Oral (male receiving), Rough s3x, soul deals, swearing, Alastor is a bit mean, but reader likes it

"...and that is why Hell would be better off as a matriarchy", you spoke into your mic. It had been a long four hours of broadcasting, you were exhausted and definitely looking forward to dinner by this point. But you also loved the studio, the freedom of creating your own show and speaking your mind, and the power to sway the masses that listened.

"Don't forget- I will be DJing at the Hazbin Hotel Grand Re-Opening tomorrow night! It's sure to be lit so stop by and have a drink with me. Until next time, stay gucci my friends!"

You signed off and leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and taking a moment to relax. The tranquility didn't last long however, before you had a chance to take a breath you heard the telltale radio static of your boss- Alastor The Radio Demon. You sigh before opening your eyes and turning to the futon in the corner of your recording studio.

You arrived in hell 2.5 years ago after unfortunately overdosing when someone spiked your drink at a gig. When you learned that Hell only had one radio station you set out to create your own; everyone called you crazy, that the radio was the domain of the infamous Radio Demon. But at that time he had been missing for 5 years, his radio show nothing but static whispering memories of the past. So you brushed everyone off and made your own show anyways. It was an instant hit, your fan base expanded rapidly as sinners were eager to listen to a new voice in Hell's media scene. You had found your niche, your place in the despondent plane called Hell.

For two years you were the queen of radio, but you unfortunately sat atop a borrowed throne. Six months ago you were broadcasting like any other day when, after signing off, you had found yourself locked inside your own studio as the shadows of the room crawled over you. Alastor had offered you a choice- either you sign a soul contract with him and continue your show under his administration, or you cease broadcasting for the rest of your afterlife. You suppose you should count your lucky stars that he didn't just kill you, you were technically a rival after all and you had heard how he dealt with others who challenged him. His reason for letting you live was just one of the many mysteries of The Radio Demon.

Said demon now sat on your futon, back ramrod straight and legs neatly crossed and tucked underneath him. His fingers were interlaced in his lap as he smiled radiantly at you.

"Evening my little doll! Riveting performance as always! Although, I do have one note. You recall a discussion we had earlier about not using profane language while on air yes?", his smile tightened, his eyes hardening ever so slightly in annoyance.

You rest your chin in your palm and give him the most bored expression you could muster,"No one gives a shit if I swear Alastor. We are in Hell, or have you forgotten?"

Everyone else was scared shitless of this man, but he made your heart rate spike for an entirely different reason than he did for most others. Your boss was fucking HOT. You regularly pleasured yourself as you listened to his own radio show he revived upon his return, your thighs automatically clenched together at the sound of his voice. So, in retribution for him being so damn attractive, you behaved like the biggest brat. It was a victorious day if you could make his ears twitch, an almost imperceptible movement of his fluff that would be easily missed if you weren't looking so hard for it.

Your sassy remark earned you the little ear flick you were going for which made you smirk, your Overlord employer narrowing his eyes at you in warning. "I really wouldn't start with that smart mouth if I were you Darling. Need I remind you that I own your little show? Therefore, you will abide by my rules- no more profanity. This is the end of the discussion." His tone left no room for argument; as much as you liked pushing his buttons, you were not stupid and knew when to quit while you were ahead...or alive that is. You let the argument go with a scoff and a mumbled "Fine".

Alastor beamed back at you once again, his voice returning to its normal, chipper tone, "Splendid! Now on to business- I would like to hear what you have prepared for the hotel's ceremony tomorrow. This event means quite a lot to our dear Princess Morningstar and I will not let her down." You caught the underlying threat, really it was you who carried the burden of making sure you upheld his image. Your job was not just to entertain the hotel guests, but to make The Radio Demon look good as well.

Luckily for you, Charlie was huge fan of your show. She would regularly call in to talk to you about your chosen discussion topic of the day and put in song requests. Really you had known Charlie for longer than Alastor had, you knew exactly what she liked and were more than prepared to cater your services for her party. Your smile sweetened again as you logged into your playlist for the Grand Re-Opening Ceremony, "I was going for a persevering and uplifting kinda vibe, concentrating on songs that will give girl-power and fuck-the-system. Charlie is a Swiftie, so I made sure to add several of her greatest hits to the line-up like 'Shake it Off' and 'Look What You Made Me Do'." You turn your laptop around so your boss could look at the playlist you made, only to be met with him giving you a "are you dumb?" look.

"There is absolutely no way you will be bringing that ridiculous contraption into my hotel Darling", he pointed to your computer with revulsion written clearly on his face as if the laptop personally wronged him.

You bark a short, incredulous laugh, "Alastor, if I can't bring my equipment into the hotel then how exactly am I supposed to do my job?" You cross your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair, waiting for him to explain his absurd rules that will only hinder your ability to make him proud.

"VoxTek cannot be trusted and is not allowed in the hotel- particularly by my very own employees! No no no no, I will provide you with everything you will need to provide top-notch entertainment to our esteemed guests", he snapped his fingers and a retro-looking record player and several record albums appeared beside your desk.

You became more and more exasperated as you rifled through the collection before you, "There isn't even anything from the last 50 years in here! As far as I'm aware, this isn't a "Roaring 20's"-themed party. If the goal is to make a good impression and get more sinners to stay at the hotel then we need to offer more than just old jazz tunes!"

The Radio Demon clutched at his chest in offense to your comment, "My Doll, no one partied harder than we did in the 20's. Jazz and speakeasies were truly the pinnacle of entertainment. I assure you that if you stick to my plan all will go just swimmingly." His voice hardened again at the end of his speech, warning you to just follow along. But you wouldn't, not when you knew you were right.

