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daddyricsdoll · 9 months

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Masquerade ✭ Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri

Summary: A night at a masquerade ball ended much better than you had ever dreamed of. Starting with two men and one you.

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), unprotected sex, double penetration, anal, creampies, degrading praise (good little slut), slapping, if I have missed anymore let me know.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Here is some highly anticipated papaya boys smut. I need Lando and Oscar to wear suits and take photos together as well as wearing masquerade ball masks so I can have the perfect header. This was based off of a request and I really hope this reaches expectations.

I walk into the ballroom, everyone's faces covered by masks. People linger around the bar and tables are scattered all around, the middle holds an orchestra and few couples dancing. My eyes search the room for anyone that I might recognise, but there wasn’t much luck.

I walk around the room, staying in the outer circle surrounding the dance floor. And then from across the room I meet eyes with a curly haired man and then with another man next to him. I had only just realised they had been doing the same as me, stalking around the room, observing everyone else.

But the difference between me and them was I was alone at the moment. The curly haired man gave me a smirk and the one next to him let out a chuckle. I wish I could see behind their masks, I just knew they were beautiful. Then their lips started moving, they spoke to each other but eyes never left me.

I questioned what they were talking about, I presumed me, but what about me? I’m glad I had a mask veiling my face or they would note my anxiety, so I forced my lips to curl and I surveyed the confidence in both men. They exchange their last words and then start walking in opposite ways, their confident strides show purpose and I know they have a plan to reach me. So while both of them are out of view, behind and between people, I make my way further back, getting buried by fellow guests. Finding a good sized area, that is scarcely hidden but still open to guests, I lean against the wall and wait for whichever one has more determination to reach me first.

“You moved.” I look up to the voice, his accent is different, australian and oh, I never knew I would go internally feral from a man's voice but here I am. “I figured you guys wouldn’t prefer the crowd.” I watch his mouth move into a smile and he emits the most beautiful chuckles. He takes a few steps closer to me. “Yeah, you’re right” The Australian's hand rests on the exposed skin of my thigh. His warm hand caresses my leg and the other leans on the wall behind me. His fingers travel further than the slit in my dress, sliding on my inner thigh then the outer, his eyes stuck on my face, watching every twitch and meticulously listening to every sound I make.

“You started without me?” A voice speaks, and then the Australian man smirks and slowly pushes his body off mine to turn around and look at his friend. “Well you can’t expect me to just stand and watch her.” I attempt to hide my smile as I watch the two men converse and then they both turn my way. “Something funny?” The curly haired man asks, and finally I see the colour of his eyes, a mix of specks of blue and green.

“Oh no, you guys can carry on.” I wave them off, and then both of them start walking closer to me, concealing the crowd from my vision.

“I’ll finish what Oscar started.” The blue eyed man purrs and his hand sneaks around my waist. I lean into his warm touch with an arched back, forcing myself into his crisp suit.

“Was his hand here?” He places his hand between the slit of my dress, I take a sharp breath and look over his shoulder at Oscar, he just nods his head and I fall into the touch of his friend. “Was it?” He asks me again and I nod my head, unable to find the solitary word to answer. He continues exploring the part of my exposed thigh before his hand slides into the middle, stroking my inner thigh and the tips of his fingers so close to my core.

The indigent feeling inside of me heightens and then his fingers start tickling the fabric of my thongs. I shudder from surprise but then move my hips closer to the feeling of his fingers. I look at the man whose substantial hands could ruin me by themselves and he gives me a charming smirk. “Do you think you can be quiet for me? And don’t worry, they won’t see you. Oscar’s here.” I nod again, giving him a little “a huh” and then his fingers finally make contact with the part of me I had only silently begged to be touched.

“You’re pretty wet for me huh?” He pushes his firm fingers underneath the thin fabric of my thongs and drags his calloused but delicate fingers through my desperate folds.

My breath hitches and head inclines onto the wall. A large hand cups my cheek and turns my head so my eyes are locked with Oscars as he captures my lips in a kiss. I moan into Oscar's mouth as the other brunette curls his fingers inside of me.

“Be quiet for us now and then we’ll let you be as loud as you like.” He whispers against my ear making me clench around his thick fingers. This whole situation helps my climax arise. Two men using me, I only know one of their names and all our faces are covered by masks.

Curses leave both of the men's lips and as another finger is added into me I feel my release creeping up on me. My eyes flick to each of the men and I can’t hold back a moan at both of their features. Each of their eyes ravenous and it makes my stomach do backflips.

One with an ocean and forest of colours. The other consists of my favourite chocolate and leather bag. My eyes shut tight as my climax reaches me and I force the moans down. Trying my best to keep the attention away from us. But when Oscar's fingers weave into my hair and pull my lips to his I can finally let the filthy sounds leave my mouth.

Not long after I feel the loss of his fingers and I watch as Oscar clasps his lips around them. Oscar doesn’t lose eye contact with me as he sucks on the other man's fingers, tasting me.

“Fuck Lando, she tastes good.” The Australian groans. “But I need more.” Suddenly I’m being pulled by the hand, I manage to catch all of my steps and follow as Oscar leads me out of the main ballroom, Lando not far behind.

I didn’t have time to observe the room before Oscar commanded me to get on all fours. My dress being pulled up so the bottom half of my body is exposed and on display. I hear the door one more time and a “fuck” leaves Landos mouth before he circles my body and stands in front of me. My head tilts to look up at the Brit and a grin is on his face.

The cold air of the room is replaced by the warmth of Oscar’s hand on my ass. He makes my thongs disappear and the silence of the room is filled by the sound of his pants. I don’t have enough time to compose myself for his next moves so when I feel his dick slam inside of me I nearly collapse on the floor. His hands grip my hips so tightly I’m sure it’ll create bruises. My mouth is agape and my whole body moves at each of his rams. In front of me Lando starts to peel off his clothes, everything except his shirt and mask. My walls flutter as my eyes make contact with Landos thick cock. I see the vein that runs along his shaft and wish to trace it with my fingers.

Oscar’s thrust never loses power and I just imagine what this whole situation will look like from his view. How his dick would look as he completely ruins me. How it looks as Lando thrusts his dick into my mouth.

The momentum of Oscar ramming into me forces Lando’s dick to immediately hit the back of my throat. I don’t realise that my climax has come to me a second time this night until an involuntary whine leaves my mouth and words finally leave Oscar’s mouth.

“Fuck, such a good little slut coming all over my dick and taking Lando too.”

I expect him to stop driving into me with so much force, but the change never comes. Both of the men ruthlessly thrust into me, and I hold no control over my body.

A harsh slap lands on my ass and I can’t help but whine full of pleasure. That whine brings vibrations throughout all of Lando’s dick and he curses repeatedly before releasing in my mouth.

He pulls out to see his cum covering my tongue and the inside of my mouth making him groan and his dick is still as hard as it was when he first shoved it into my mouth. “Swallow, I want you to swallow every little drop of my cum like the good slut we know you are. Right Oscar?”

Another slap against the skin of my ass is the reply he gives to Lando and me. And being the good little slut I am, I do exactly what Lando asks of me. I swallow all of his cum and then open my mouth to show him how well I followed his instructions. “Fuck Oscar, I wanna be inside of her.” Lando nearly pleads and the grunt that emits from Oscar was a reply and an indication that he’s reaching his climax. I clenched around Oscar’s dick and it was all he needed to ultimately release inside of me.

Filling me up with his cum and barely riding his high out with a couple harsh thrusts before pulling out. I don’t hear his quiet steps until he stands in front of me, his dick covered in my arousal and his own cum. Both of his hands grip my arms, lifting my body up to kneel below him. He doesn’t have to tell me what he wants as my lips wrap around his dick. I can’t hold back my moans and Oscar cuts them off with a quick but strong thrust.

“Fuck. Oscar, you really filled her up. But it’s my turn now.” Lando’s words help me acknowledge the feeling of Oscar’s cum slowly dripping down my leg. I clean up his dick, but not without whines and moans. Once I’m done he lifts my body up and the spot on the floor where I just knelt is now sat with Lando. “Come here pretty girl. You’re gonna ride me.” I knew my body couldn’t handle it, but oh I couldn’t stop myself from going to him.

I hold onto his toned chest as I lower onto his dick, taking into consideration his thickness and the stretch accompanied by a little sting. His large hands hold my hips in the same spot that Oscar had gripped them earlier and I look down at him with watery eyes.

I make sure to go as low as I can, so I can feel Lando even deeper. My clit rubs against his skin and the friction is now an unforgettable sensation.

I gained some more contact, but not from Lando this time. I feel Oscar’s hands help lift my body, but not lead me off Lando. I let him move me and he whispers in my ear. “Do you think you can take me too?” Just the thought makes me moan and clench around Lando. “Y-yes.” I breathe out and it doesn’t take long until I feel the tip of Oscar's dick press against my hole.

I have to stop moving and I hold my breath as he slowly inches inside of me. I managed to handle the pain, although the sting was far from little. But the loud groan that escaped his mouth helped convince me the pain was worth it. When I grow more comfortable with the feeling I start riding Lando again. My position had our lips so close to each other and all Lando did was sit up a little bit to close the gap.

The kiss was soft and it soon turned rough, we bit each other's lips and hungrily went in for more, never getting enough. I knew his body more than any other part of him and when his dick started twitching inside of me I knew I would get filled up again. The quieted grunts from Oscar told me he was seconds away from releasing and so was I. The grind of my hips against Lando and little thrust from Oscar was the last push that had us all coming simultaneously.

My head was clouded and I couldn't focus on just one feeling. We all let filthy sounds leave our mouths and my fingers dug into Lando’s tan skin as I came. Oscar pulled out of me seconds after he came and instantaneously I could feel his cum dripping out of me.

A little while later I got off of Lando, with the help of Oscar and all I could do was lay helpless beside his body. Only then did I get a perfect look of both men without their masks on and I had thought my eyes deceived me. Such gorgeous men and I wondered how I could’ve landed so lucky to have both of them deep inside of me. Each memory makes the fire ignite inside of me once again, but I’ll leave it for the next time. And I’ll hope it’s these two once again.

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cacoetheswriting · 2 years

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celebrity skin.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.5k summary: as corroded coffin frontman, eddie munson regards himself as perhaps the most important person in hollywood. that's until he meets you — america’s favourite starlet.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: adult language & mature themes, porn with a rather angsty plot, general heavy petting / kissing, teasing, fingering, quite rough yet protected p in v sex, borderline overstimulation, eddie is a little dom, light praise kink, dirty talk, use of pet names & very slight degradation, mentions of alcohol & drug consumption, mentions of blood (reader unintentionally hurts herself), emotional hurt / topics of guilt — if i missed anything, pls let me know! also, not proofread.

psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

“Absolutely not.”

Impossible to read between the lines with those two simple words, but if anyone dared to try regardless, the absolute disapproval and disdain in Eddie’s tone of voice stopped them from doing so. At least that’s what the Corroded Coffin frontman hoped.

It took a lot to catch Eddie Munson off guard. Given everything he’s endured in his life, nothing surprised him anymore ‘cause he made sure to be prepared for every single scenario. A little neurotic? Yes. Needed for his own piece of mind? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Obviously there had been exceptions over the years — especially being in the limelight with easy access to substances that weren’t too good for his health and nothing but extensive amounts of cash to burn. The other guys had invested their paychecks, Gareth even started a family. Eddie on the other hand, well, he bought a mansion in Beverly Hills and threw parties every night of the week.