"And how many sinners from the NINETEEN-20's will be there exactly?!", your voice rose in volume with each word,"Face it, Alastor, most of the sinners there will be from more recent times. Therefore, we need to play music that ISN'T 100 years old!" You got up and started pacing your studio, completely oblivious to the growing radio static filtering off the man in red or how his antlers were starting to grow more tines. "Honestly, it's like you don't even try to connect to your audience anymore. I don't understand your complete aversion to modern technology, if you don't learn to adapt your are going to be left behind-", you stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, staring at the wall as the epiphany hit you like a ton of bricks. Your back was turned to the now irate Overlord, his claws dug into the leather of your futon to stop himself from launching at you. "That's why I'm here", you whispered, "You didn't kill me, you made me sign a soul deal so you could use me to bridge the gap between you and the younger audiences of hell. The younger generations find your show BORING."

You whip around with a triumphant smile on your face, ecstatic that you figured out the clever demon's ploy. Your face paled and the smile quickly disappeared when you took in the state of The Radio Demon. His normal crab-claw antlers now more closely resembled an elk's spread, the sclera of his eyes were jet black. The ever-present smile still adorned his face, but it now resembled a malicious grin akin to one you'd associate with The Joker. He rumbled out a low, dangerously dark chuckle that had the hair along your arms raising in goosebumps.

"Oh my Doll, you really should have learned when to quit running your mouth", he stood up and had you backed into the wall in three strides flat. "I should kill you for your insubordination, if you were anyone else you would be a mangled mess of blood and bone where you stand", his eyes bore down on you. Your heart hammered away in your chest as he lifted one hand to your face but you refused to flinch away from him, if this was how you died a second death then you would not give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. Instead of dealing you a death blow, however, he gently dragged a claw from your temple to your chin. "Luckily for you, Princess Charlie would never forgive me if you were hurt by my hands. That... and I admit that I have grown quite fond of you myself. But-", his claw dug into the point where your chin and throat met just behind your jawbone, "-there must still be punishment. What kind of Overlord would I be if I let my possessions speak to me in such a disrespectful manner?"

You opened your mouth to plead your case but were quickly shot down, "Careful Doll. I enjoy you, but be careful. In fact, perhaps it is best if you do not speak at all", he chuckled again before summoning your soul chain in his hands. The bright, radioactive green glow of the chain blinded you momentarily and before you could process what was happening you were yanked to the other side of the room. When your eyes finally focused again you were on your knees with Alastor sat on the edge of the futon in front of you.

"Now Darling, how about you show me if that smart mouth of yours is good for something other than backtalk?", he pulled the chain again and your face came just inches from his crotch. You looked up at him with wide eyes, was he really asking you to do what you thought he was asking you to do? The way his eyes narrowed and his grin widened told you that yes- he wanted you to do exactly what you were thinking.

Well, you know what they say- what The Radio Demon wants, the Radio Demon gets. With a newfound determination you steeled your resolve and ran your fingers up his thighs to his belt. Without ever breaking eye contact with him you slowly unbuckled and removed the belt before opening his trousers. His cock was only half-hard under his briefs, running a finger up the length of it made it twitch deliciously and you smirked again before you freed his length from its fabric prison.

Even at only half-mast he was of impressive length and girth, no doubt you would struggle to take all of him once he was fully hard. Your mouth watered at the thought, you glanced back up at his face and noticed how his jaw was clenched in anticipation, eyes half-lidded at he stared at your mouth.

His expression was all the confirmation you needed before you leaned forward and licked up the length of his shaft from tip to base, nose brushing against the red curls of his pubic bone. Alastor gasped sharply above you, one hand wringing your hair around it as the other hand held your leash taut.

You teased his lower head with your tongue, swirling around it tantalizingly slowly. Gently parting your lips, you take just the mushroomed part into your mouth and give a gentle suck before teasing with your tongue again. You repeat this process a few times until his cock stands at full attention. After the third suck, he lets out a growl uses his hand in your hair to force you down further on his cock, clearly tired of the teasing. A small gag escaped your throat before you forced it to relax to accommodate the sudden intrusion. With a moan you slowly pushed forward until you felt him bottom out at the back of your throat.

"That's it Doll, such a good girl", Alastor gritted out through his teeth, holding your head there for a moment. You slowly started to bob your head, lips wrapped tightly around his shaft giving a popping sound every time they passed his engorged tip. Your tongue ran along the vein on the underside of his length, the skin velvety and warm.

After several long, slow passes, the deer demon gripped your head again to still your bobbing movements with your nose buried in his curls. Without a warning, he harshly pulled back and thrusted forward again, burying himself as deep down your esophagus as he could go. You sputtered, gagging sharply and tears instantly forming in your eyes. Your hands came up to push against his thighs but the chain on your neck quickly pulled tight again to keep you from moving a centimeter off his cock.

"Nuh-uh-uh Dear, it's time you learn your lesson for talking back to your master", he pulled back again just to thrust back into your mouth with brutal force. True to his word, he set a punishing pace. You struggled to breath between his continuous assault on your throat and the saliva that pooled in your mouth, dripping down your chin in thick spouts. Tears clouded your vision, all you could do was sit there and take his punishment and try not to pass out from lack of air. Every breath you managed to take came in through a gasp and left through a gag.

"My, my Doll. What pretty noises you make, so much better than the sassy remarks you usually give me. Perhaps you deserve a reward for taking your punishment without complaint."

You were suddenly pushed back off his cock, your lungs taking full advantage of the reprieve by gulping in as much air as they could. Clawed hands gripped your elbows as strong arms picked you up from the floor, your knees hit the futon cushion as your forearms landed on the back of the frame. A sudden breeze alerted you that your skirt was hiked up over your hips and your heard fabric ripping as your panties were torn from your core.

Alastor held your hips in a bruising grip and he thrusted into you, filling you to the hilt in the first go. A strangled moan left your raw throat, hands clenching onto the back of the couch. You were given minimal time to get used to the full feeling before Alastor resumed his brutal pace from before.