The heavy drinking clouded his judgement and damaged his liver, but Eddie still kept tabs on his inner circle and made sure to be informed of any moves the label was trying to make before official announcements.

Which is why when he stumbled into the recording studio an hour later than scheduled, extremely hungover and with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, he really thought he misheard the news announced by their long-time manager, Marianne.

“A feature. The label wants it, she wants it. Honestly, Eddie, no point in fighting it. It’s a done deal.”

Marianne’s words were ringing in his ears. To make matters worse, the whole band apparently knew about this. For a long time, at that. They just collectively chose not to tell him out of fear of his “overreaction”, as Gareth put it.

“Well, I don’t want it.” Eddie grumbles. A reaction worthy of a little kid more so than a famous rockstar. “I refuse.”

Jeff clears his throat, glancing between the group before settling his eyes on Eddie.

“Man, it’s just one song. Not like she’s been asked to permanently join the band,” he tries to be the voice of reason.

Eddie just scoffs. He’s on the couch, eyes closed and hand pressed to his forehead with a third cigarette in between his fingers. He refused to believe this was happening.

“A feature and a music video,” Marianne chimes.

Jeff sighs. “You’re really not helping your case here.”

But their manager just shrugs. “There’s no case to help. Like I said, it’s a done deal. Y’all are doing this feature with America’s favourite starlet and y’all are gonna have smiles on your fucking faces in the process.” Marianne states and what she says, usually goes. “Are you hearing me, Eddie?”

Usually.

“I ain’t doing shit.”

“Eddie—” Gareth feels like it’s his turn to help the situation, but he just gets rudely interrupted.

“Shut up, Gareth! Everyone, just shut the fuck up!” Eddie’s outburst accompanies him jumping up onto his feet. He’s angry, clearly. Glaring at the group as if he’s endured the worst possible betrayal. “Last I fucking checked, this was my fucking band! I have a say in what’s a done deal and this is not one of those things!”

The boys don’t speak. They look to Marianne who seemed to always know how to calm Eddie down. She had this aura about her. Almost motherly, even though she couldn’t have been more than five years older than the Corroded Coffin frontman — an estimate as she’s never told them her actual age.

Marianne crosses the studio until she’s standing toe to toe with the curly-haired singer. He’s towering over her, but she’s got the upper hand — as always.

First, she takes the cigarette he was holding and takes a drag, crossing her arms while blowing the smoke away from his face. The silence extends from seconds to minutes, almost as if she’s daring Eddie to continue.

He doesn’t. So she clears her throat.

“Now that we’re done with the temper tantrum,” Marianne says calmly, “At risk of sounding like a complete and utter bitch, Eddie, my darlin’, you have lost your right to call this band yours after the last stunt you pulled cost the label thousands of dollars in damages. Not to mention the absolute nightmare it’s been to keep it out of the stupid tabloids.”

“I apologised—”

“Thousands of dollars, Eddie. Your apology ain’t worth shit.”

Marianne walks over to an ashtray and puts out the reminisce of the cigarette. She briefly glances between the rest of the band before settling her gaze on Eddie once again.

“The people actually in charge think this collaboration has the potential of being an absolute hit. A song played for generations to come and for once, I actually agree with them.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He knows deep down he has lost the argument, so he had nothing left to add.

“Guys, you gotta know y’all are my priority and I would never do anything to jeopardise your career. Ever.” Marianne reassures. The boys all say they know. All of them apart from Eddie.

He’s back on the couch. Sitting with his legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Sulking and wishing he hadn’t forgotten his pouch of pre-rolled joints ‘cause he could really use one right about now.

When no one else speaks, Marianne heads for the door.

“She’ll be here tomorrow. Please be on time.”

That last part was aimed at Eddie, who in that moment lifts his head to address his manager one more time before she leaves.

“I have a question,” his tone of voice is cold, understandably so. When Marianne doesn’t protest, he continues. “How come America’s pride and joy wants to sing a song with a band often accused of devil worship?”

A smile Eddie can’t really decipher circles his manager’s lips.

“Guess you’ll just have to ask her in person.”

When a person is repeatedly told they are meant for incredible things, they may grow up with a skewed vision of life.

Thankfully, the only person that’s ever believed in you that much was your Nana and it was pretty hard to take her seriously considering her history — a lady who after an accidental pregnancy in her early-twenties, joined and later escaped a cult, then conned her way into marrying a Wall Street suit-man, before getting hooked on pills he was prescribed for some back injury he had.

The man died before he could divorce her, leaving Nana his small fortune and a property in Greenwich Village. You didn’t even know his real name since every time she’s told the story she used a different one, and also changed other minor details.

So you never thought twice about her constant, “You’re going to be a star one day, baby girl.”. In retrospect, you should have. Perhaps it would have prepared you for the world of fame and fortune you were so briskly thrown into.

“Mom, please don’t fill her head with jargon. She’s just going to end up disappointed.”

That’s not to say your parents weren’t also supportive of your dreams. They were, although they believed them to be much smaller at scale, a nurse perhaps, an astronaut at best. Definitely not a popstar sensation and America’s sweetheart.

Your parents met at a charity function your Nana was a co-chair at and instantly clicked. Love at first sight, is how it was described in the paper for their engagement announcement not even a month later. Married shortly after and their first baby was born exactly a year later. Billy Wilder couldn’t write that shit even if he tried.

You always wanted to experience that kind of love.

The longing you endured every time you saw your parents interact was the reason you started writing poetry. Words a little too deep for a ten-year old girl to have actually experienced, but they felt right. By the time you were old enough to actually pursue a romantic relationship, you filled countless notebooks with poems that had actually turned into lyrics after your Nana encouraged to sponsor your piano lessons at age twelve and later guitar.