"I'll tell you what my dear, I'll make you a deal. I will provide you with a more modern record player and the vinyls for all those songs you wanted to play tomorrow as I still will not allow VoxTek technology in the hotel," you were honestly only partially listening as his tip was hitting your g-spot with every word. "In exchange, your body is mine to use as I see fit. Does that sound fair Doll?"

A lewd moan escaped you as he continued to drag his length through your walls, "Fuck Alastor-"

He stopped his movements just as you were reaching your peak making you whine in displeasure "I asked you a question- do we have a deal? You will not cum until you've answered me."

"Yes, Alastor! It's a deal. Please, please, please make me cum!", you cried out, you were so desperate for release you would have agreed to anything he asked.

"Hmm, I quite like you begging Doll. I quite like punishing you as well- I do hope you continue to behave like a brat, just to give me an excuse", he resumed his pace and before you knew it you were pushed over the edge, clenching hard around him. Alastor's own release soon followed as he spilled into you with a groan.

You knelt there on the futon, catching your breath as he pulled out and redressed himself. Once he was neatly tucked away again he walked around the couch to your face. His index finger lifted your chin so you were looking up at him, "I will see you tomorrow my doll, do not be late."

With that he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you reeling from what just happened. After a few minutes of processing the unexpected turn of events the smirk returned to your face.

"I wonder what would happened if I was just 5 minutes late?"

[symbiomancy]

video game —ryōmen sukuna

—summary: Sukuna can play his video games if you're sitting on his cock, you're not that distracting.

—cw: f!reader, stepcest, cockwarming, their reasoning as to why cockwarming ≠ sex is questionable / ao3 ver

—wc: 1, 4k

You lean over the back of the couch, wrapping your arms around Sukuna’s shoulders. He doesn’t even look your way, his eyes glued to his video game on the living room TV screen. His fingers tap the buttons of the controller swiftly and his character moves around on the TV screen. “So,” you begin with a drawl, mouth next to his ear, “we’re home alone and I’m bored.”

“So?”

You roll your eyes and pull away, rounding the couch to stand in front of the TV, hands on your hips. Sukuna frowns, leans to the right to look past you. You lean, too.

“I’m just saying, you’re here, I’m here, I’m also horny; you could just be in me and play your little game.”

Sukuna pauses his game and leans back on the couch, drapes one arm along the backrest. He lets his eyes trail down your body, from the tight shirt — no bra, again, you’re killing him here — to the already short skirt hiked way up. It wouldn’t leave much to the imagination if you bent over. The thought makes his pants tighten.

“How generous of you.”

“And — and, it’s not even sex; Mormons or someone have a technicality where it’s not premarital sex if you do cockwarming and get someone to jump on the bed to create friction. They also have a loophole about anal but that’s not important right now.”

“Right now?” He raises a brow. You nod. He tucks that knowledge away into the crevices of his mind. “And are you Mormon? Because I don’t see how what you said correlates to this.” He motions between you with the sweep of his finger.

“Yes, it correlates, okay?” You step forward and lean in, hands on his thighs, open cleavage right in his face. Sukuna soaks the sight in, the plush flesh and the perked nipples, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. “As long as you don’t actually move in me, it’s fine, it’s not the actual action of sex. You can do that for me, right?” You lean forward until your lips brush his and press a chaste kiss against his lips. He parts them to reciprocate, the game controller forgotten next to him on the couch, hands now on your body, tugging you toward him. “Sounds nice, right?” You mumble against his mouth.

“You’re very convincing, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough but still lingering in your personal space.

You tug the hem of his boxers down and his half-hard cock springs, up, resting against his abdomen. Beads of precum are gathered at the tip and you swipe a finger over the slit and drag it along the thick vein on the side of his shaft. Sukuna inhales slowly and exhales, long and heavy. His breath fans your lips.

“So?”

“Yeah, sure.” It doesn’t come out as aloof as he would’ve liked it to — there’s a soft lilt in his voice, instead, the curve of his lips curled up. You’re going to be the death of his reputation, if not the entirety of his being.

You stand with your knees on either side of his thighs and pull your underwear to the side. Sukuna hikes up your skirt with one hand and makes a sound of pure contentedness in the back of his throat at the sight of your pretty pussy, his other hand fisting his cock. What he wouldn’t do to ruin it, to have it dripping with his cum, gathering it up with his fingers to force it back in. You could take it, could take everything he has to offer. If he had the time, he’s sure he could spend hours watching it slowly dribble out only to fuck it back into you. He gives his cock a quick stroke, then another, painfully hard at the idea of ruining your pretty pussy with his cum, and adjusts himself so he’s lined up with you.

The tip drags across your folds and your breath hitches in your throat. You want to avert your eyes from him, look at where the tip of his cock is pressing against your entrance, but he’s too enticing, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and glossy from spit. He pushes in, eyes snapping up to meet yours, hands on your hips to slowly bring you down. Your mouth drops open, nails digging into his shoulders — the stretch is slow and aching and so divine you feel tears prickling your eyes but you don’t look away from him. It sends a flashfire rolling under your skin, clenching around his tip. Fingers — your own fingers, even — work well enough but having someone inside you, someone whose movements you can’t control, someone this thick—

Sukuna pauses with a swear tumbling from his lips, large warm hands on your hips to keep you at half-mast on his cock.

“No, no, no — keep going, keep going.”

“Just… give me a sec.” He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back and breathes in slowly, holds it for a moment, then exhales. His hands squeeze your hips. He doesn’t look at you again, but slowly, excruciatingly slowly pulls you down. His cock drags against your walls so sweetly until he’s buried to the hilt.

The air stands still, your breath caught in your throat. All at once, you both exhale, heavy and drawn-out, adjusting. You’re so warm around him, hugging him so tightly he might blow his load into you any minute. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back from jumping you like a dog in heat, fucking his cum back into you again and again and again. He has the stamina. Sukuna takes a deep breath to level himself, picks up the discarded game controller, and wraps his arms around your waist, unpausing his game.