Ironic, really. Not meant to believe in your own potential success, but destined to think your happiness depended on somebody else.

Shortly after your twenty-first birthday, your Nana asked you to perform at one of her functions. A simple wish you had gratified many times before.

“But you only sing the covers, okay? The material in your notepads is reserved for when you’re famous.” Nana would request, mainly ‘cause she liked when you sang Dusty Springfield.

This particular event started out like every other. What you didn’t know however, in the crowd, amongst the usual New York elite, were a few agents and talent scouts your Nana specifically invited to see you perform.

By the end of the night, you had a signed record deal.

A week later, you were in the studio.

Lucky doesn’t begin to describe how you felt at that time. Although knowing your Nana, luck had nothing to do with it.

After the release of your debut single, you rocketed into overnight stardom. Quickly charting in various top lists, only proving your Nana had always been right. As a result, the late 80s were in fact a blur. The years were spent shooting music videos and various magazine covers, doing TV and radio interviews, touring, all on top of releasing more music. Aside from the casual hookup every now and again, carefully concealed with an NDA to preserve your image, finding love took a backburner.

By the 1990s, you’d gone from being America’s sweetheart to a worldwide phenomenon.

It was at that point in time you remembered why you started writing poems in the first place. Completely by accident, as these things usually go.

While your life remained in New York, given your profession, you often travelled to Los Angeles. Late August of 1992, to be a bit more precise, there was this pool party you really had no business attending.

Holly — your makeup artist, close friend, and permanent plus one — used her perfectly manicured finger to stir the melting ice-cubes at the bottom of her glass. She said something about getting a refill, but you barely registered. Simply nodded at her words before pressing the glass you were holding to your lips. Your focus was somewhere else. Rather on someone else.

As Holly stood, you reach for her forearm and motion your head in the direction you wanted her to look in.

“Who’s that?” A simple question that ended up changing the remainder of your life.

Holly smirked. She turned back to you and you forced yourself to look away from the person in question, meeting your friends eyes instead.

“Seriously?”

You furrowed your brows at her reaction, as if to say you really had no idea, and her gaze widened slightly when she realised you weren’t kidding.

“That’s Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin, remember I played you some of their songs? Anyway, this is his house, his party.”

With that, she took the half-empty drink from my grasp and walked away.

Eddie Munson, the name suited him, at least at face value. You had heard of Corroded Coffin before, but their music wasn’t really your style, hence why you never really bothered to learn anything more about them. Yet now, here you were, wishing you had cared a little more in the past ‘cause perhaps you’d have the courage to walk up to their frontman.

Eddie wore a black bandana, tied loosely only to shield him from the sun as his brown locks draped over his bare shoulders. A wide collection of ink art covered almost every inch of the skin on his arms and chest, legs too, at least the parts that weren’t covered by ripped denim shorts. There was a cigarette between his lips and it remained in position even while he was laughing. He was pretty. Judging by the crowd of girls around him, you weren’t the only one to notice.

Exhaling softly, you abandoned your spot on one of the lounge chairs and embarked on a mission to find Holly, or at least something else to drink. The back door to the house is open, so without really thinking, you slipped inside, straight into the kitchen.

Pristine. The entire space. Almost as if no one's ever cooked here, which now that you knew the owner, made sense. Not to completely judge a book by its cover, but Eddie didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed cooking all that much.

“The house is off limits.”

A deep voice startled you. Jumping in your spot, you hit a corner of the stone centre island as you turned to address the person who walked in. Oh shit.

Eddie Munson’s eyes locked onto your frame, now that you are facing him fully. He licked his lips rather shamelessly as his gaze travelled the length of your bare legs and continued upwards until it reached your own. A shiver ran down your spine in the process ‘cause even though you were practically fully dressed, you felt completely naked.

“Sorry,” you were quick to apologise, “I was just looking for my friend.”

“The house is off limits,” Eddie repeated as he took a few steps closer.

“Again, I’m sorry. I really was just looking for someone,” you said and it was the truth, whether he believed it or now. “What are— What are you doing?”

“You’re bleeding.”

You glanced down at where his ring-clad fingers now met your skin, a tissue paper you didn’t even realise he grabbed, wrapped between them. He wiped slowly. His touch was soft, gentle even, which was surprising to you given his demeanour.

“Wow, yeah. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break into your house and then bleed in your kitchen.”

Eddie chuckled at your words. “You apologise a lot. Is that part of this act they have you doin’ or is it genuine?”

“Act?”

He nodded then straightened his posture. He tossed the dirty tissue to the side before taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen. The way your fingers aligned together quite perfectly should’ve come with a warning sign, but you didn’t really think about that in the moment, more concerned with the fact he was pulling you away from the party.

“Where are we going?”

“Bathroom. Can’t have you bleeding out in my kitchen, sweetheart.” Eddie joked lightheartedly. “Plus wouldn’t want anyone taking a sneaky picture of us. Could start a bunch of nasty rooms. Good for my career, not so much yours.”

“Because of my act?”

“You get it.”

The master bedroom, you assume, is a lot larger in comparison to yours. A lot darker too, though that’s a given considering your opposite styles. Eddie was careful to lock the door behind the two of you before pointing to the bathroom and following after you.

“Sit.”

You obliged without question, positioning yourself on the sink. Eddie failed to conceal a ‘cause he didn’t think you’d do as you were told without putting up at least a bit of a fight. After all, he was a stranger with a reputation for doing ungodly things when alone with girls, but with your legs dangling off the edge, you didn’t seem tense or scared. In fact, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say you were quite comfortable and he liked it. So with a smile still circling his lips, he began his search for the first aid kit he knew he saw here last.

“Why do you think it’s an act?”

Eddie glanced at you briefly. There is a sense of urgency in your question, almost as if his answer, his opinion, actually mattered to you. Which it did. For whatever reason, his response had the potential to hurt you. If he thought you weren’t genuine, it would hurt you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you want my honesty.”

You half-scoffed. “Actually, I don’t remember the last time someone was actually honest with me about anything relating to my career.”

The answer shocked him a little. Then again it made sense. In the eyes of your management team and label, you were a money making machine. Nothing more than a pretty face with a pretty voice they used to make themselves rich.

“Even my own parents,” you continued, fidgeting with the bottom of your cotton shorts. “They were so adamant not to let my grandmother fill my head with hopes and dreams while I was growing up, but the second those hopes and dreams came true, it’s like they forgot they were still my parents and should sometimes be brutally honest.”

Pausing, you bit down on your bottom lip. From across the bathroom, Eddie's gaze immediately trailed down your face and settled on where your teeth sank into flesh. He licked his own, eyes darkening for a split second.

“Sorry, I’m oversharing,” you muttered, breaking him away from any sinful thoughts that wanted to break free. “Telling you my life story even though not even thirty minutes ago, I didn’t know your name.”

Eddie smirked, a cheshire-cat grin spreading across his features. “The only thing you should be apologising for, sweetheart, is the fact you came to my party and didn’t know who I was.”

“I get invited to a lot of parties,” you defended, involuntarily rolling your eyes at his not so subtle cockiness. “Suppose you think all the girls swoon at the chance to be near you, huh? Sorry to disappoint, I guess.”

“Well, shit. Talk about brutal honesty.” Eddie teased and ran a hand through his locks, taking off his bandana in the process. “Now I feel like a fucking creep ‘cause I seem to know quite a bit about you.”

“Whatever you know is clearly wrong since I’m not some character,” you interjected and he glanced at you once again. “I mean my whole thing wasn’t an act at first.”

“And now?”

You sighed. “It’s a little more complicated.”

That made him laugh. “See, that’s why I don’t let my label or management tell me shit. My band, my music, my style. If I wasn’t unapologetically myself, I’d go fucking insane.”

He eventually found the first aid kit and the plasters within. Back in front of you, he gently wiped the cut on your upper leg again, only this time with a wet towel, and carefully put a plaster over it.

“All done.”

“Thank you.”

His hand remained on your skin as he looked up to hold your gaze. In the sharp bathroom light, you realised just how perfectly brown his eyes are and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone’s ever told him that. You secretly hoped they didn’t. A little lame, but you found yourself wanting to be at least his first something.

Eddie on the other hand, thought about how of all the people here tonight, he wound up alone with you. Pop royalty. American treasure. A girl that’s graced the cover of magazines and been on talk shows he would never feature on. A girl who sold millions of copies of songs he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to. A girl so vastly different from him, it only made him want you more.

Continuing to stare deep into his chocolate-button eyes, you lifted your arm and since Eddie didn’t flinch, you proceeded to loop a loose strand of his hair around your finger then let it go. Eddie’s heart jumped into his throat as you repeated the action — a sensation he’s never really experienced before.

How come you had this hold on him, seemingly out of nowhere? A simple smile and a modest tease had his mind racing. Not to mention the softness of your skin under his grasp you didn’t try to break away from. Perhaps that was it. You didn’t push him away. You also didn’t throw yourself at him. Those were the two extremes he usually experienced. Knowing you had just about learned who he was before the two of you landed in this situation was a refreshing change from the people usually breaking into his house.

“We can go back to the party, since you’re all patched up.” Eddie offered, though his actions betrayed his words as he effortlessly parted your legs with his knee, creating a gap he slid into perfectly.

“What’s the alternative?” You asked in a whisper.

“Whatever you want it to be,” he murmured, face now inches away from yours. A genuine smile graced your features as you wrapped your arms around the rockstars neck.

It may have moved a little too fast, though there were no complaints from either of you at the time. In fact, you both welcomed it. Losing yourself completely in the moment and this magnetic pull you felt towards one another was freeing. A spark ignited with a touch, then a kiss — and fuck was Eddie Munson a good kisser.

His lips were tender, although his actions were rather harsh. Desperate even, as he squeezed your jaw with one hand and pushed his mouth into yours further. You returned the same energy, aching to be even closer. Heads rotating in perfect rhythm, you tugged at his hair and he groaned against your mouth at the slight pressure then lightly bit your bottom lip to force his tongue down your throat.

He tasted of tobacco and whiskey. Normally that kind of shit puts you off, but with Eddie, it was honestly intoxicating. He quickly asserted dominance, tongue intertwining itself with yours as his ring-clad fingers dug into your flesh. You moaned into his mouth. The flame inside you burning brighter with every passing second.

Eddie’s head was spinning. He pulled apart briskly, only to catch his breath before he dipped his head to your neck. Licking then biting, sucking and kissing. Both his hands were back on your waist and they effortlessly pulled you closer towards him, the bulge concealed by his denim shorts now pressing against your bare thigh.

His name escaped you repeatedly in mere whispers and whimpers, and you felt Eddie’s mouth turn up into a smirk against your neck. “Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t stop makin’ them pretty noises for me.”

“Then don’t stop kissing me.”

A request he gladly obliged as his lips found yours once again. This kiss was slower than your first, but equally as passionate. His strong hands moved up, under the loose cover of your shirt until he reached your underboob.

“I was gonna complain about you wearing so much clothes to a fucking pool party, but…” Eddie draws out the last syllable as his thumbs grazes over your hard nipples. “... this way is so much better, sweetheart.”

“Then keep going,” you whisper, body screaming with desire, aching for more. Begging to be touched. Begging to be turned into a fire, tipped off with gasoline.

This was a dangerous game you were playing, getting hooked on a man you had only really met. A rockstar at that. Your lives, although borderline the same, were completely different. Your gut kept telling you there was no future here, but your heart didn’t care. You’ve gotten an accidental taste of Eddie Munson and you only wanted more.