You dare a glance to where your bodies are conjoined and snap your gaze up immediately, heat rushing to your cheeks. Slowly, you let your body tip forward until you’re chest to chest, your chin on his shoulder.

The tiled kitchen backsplash provides a distorted but somewhat coherent reflection of the TV screen. His character moves around, leaps, shoots. It’s a lot to keep track of. Fatigue from the summer heat weighs down your shoulders and you stifle a yawn.

Other than the sounds from Sukuna’s game and the hum of the fridge, the house is quiet.

Your drooping eyes follow the action on the TV. You can make out figures walking around but that’s about it.

“Somebody on your left.”

Sukuna’s avatar turns right and promptly dies.

He smacks a hand against your ass and you yelp, press forward and he’s so much deeper, tip nudging your cervix. It drives the air from your lungs, a broken moan chasing it. Maybe he’d be willing to stay this way forever; if you ask nicely enough. “Your left,” he says. But his hand doesn’t leave. Instead, it massages the spot it made contact with. You take a deep breath, heart thrumming against your sternum, and press a kiss against the side of his neck. He smells good, a pleasant mixture of shampoo and cologne.

“Could you ever find it in your big, big heart to forgive me?” You clench around him for emphasis and Sukuna groans. You almost, almost want to sit up and sink down on him, just to hear that sound again. But that wasn’t in the deal. So, you change the subject. “Why are you wearing cologne at home?”

“I have plans.”

“Nobody wears cologne to hang out with the guys.” You trace mindless patterns on his back, feeling the grooves of the vertebrae of his spine underneath your fingertips. “Do I know this girl you’re meeting with?”

“No.”

A low hum leaves your parted lips and you don’t bother to push the topic. It’s not worth it, whoever she is; it’s not worth it. This right here, right now is just the two of you. She doesn't matter. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, the tip of your nose grazing his neck, breath ghosting over his collarbones with every exhale, and let your eyes slip closed, giving into the summer heat and the fire simmering under your skin. “Wake me up when you have to leave.”

Sukuna responds with a non-committal hum and turns down the volume on his game.

And if his date texts him to ask if he's still up for their outing, maybe he asks her for a raincheck.

banner + divider by @/cafekitsune

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Unexpected Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You up and leave your old life behind for a new job in a state you’ve never been to before. While on the plane, you meet a very interesting genius who has nothing but facts about almost everything. What you think is a cute date turns into something more when you see him at your new job.

Square Filled: "It's a success." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Never did you think you would pack up your entire life just to move across the country for a job. Yet here you are. On a plane going to a state you’ve never been to before to start a job you never thought you’d get. You applied to be the technical analyst for the FBI after being the tech girlie for the LAPD. The job was so far out of reach so when you got the job, you almost shit your pants.

They wanted you to start right away so you had to pack up whatever you could and move out there immediately. For the next few weeks, you’ll be flying back to California to get the rest of your things. There is a cute little apartment you were lucky enough to find, so you were able to get some of your things shipped over there.

During the flight, you try to calm yourself with some relaxing music but your thoughts are too loud to silence. Instead, you take out your laptop and work on some code you’ve been dabbling in for the past few months. You can create a lot of code with your skills, but you decided to focus on hacking and digging in places you shouldn’t be.

Perfect for the FBI.

Two hours pass by while you’re creating a theme for a website when you notice it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that your shoelace is untied. Your tray is down, your laptop and a snack rest upon it, and your bag is by your feet. It’s a fucking shoelace, Y/N. Ignore it. You try so hard for five minutes before you feel the urge to fix it. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at what you do. You pick at the details until what you’re left with is a pretty picture that’s easy to read.

Fixing your shoe is a need, not a want.

You keep shifting, hoping to get your foot closer to you so that you can tie your shoe, but to no avail.

“Do you need help?” You lift your eyes to look into honey-brown ones. The man on the aisle seat next to you has a kind smile on his face. “I can tie your shoe for you.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask without moving your foot.

The stranger holds up his phone which has a black screen. “My phone died, and I’m quite bored.”

“Okay,” you giggle.

You lift your foot and he rests it on his thigh. His long and nimble fingers grab both ends of your shoelace and start to tie it.

“No one quite knows the first time shoelaces were used to secure shoes. In fact, most reports indicate that shoelaces are as old as shoes themselves. Archaeologists believe that ancient peoples used shoelaces for the same reasons we currently use them, experimenting with materials to influence comfort, fit, and even style.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. They think that about five thousand years ago, during the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age periods, cavemen and women also used specific shoelace designs to distinguish between tribes. Most importantly, shoelaces kept early man’s shoes tight and fitted, accommodating their need to travel long distances for food, water, and shelter without causing severe damage to their feet.”

“You just know everything, don’t you?”

“I am a certified genius,” he grins.

“Is that so?”

“Quite. Did you know there are multiple ways to tie your shoe?”

“Please divulge that information,” you smile.

“First, you have the standard tie.” He ties your shoe using the most basic method that every adult knows how to do. “We have the famous ‘Bunny Ears’ way.” He unties your shoe just to tie it again using what children call ‘bunny ears’ since the loops look like ears. “Third, we have the better bow shoelace knot.” It’s like standard but he wraps the shoelace twice around his finger instead of once. “Finally, a classic, the double knot for extra security. See? It’s a success.”

“Who knew there were multiple ways to tie a shoe,” you smile.

“I did, and now so do you.”

“I’m Y/N.”

He smiles and sets your foot down. “Spencer Reid.”

“So, are you flying away from home or toward it?”

“Toward it. I was visiting my mom in Texas for a week. What about you?”

“Toward my new home. I’m from California, but I got a new job in Virginia. I’m kind of nervous about it. I’ve never done anything like it before.”

“What is it?”