Thankfully, it seemed like Eddie had the same idea.

He removes his hands from your breasts and drops them down to the waistband of your shorts. He kissed you again as his fingers desperately worked at the single button acting as a guard between him and what he wanted most this very moment.

“Can you lift yourself for a moment, sweetheart?”

You do as you’re told, allowing Eddie to slide the shorts past the curve off your ass, before letting them fall down your legs and to the tiled floor. His dark eyes meet yours as he grabs onto your thighs, squeezing at the flesh. And he holds your gaze while his fingers work their way upwards. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until he’s pulling your panties to the side.

Oh. Oh.

Eddie’s running a finger up and down the length of your slit, proud to feel how soaked you already were. The light teasing continued as he added another finger and you flinched at the first contact to your clit. He was relentless. Taking his time as you tried to arch your pelvis into his fingers, only to be met with a hand around your jaw, “Stop that.”

Releasing your face, he stroked his fingers downward, then up again, finally letting a finger linger on the hood of your clit. He began to draw little circles so that the skin moved over the head, rhythmically exposing and covering it.

“Eddie…” you drawled and he groaned at the sound of his name in your desperate tone of voice. So he didn’t waste any more time, slipped two ring-clad fingers easily between your folds and you shuddered at the cold of the metal. He repeated the action over and over, faster and applying more pressure with each time.

His mouth found yours once again, only this time he didn’t kiss you. Not really. Instead, his teeth latched onto your bottom lip and as you whined desperately while his curled fingers repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you, he bit down harder.

He fucked his fingers in and out of you. It was messy, rough, ecstatic. Then your back arched as he used his other hand to rub against your clit.

“Oh shit, fuck. Eddie, please don’t stop…”

You let your head fall backwards, eyes closing. Within seconds, a shuddering orgasm overcame you, but with steady control, Eddie kept going for what seemed like a minute. Only once you began to relax, he eased his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

A content hum was all you could offer. Satisfied, Eddie smiled to himself and placed a sloppy kiss to the slant of your jawline.

“Are you okay to keep going?”

You looked back at him then and bopped your head once, slowly. “Yeah… Yes.”

His devilish grin widened. “Good girl. Hold tight.”

Hands shifting to the curve of your ass as you wrapped your legs tight around him, Eddie lifted you up with little to no effort and carried you towards the bed. He didn’t take much care to drop you gently so you bounced against the mattress while he hastily removed his pants and crawled over you, grinding down into you — unsurprising, he’d gone commando.

He began to rotate his hips so that his cock was massaging back and forth across your semi-clothed cunt. He alternated his movements; sometimes slowed them down while other times increasing speed. His lips were glued to your neck in the moment, only adding to the pure exhilaration you were experiencing, while he worked to unbutton your shirt, spreading it to the side.

Forehead pressed yours, he glanced down briefly to admire your now naked chest. Your nipples were rapidly erect as Eddie proceeded to move his hands around them, massaging the tissue of your breasts. With splayed fingers, he squeezed and released, then lightly pulled the flesh, while his teeth attached themselves to your earlobe.

The teasing was relentless. “Eddie… Oh Eddie, please,” you whined quietly and another moan escaped your lips, louder this time.

The brunette on top of you groaned a mere second later. Unable to contain himself any longer, he tugged at your panties. Just as eager, you lifted your ass so he could slide the remaining garment off and toss it. Now you were naked in front of him, only the cotton shirt covering your arms.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Eddie whispered and lightly ran his fingers up and down your leg, while the other hand reached to cup your cheek. He leaned down to kiss you again. “My pretty girl.”

Heat rushed between your legs at the moniker. They parted a little more, desperate to increase the contact between the two of you.

“Let me grab a condom,” Eddie muttered against your bare skin and you nodded, releasing your hold on him momentarily ‘cause you didn’t want any accidental pregnancies with a potential to ruin your career, and even his.

Staring up at the ceiling, you heard him rummage through his bedside table. He’s back in your field of vision within seconds. There’s a look on his face that reads “are you sure you wanna do this”, and you tangle your fingers in his locks in response, pulling him closer.

Eddie lets his cock fall between your parted legs. He’s back to teasing you as he’s spreading your folds with the head of his dick, until it flicks over your clit. And you tug at his curls in the process, but he doesn’t care. A lustful look in his eyes. One that says, I can do this all night. Which he proves as the tip of his cock dragged across the entrance to your glistening cunt. Your legs would close slightly as if to trap it in that position. Eddie however, remained in full control.

“Please, please…” you begged against his hot mouth, “Please just fuck me. Fuck me, Eddie.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think America’s starlet was such a desperate fucking slut.”

With that, Eddie slammed the full length of his cock into you. No longer teasing. He was driving into your sodden cunt with a force that shook your entire body. His now glistening cock plunging in and out of you with ease. You were meeting his thrusts as best as you could while trapped under his massive frame.

To say you were experiencing a state of ecstasy you had never known before while fucking a man you’d only met an hour or so ago, would be a vast understatement. You felt dizzy and breathless as each stroke of his thick cock against your walls ignited the fire already burning bright. The sounds you were making were absolutely pornographic and in that moment, you were grateful Eddie locked the door ‘cause if anyone from the party were to come looking for him, or you, well let’s just say Page Six would have something interesting to write about, for once. This was a site to be seen.

Eddie leaned forward on his elbows, not like it was possible to be any closer but he sure as hell tried. One of his hands enveloped itself around your neck, while the other found your perfect tits. He alternated, kneading them and teasing your nipples, earning another sweet moan to escape through your parted lips. Then he lightly squeezed your neck and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Such a pretty girl,” Eddie muffled into your ear. “Fuck, baby. I don’t know what you’ve done to me. Just wanna fuck you forever.” He meant it. Your pussy felt amazing wrapped around his cock. Better than he imagined. Better in fact than anyone he’d ever been with.

The room was filled with sick sounds, from the squeaking of the bed, Eddie’s grunts and gruffs, to the pounding your aching cunt was receiving. You had completely given yourself over to the rawness of the situation, although it’s not like you had any inhibitions in the first place.

As Eddie continued to whisper dirty things into your ear, the length of his shaft sliding in and out of you with unnatural force, you buried your head in the crook of his neck, muffling only slightly your increasing guttural groans with each of his thrusts. And as your fingers abandoned his locks, trailing instead down his back, fingernails digging into his tattooed skin, you knew another climax was fast approaching.

“Eddie,” you barely muttered.

“Come on, baby. That’s it. Shit—”

He’s panting as he squeezes your neck again, recreating the pressure your throbbing cunt was feeling. That pushed you over the edge. Everything falls to a standstill as you come undone around him, crying out his name as if he was some sort of god; which in this moment, he might as well have been.

He didn’t give you a second to recover, continuing to fuck into you with such heedlessness, his own orgasm follows shortly after. He dropped on top of you and you gasped at the next few sharp thrusts, although slower than before right up until he cums.

“Fuck— Pretty girl, takes me so well.” Eddie breathed, completely blissed out.

The two of you lay there for a few moments longer, trying to catch your breaths. Everything was quite peaceful as you brushed his hair away from his face, gently forcing him to look at you. You offer him a smile. One he returns quite gladly.

Usually at this point, Eddie’s doing everything he can to get rid of the other person, but with you it felt different. He wanted you here for as long as you’d stay.

So, even though he didn’t admit it out loud, he was more than a little happy when you openly asked if you could “stick around” a little longer, maybe even fall asleep with him that night.

The last time Eddie had seen you, you were picking up your scattered garments off his bedroom floor before getting dressed. It was early. Too early for him, but you had a shoot you needed to get to and he wanted to kiss you goodbye.

“Promise not to break into any more houses, sweetheart.” Eddie teased against your plush lips, hand cupping your cheek.

“Just yours,” you teased back and kissed him, then again, and again. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

He almost didn’t let you go. He almost pulled you back under the covers for round three and four, and when you didn’t call his place later that day, he kinda wished he had. He hung around by the phone waiting for it to ring, then he felt pathetic for doing so.

The last time Eddie heard from you was a week later. He was back at the studio, working on a song he didn’t want to admit to his bandmates was actually about you. A girl he had no business being hung up on.

It was just one night, he would tell himself, but it was no use.

“Eddie,” Marianne hailed him and pointed to the phone, “Phone call for you.”

The curly-haired rocker exhaled a puff of smoke and picked up the receiver. “Hello. Who’s this?”

“Hey, sorry.”

His heart stopped ‘cause he recognised that voice anywhere. He shifted in his position, turning his back on the rest of the people gathered in the room just so they wouldn’t be able to read the expression on his face — longing.

“I know I said I’d call the second I finished at that shoot, but it went well into the night and honestly I just worried I'd wake you,” you explained. “Then I had a morning flight back to New York, a luncheon my grandmother had me attend plus some other family shit… Anyway, I just wanted to call and apologise, hope you’re not too upset with me.”

He was upset. Although the knowledge of that was a power he couldn't relinquish. Usually, he wasn't the one waiting around for the other person. He was upset he let you cloud his thoughts after only one night — as fucking fun as it may have been.

“It’s okay,” Eddie lied, 'cause it was easier than to say he missed you. “Honestly, sweetheart, I forgot you even said you’d call.”

There was a second of silence in which the rock star closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing while you fought back tears he didn’t even know he caused.

“Right. I guess honesty is what I asked for…” you muttered coldly. “See you around, Eddie.”

The line went dead. Beep. Beep. Beep. Eddie pressed the receiver to his forehead, his grip around it tightening. “Motherfucker—”

“All good?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah man,” Eddie lied again before turning back to the group. “Just some one night stand who mixed up the signals a little. Thought we’d be going out a second time, but I don’t do that shit.”

Not even one year later, that same exact “one night stand” stood in front of Eddie once more and you looked even better than that night last August. Your skin was glowing, or perhaps that was just the dim studio light. Your makeup was definitely a lot sharper and it only highlighted your already near perfect facial structure. Then there was your outfit. Dressed in a short denim skirt, tight on your curves and held snug in place around your waist with a belt he knew was more expensive than anything he’s ever owned, the bottom was paired with a white cashmere turtleneck, short sleeved and cut right above your belly button.

Eddie swallowed thickly. He swore he’d gotten over whatever spell you put him under back then, but as you greeted his bandmates with the biggest smile on your face, looking as good as you did, his heart skipped a beat or two.

“And our frontman, Eddie Munson.” Marianne introduced, glancing at Eddie with an encouraging look on her face.

The curly-haired man wiped his sweaty palms on the sticky pleather of his pants and extended his right hand in your direction. You looked at it briefly, the smile on your face faltering.

“We’ve met before,” is all you said, without even looking at him once, before turning to Marianne. “Should we just get started? I listened to the song, I have no notes, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Marianne glanced at Eddie then back at you. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Of course. Right this way.”

Eddie’s sad puppy-dog gaze followed you across the room. He observed silently as Marianne propped you in front of the microphone and handed you a set of headphones. He desperately wanted you to look at him. He wanted your eyes to lock with his ‘cause perhaps an unspoken apology offered only by a single exchange of glances would be enough to get you on the right track. But you didn’t.

“What the fuck did you do?” Gareth muttered next to him.

“I fucked up, man.” Eddie answered honestly this time. “Fucked up pretty bad.”