“Tech work. I have a masters in computer science. I worked for the LAPD before, but I couldn’t pass up on this offer. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest. I’ve never even stepped foot in Virginia before. I don’t know anyone here.”

“You know me,” Spencer smiles kindly.

“That I do.”

The rest of the flight is smooth sailing once you and Spencer fall into easy conversation. You didn’t even know three hours had passed because he was that easy to talk to. Like the gentleman he is, he walks you to baggage claim and waits for you to get your bag even when he grabs his.

“When do you start your new job?” he asks.

“Monday.”

“I know this might be a bit forward, but I’d love to show you around Virginia if you’re not busy this weekend. I’m sure you have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“Not that much. Like I said before, this was sudden. All my things are still in California. I’ll be moving them in gradually for the next month or so. I can hang out tomorrow if you’d like.”

“It’s a date,” he smiles. His words suddenly register in his head and he starts stuttering and blushing. “Not like a date, date. I meant that I’ll see you tomorrow as in it’s confirmed.”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It can be a date,” you laugh.

“Okay,” he blushes more.

“You’re cute. I have to pick up my rental so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After exchanging phone numbers, you part ways. Your apartment is thirty minutes from the airport and already has the necessary furniture you had shipped over--bed, couch, dining table, and two chairs. The other things will come when you have time to bring them over. There are a few boxes you had shipped that contain kitchen and bathroom items so you don’t have to go out and buy all new things.

Before, you were nervous about starting this new job. Now, you’re nervous about your date with Spencer. He’s very cute and charming, but you don’t want to mess it up. Even if he isn’t boyfriend material, he definitely has the potential to be a really good friend. Look at you, already thinking about him as a boyfriend. You really are in over your head.

The next day, Spencer picks you up without a car. He likes using public transportation and refuses to even let you drive. You two started out in a cafe to get something to eat before he took you sightseeing around Virginia. There is a beautiful botanical garden here that is his favorite, so that’s where you two are.

“So, genius, have any facts or tidbits about this place?” you ask.

“The idea for this garden came from Thomas P. Thompson, Norfolk City Manager from 1935 to 1938, and Frederic Heutte, a young horticulturalist. Heutte had a fondness for azaleas and thought Hampton Roads had a climate uniquely suited for growing the plants. Thompson and Heutte believed that Norfolk could support an azalea garden to rival those of Charleston, SC, which even during the depression years drew thousands of tourists annually.”

“Wow, you’re just a fountain of knowledge.”

“That’s not all. Within less than a year, a section of underbrush had been cleared and readied for planting. By March of 1939, four thousand azaleas, two thousand rhododendrons, several thousand miscellaneous shrubs and trees, and one hundred bushels of daffodils had been planted.

“In August of 1939, Representative Colgate W. Darden Jr. secured an additional one hundred and thirty-eight thousand, five hundred and fifty-three dollars for the Azalea Garden, and the founding of the Old Dominion Horticultural Society provided volunteer labor to assist the Garden. By 1941, the Garden displayed nearly five thousand azaleas and seventy-five landscaped acres that were encompassed by five miles of walking trails.”

You don’t know Spencer well at all but hearing him spew facts like he has them stored in his brain for later brings a smile to your face.

“Well, they did a good job because this place looks beautiful.”

Spencer looks at you and smiles. “Yeah, it is.”

You and Spencer spend another hour walking around the garden while he tells you facts about the different flowers and plants. Afterward, he takes you to get ice cream before bringing you home. He walks up the porch steps leading to your apartment building, and you stop before you can open the door.

“Would you like to come in? I don’t have a lot of furniture, though.”

“I appreciate the offer, but no.” Before your shoulders can deflate, he quickly adds, “It’s not because I don’t want to. I do, but I want to do this right.”

“Right?” you ask.

Spencer smiles and he leans in closer to you. You stay completely still because you don’t want to mess this up. You don’t want to kiss him if that’s not his intention. He does kiss you but on your cheek. Even when he pulls away, you can still feel the skin he touches tingling.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to see how it’s going.”

With that, Spencer leaves. Thoughts of him swirl around in your head for the rest of the night, are embedded into your dreams, and even when you wake up. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. You get dressed and drive to the BAU where you’ll be working. Their current technical analyst is leaving so she’ll be training you to take her place.

After signing in at the lobby and getting your badge, you make your way to the floor where the BAU is. Penelope Garcia is waiting for you outside of the bullpen, and she smiles when she sees you.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yes, you must be Penelope Garcia, right? It’s nice to meet you. So, you’re leaving the BAU?”

“Yes, sad story. I love this team but I got a better job opportunity to work overseas. However, I trust that you will be more than happy here. I know you’ll do a great job because I picked you, and I’m never wrong. Let me introduce you to Hotch and the team.”

She takes you to Agent Hotchner’s office who is stern but welcoming. “You’ll be shadowing Garcia for a couple of weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll leave you in the trusty hands of Garcia.”

“Come on, let’s find the rest of the team.”

You meet JJ, Emily, Tara, Luke, and Matt, all of them friendly and welcoming. The last person on the team is someone you never thought would be here. Spencer turns with a coffee in hand, and his eyes widen when he sees you. Not out of shock, but pleasant surprise.

“Of course, you’d work here,” you chuckle.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Kind of. We met on the plane ride over here, and he showed me around Virginia over the weekend.”

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again outside of being professional.”

Ever the gentleman, Spencer is. “Dr. Reid, are you sad about that?”

“Yes, I am. I like you, and I’d like to see you again.”

A blush creeps up your neck but you try to keep it at bay. “Well, you’re about to see a whole lot of me because I am not going anywhere.” You smirk. “I’ll see you around, Dr. Reid.”

You and Penelope walk off but you turn back and give him a flirty smile. He chuckles to himself and smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I can already see it. You two will become the next Me and Derek.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I hope it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, it’s a very good thing,” she giggles.

You can’t wait.

x

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[dark-konohagakure2]

Gaara ‘taming’ virgin reader for not staying in her place as a woman

tw: dub/noncon, age difference, power imbalance, gags, nipple clamps, misogyny, best friend's dad, overstimulation, brat taming, sex toys, kidnapping

All characters depicted are 18+

Gaara isn't terribly controlling of who Shinki can and cannot be friends with, the boy is all grown up now after all and Gaara wants his adoptive son to have a relatively normal and carefree life, but there is one friend of his son's that just rubs Gaara the wrong way, she's loud and tomboyish, never using manners or honorifics when speaking to her elders, not even with the Kazekage himself. Gaara is no helicopter parent, but even he can tell that this young lady is a bad influence.

He won't force Shinki to stop being friends with the girl, the both of them are adults so technically Gaara can't force them to do anything, but what he can do is use his authority as Kazekage to teach the unruly girl a lesson before she ends up getting his son into some serious trouble with that attitude of hers. Despite her rebellious personality, she'll have no choice but to show up when she'd suddenly summoned by her Kazekage for seemingly no reason at all.

Being both a parent and a world leader, Gaara has perfected the act of speaking in a firm tone that brooks no argument. He'll tell her that she's committed a grave slight against him personally, and that he's going to have to punish her himself. She'll have no idea what on earth Gaara is talking about, and he doesn't elaborate, simply informing her that she requires some serious reeducation in how a proper Sand kunoichi behaves.

Before long she's forcibly on his knees underneath his wooden Kazekage's desk, gagged and bound with her hands behind her back, her sensitive nipples aching from the tight clamps attached to them, the link nubs hurting even more everytime Gaara lazily tugs the thin chain attached to them. Her pussy doesn't fare much better either, not even there's a large dildo inside her, gravity forcing her down onto it, and a vibrator attached to her clit at the lowest setting, she can't even protest or even whine with her noises muffled by the ball gag in her mouth.

"Hush down there. I'm trying to do my work. Good girls should be seen and not heard... Perhaps if you knew that beforehand, we wouldn't be in this position, now would we?"

Gaara, despite his insisting on being the one to correct her bad behavior, doesn't speak much, more concerned with his paperwork than with some bad girl who doesn't know the first thing about being ladylike. He'll mostly just tug on the clamp leash whenever she moves too much, or very lightly kick her if she's being too loud for him to concentrate on what's actually important.

The fact that she's under his desk, just barely concealed by the table, adds an additional layer of humiliation to the ordeal, it's impossible for her to tell if any of Gaara's subordinates or siblings who stop by the office can hear the sounds of her whimpers or the low hum of the vibrator tormenting her hardened clit. Despite being hidden from view, she feels all the more exposed.

Gaara will adjust the settings on the vibrator aimlessly, not sparing either her nor the small remote so much of a glance as he continues the monotonous paperwork, he seems more preoccupied with the boring documents than with the writhing girl beneath him, as if deigning to spare her a glance is beneath him, as if she is beneath him.

He's going to make her cum, it's only a matter of time, for the human body can only take so much internal and external stimulation before it breaks, and she'll break alright, all over her Kazekage's shoe in fact. Gaara won't be very happy about that, giving a stern glare at both her perceived disobedience and the mess she made on him.

"Bad girl. Very bad. I told you not to cum. Getting rid of your bad habits is going to take longer than I thought. Much longer..."

He's the Kazekage, so nobody, not even his own son or siblings will bat an eye when Gaara feigns concern after receiving a repost that a young kunoichi, a friend of his son's, has mysterious gone missing, they're all none the wiser to the fact that their 'missing' shinobi is right under their noses, or more accurately; right underneath their Kazekage.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Naive curvy fem reader who recently gave birth but her man left her to fend for herself. Mother in-law + father in-law (who are both vampires) disown their son and allow the reader and their grandchild to stay at their estate. They convinced her they will help relieve any tension. Like massaging her sore breasts, suckling or squeezing any excess milk, and licking and rubbing her pussy. Starts off as dubious consent but transitions to full consent when they tell her that she's more than a daughter in-law to them.

Kabr0z Episode 54: The In-Laws

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: blood; vampires; incest (no blood relation); age gap; power imbalance; dubcon to enthusiastic consent; receiving cunnilingus; giving cunnilingus and fellatio; very mild foot mention; technically intox; ghoulification;

A/N: Nobody's claimed the prize from my previous competition regarding vampires, but I had fun posing the question, so if you can give the clan the in-laws belong to with your request, you get to skip the queue! Two prizes up for grabs as the clan changed its name with Vampire V5 😁

Again, here's the daily reminder that I won't know what you want if you don't request it, so by all means request! My DMs and asks are open for a reason!

#######################################

You pulled up outside the wrought iron gates. You knew Nick grew up with money but this is old-school aristocrat level, a real Great Gatsby mansion. You reached out of your window to hit the buzzer

"Name?" A bored voice called over the intercom.

You told them who you were, you were getting to why you were there when the gate swung silently open. You drove on, gate swinging shut behind you. You didn't see the men with automatic rifles from the road, but you bet they saw you. Sophie fussed in the baby seat. You stopped to shush her back to sleep, the last thing you wanted was to make a poor first impression.

Too late. A pair of figures stood in the doorway to the house. The lights flattered them in the late evening, artfully curated shadows highlighting the razor-sharp creases of his suit, the elegant drape of her long red dress. They were looking at you.

Here was as good a place to leave the car as any, you supposed, and got out. Cradling your baby you approached the figures in the doorway. They smiled at you, the light making them look washed out and pale.

"So, we finally meet! So sorry we couldn't make the wedding" The woman spoke first "I am Lucrezia, this is Alfonso" the man bowed neatly at the waist, allowing his wife to continue "When we caught wind of what our dog of a son did! We're both so very glad you came to us"

You smiled, it's not like you had much of a choice. Both of your parents had passed while you were expecting Sophie, and you didn't really have any other family. "Thanks for having us, we'll try not to be a burden"

Alfonso laughed "It's not a burden at all! It will be so good to have a child about the house again, it gets awfully quiet with just me, your mother, the security, the cleaners, and the servants"

That sounded positively bustling to you, but their perspectives were probably different you guessed, a house like this needs upkeep

A man cleared his throat behind you "Your keys, ma'am?"

You turned, he was wearing a flak vest and an earpiece, his rifle secured to him with a strap "so we can park your car and unpack you"

The woman waved him away "There's time for that later, Giacomo. Now, let's get out of the cold"

It was a warm night. You followed the pair inside. They looked exactly like the old paintings on the walls of the house, though the varnish had darkened with age. Some of them looked to contain a young Peter too... Maybe these were of Alfonso's side of the family? There was quite a strong family resemblance with the boy, but then how was Lucrezia there?

They led you to a lounge, where they took seats on either end of a long sofa. You sat in an armchair, sinking into the plush velvet. "So," Lucrezia began "We'll hear no more of this not wanting to intrude business. You're family, and family takes care of family. Besides, it's not like we're hurting for bedrooms" They both laughed. You felt like a deer in headlamps. A rabbit cornered by circling wolves. The light in here was warmer than outside, but it didn't diminish the corpselike pallor on their faces, bluish lips on pale faces, dry eyes that didn't catch the light, and aside from when they spoke... No, that's silly.

Obviously they must breathe, right?

Sophie was picking up on something, too. She hadn't stopped fussing since you came in. Lucrezia stepped over to you, or at least you assumed she did, you looked up and she was simply there, dark eyes staring into yours

"There, there, the little one is tired! Come to Nana, little one"

You let her take the restless baby from your arms, playing with her with a fingertip. Sophie calmed at once, gurgling happily before settling into a deep sleep. Lucrezia gave her back to you. Was that... Blood on her mouth?

You blinked, it was gone. Probably just your overactive imagination. Driving for four hours after packing up your entire life would do that.

You looked at Lucrezia again, into those deep black eyes, dark in a sea of white "Let's get my granddaughter to bed, then we can talk about your future here"

You nodded. It's the best thing for it. She led you upstairs, to a nursery with a beautiful cot, pulling a tablet computer off the wall and handing it to you "Only the best for you, 4k camera and the best audio money can buy. If she so much as peeps, you'll hear"

You put Sophie down in the cot. Finally the two of you were safe again. "Can I have a bed in here with her?"

Lucrezia smiled at you, those eyes meeting yours again "Of course, I'll have the staff bring one in. She stepped out of the door, clapped her hands twice and shouted in the fastest Italian you'd ever heard someone speak before coming back "The bed will be brought in soon, now let's go back downstairs"

You followed her again. Alphonso looked up from a book when you entered, before getting up and ushering you down to the sofa between them.

Lucrezia's hands were on your shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles of your back "You're so tense, why don't you relax?"

You had to admit, you ached. The massage hurt a little as Lucrezia eased the knots in your back from driving so long. Alfonso slipped off your shoes and began massaging your feet, pulling you so you lay across the two of them as they rubbed and squeezed you, their too-strong hands loosening you up. Your eyes closed gently as exhaustion took over.

Your dream was dark, and troubled. You were running down the hallway of the house, chased by armed men. Every door you opened had either Lucrezia behind it, Alphonso, or both.

You snapped awake. In the bed in the nursery, morning light visible against the curtains. A maid was there, she curtseyed and left a tray on the end of your bed. Some toast, butter, jam, and a small cup of strong-smelling coffee. You checked on Sophie. Sleeping like an angel.

Breakfast was simple, but every bit as good as it looked. That was possibly the best coffee you'd ever had.

You picked up Sophie and started to explore your new home. Three floors, the maid told you the top floor was only for Lucrezia and Alphonso, their studies, the private chambers and whatnot, she told you you'd probably be allowed up eventually being family, just not yet.

And so your days passed, at first. Daytime was spent with Sophie in any combination of a dozen rooms between her nursery, the library, the TV room, or walking through the gardens. You looked forward to when she'd be old enough to teach to swim so you could use the swimming pool.

At night, your hosts finally finished whatever work they did all day and came downstairs to spend time with you and their granddaughter. They never seemed to eat with you, every day around nightfall a maid carrying a platter would walk up the staircase to their suites, but never seem to come back down until the following morning. Always a different one, too, which seemed odd.

It was amazing, the way Lucrezia had with Sophie, she could put her to sleep in moments. You'd stay up with them talking about your day, how your daughter was doing, never about them or their business... You let your mind wander as Lucrezia massaged your back again, you didn't know why she liked doing that, but you weren't going to stop her...

Shit. They were mobsters, weren't they? It checked out, armed guards, inexplicably wealthy, a preoccupation with privacy, family, and trust above all.

A roving hand snapped you out of your reverie. Alfonso had just pulled aside your underwear, his hand up your skirt. You yelped, Lucrezia held your shoulders.

You looked up at her, she smiled back "Now, now, we said we'd take care of all of your needs, and we meant it"

Alfonso's hand was rubbing the lips of your pussy. You were already wet, the massage had loosened you up more than you thought. His fingers slipped around your clit, making you whine as Lucrezia's attentions moved to your collarbones and your milk-filled tits, squeezing squirts of milk from you as you whimpered and gasped under their attention

Alfonso's tongue joined his hand, fingering your hole while he licked rings around your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your cunt as it twitched and your back arched. Lucrezia kissed your lips, and you came. You ground your cunt into Alfonso's face, no longer caring that these two are your parents in law, just wanting to prolong the orgasm running through you.

Your spasms subsided, you looked up at Lucrezia as you panted.

"Oh, child, I can't imagine what you think of us... You must think we're criminals?"

You nodded weakly. Alphonso laughed, looking at you from between your legs "Shall we give her the truth?"

Lucrezia manhandled you to the floor, forcing you to your knees, holding your head up as Alphonso stood over you, pulling out his cock as it hardened in his hands. "I'll need a drink after we're done. Hopefully it's as good as it looks"

Your mouth was forced open. Alphonso stuffed his semi-hard cock inside. You could feel it hardening as he thrust it in, invading you again and again as his wife crooned in your ear.

You bit down hard. He didn't stop. His groans got louder as he railed you harder, his cock pushing your throat as he came. It wasn't cum. His cock twitched a d throbbed, pulsing like he should be spraying cum down your throat, but it wasn't. It was blood.

The blood fell out of your mouth, but some trickled down your throat.

The world got sharper. Your head spun as you became hyper-aware of everything around you. Around, and in you. God you're horny. Your hand shot to your cunt, furiously rubbing yourself as you sucked his cock. He pulled out, rubbing the mix of blood and spit on your face. You tried to catch as much as you could before Lucrezia turned your head and licked your face, cleaning you of the mess her husband had made.

She stood before you and lifted the front of her skirt.

You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your face was in her cunt, slurping and licking like an animal as she held you to her. You could feel her, already getting closer and closer as you licked and nibbled, her cunt oozing more wetness onto your face as you buried yourself in her folds. All you could taste was blood, all you wanted was more.

Lucrezia came hard, twitching and squirting into your mouth, covering your face.

You opened your eyes. You could see blood pooling below you, staining your top and your skirt. Alphonso was looking at you, so was Lucrezia, predatory eyes taking you in.

Alphonso bit you first. The searing pain of his fangs sinking in to your wrist making you grit your teeth. You screamed when Lucrezia bit the other.

The world became cold, your head spun a little as the vampires released you, licking the wounds to close them. Lucrezia barked a command in Italian, a man ran over and stabbed a needle into your arm. Giacomo. You saw a blood bag held over your head as you closed your eyes, letting sleep take you.

Giacomo was there in the morning when you awoke "Afternoon, ma'am. The bosses have asked I explain everything. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life."

######################################

So, fun fact: it's canon that literally every liquid a Kindred produces is vitae, except for in very specific circumstances. So, if you let a Kindred cum down your throat, you become a ghoul.

Honestly, goals.

To reiterate from the start, if you correctly identify which clan Alphonso and Lucrezia belong to you'll get to jump the queue! 2 prizes to claim this time as the clan name changed when Vampire V5 was published, so get to guessing! Promotion ends when the first winning guess is published 😉

On that note, even if you don't want to guess, I want to hear your requests, ideas, fantasies, whatever! This challenge is set to run right through to the end of the year and I intend to go the distance!

[burningcheese-merchant]

I think more ppl need to see this

Yeah for real lol. That's exactly what it is with him. Not to toot my own horn too much but I believe this post I made ages ago hits the nail on the head haha

"I'm bored" is... technically true. In a sense. Personally, I think it's a very simple and vague allusion to the real problem. That thin sheet of snow coating a massive, freezing cold iceberg. Just barely obscuring it from proper view.

imo it's been a bit disappointing seeing people take to extremes with Burning Spice's character. I've seen people either woobify him, downplay or excuse his actions by saying "he's not evil! He's hurting! He's depressed! He doesn't hate people, he's lashing out because he can't internalize his pain anymore!", or just demand he be put to death immediately on sight without trial. You can like a morally repulsive character and sympathize with their issues while also acknowledging that they're repulsive and need to face justice for their crimes. Burning Spice is one of my favorite characters, I love everything about him, he's sexy as fuck, I understand why he's the way he is, I'm still happy to see his ass beat because he's a piece of shit and he deserves it lol.

Not to throw shade at "simpler" villains ofc. I love me some assholes that are assholes just because they can be. Like Jack Horner in Puss in Boots 2. But Burning Spice isn't Jack Horner and he honestly shouldn't be. The deeper, sadder, more complex reasons governing his actions suit him better than just "I'm bored fuck this shit" and nothing else ykwim

and of course, he's still wrong. Burning Spice's view of the world is wrong. Does a book begin just to end? Does a song play just to finish in a few minutes' time? No. They begin so that we may read, listen, and enjoy. So that they may make us laugh, or have us shake our heads in disappointment, or tell us some hidden truth. Make our days and lives a little more interesting than they were before. Life is beautiful BECAUSE it is fleeting. Born, grow, wither, born, grow, wither. Yes, that's how it goes. But there's so much more to those things than just what we can gather from those three words. Every day is different. Though the sun rises every morning without fail, it's never quite the same color, is it? Always a bit of a different shade of yellow, orange, red, bleeding into the sky a little differently each time. There are so many things to see and do, games to play, people to meet and love and cherish. Maybe some of those things and those people won't be here someday but that doesn't mean their existence never meant anything. We are not born to die, we are born to live. We must die for those who are to live, and live for those who have died. Regardless, we must never lose sight of the intrinsic value of all that surrounds us. Burning Spice very much did. Underneath his bitterness and anger and (not unfounded, to be fair) lamentation for the unstoppable cycle of life and death is a deep-rooted selfishness and fundamental lack of understanding and appreciation for life and other people. In the face of despair, he gave in and chose evil. He was and is wrong for doing so, regardless of why he did it. He could've stepped down. He could've just admitted he didn't have what it took to be the Herald of Change. Hell, if he really hates being alive so much, he would've committed suicide a LONG time ago. But he never did any of that; instead he chose to inflict an equal or greater suffering on everything and everyone else, even the undeserving. And for that he MUST pay. And Golden Cheese, with her personality and her experiences and the wisdom she came to attain when faced with the exact same despair as Burning Spice, is exactly the right person to make him do that