Gareth knew better than to press on the matter further, especially in front of everyone else, so he gently smacked Eddie’s back instead. It was a silent set of condolences, one Eddie definitely didn’t deserve since this was all his fault.

The band had all taken their places. Jesus Christ, he was really in for an unbearable day and he had no one to blame but himself. Sighing silently, Eddie crossed the studio and stood at the microphone, placed only a feet away from yours.

He stole another glance. You still refused to look at him, focusing instead on the carpet between your feet, hands on your hips.

“You know what I’m gonna say,” Marianne began, “But the day I don’t say it, is gonna be the day we make a shit piece of art so, here goes: good luck and have some fucking fun!” Then she disappeared into the other room, behind the glass.

An unsettling silence filled the air.

Usually Eddie would take the lead, but he found himself incapable. His attention was solely focused on you. Every inch of him wanted to shout, beg for any sort of acknowledgement. You continued to give him nothing and he thought you weren’t ever going to look at him again.

But then you did and frankly, that was much worse.

“Honesty, take one,” you said into the microphone while staring deadpan at the rockstar beside you. Confirming, without saying much else, that you knew this song he wrote was in fact about you.

part two

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson story #eddie munson drabble #celebrity skin.

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aresianrepose · 2 years

Text

Before the semester kicks off and murders me, @disniq asked for my essay on Jason Todd and hysteria. So, without further ado, here is an actual essay (fucking dissertation) because I refuse brevity. It is extremely long. I’ve split it into sections so you can find the section header and read what you want. This does not encompass all the narrative trauma themes and lived experiences that this boy holds, just specifically hysteria.

Jason Todd, The Hysteric & Bruce Wayne, The Batman

I think it’s a common reading that Jason Todd is girl-coded and the patron saint of victims, at least within the circle that I’ve fallen into within this fandom. There are plenty of meta discussions on why those readings stand, so I’m not going to reiterate them. A pillar of him being girl-coded and someone trauma survivors have latched onto as one of our own has to do with being written in the context of hysterical femininity. And let me just say, I don’t think that writing was done in a way that he was intentionally coded as hysterical, but it is a function of our patriarchal society that this coding was used on him albeit without the explicit purpose of writing a hysteric story.

For the purpose of this post: the word woman includes ciswomen, transwomen, and any person who is socially positioned as a woman regardless of gender identity. I include the positionality here because anyone can experience misogyny and sexism depending on the perception of the perpetrators either interpersonally or systemically.

The History and Context of Hysteria

To understand the context, we have to look at the history and oppression of hysteria. Hysteria (in the modern context of psychology) emerged in the nineteenth century and is difficult to define by design and often applied to traumatized, unruly, and broken women. The main patriarchs who contributed to hysterical study were Jean-Martin Charcot and Sigmund Freud. I only mention this because it’s important to know their names moving forward for any of this to make sense. The beginning of this started with Charcot literally putting women whose lives had been marked by rape, abuse, exploitation, and poverty on display in his Tuesday lectures (which were open to the public) to show his findings on hysteria. This was actually seen as restoring dignity (fucking yikes) to the women because before Charcot these hysterical women were cast aside and not treated at all. In Charcot’s work, the women’s speech was seen as simply “vocalization” and their inner lives, their stories, their words, were silenced. After hearing a woman cry for her mother during one of the public sessions Charcot remarked, “Again, note these screams. You could say it’s a lot of noise over nothing” (Herman).

This led to Freud, Charcot’s student, wanting to surpass his teacher by discovering the cause of hysteria. This was disastrous. Freud started with listening to the hysterics. In doing so, he learned and believed them about the abuse, rape, and exploitation of their pasts. He then published his work and gave a lecture on it. The work rivals even contemporary psychological work on trauma in it’s level of compassion, understanding, and treatment of survivors. However, he was then labeled a feminist (this was all happening during the first wave of feminism) and professionally ostracized. How in the world could these aristocratic French men be sexually abusing their wives, sisters, and daughters??? Insanity, truly. And... This always fucking gets me. He recanted his work and then told his patients they all imagined it because they wanted to be sexually abused by their husbands, brothers, and fathers. This set back the study of trauma by literally a century. One colleague called his work “a scientific fairy-tale” simply because he had the audacity to believe victims. Also, I want to point out that the famous hysteria case during this time was the case of Anna O and she was ultimately villainized by the entire psychological community for going into crisis after her care provider abruptly ended their therapeutic relationship after two years of DAILY sessions.

Anyway. We can see how the power of these men over vulnerable women silenced, pathologized, villainized, infantilized, and used male ‘logic’ to completely destroy their credibility and lives under the guise of care and hysteria. Even when credible men lend their expertise and voices to the victims, their voices are silenced. This particular iteration of hysteria lasted over a century, and we are still dealing with the consequences of these actions and ideas within our social construction, medical and mental health care, interpersonal relationships, and more. Patriarchal pillars such as hysteria don’t die. We saw it move from hysteria to schizophrenia (which used to have the same symptoms of hysteria before the diagnosis changed in more contemporary psychology) after this which led to widespread lobotomies and electroshock therapy (my least favorite case of a lobotomy being done is on a woman who was diagnosed with LITERALLY ‘narcissist husband’) to depression in the 40s-50s with the over prescription of benzodiazepines to house wives to keep them in a zombie state (these prescriptions were sometimes double and triple what we take today with the intent of medical catatonia). In my opinion, as well as other counselors within the feminist therapy theoretical orientation, we are currently seeing it with the emergence of borderline-personality disorder. Think about how BPD is treated and demonized for a second. I professionally know therapists who refuse to work with BPD clients due to this villainization and just fucking gross perception of victims.

These are just the highlights, but it shows the history of hysteria. There have been centuries of women being marked as hysterical and the cures have ranged from lobotomy to bed rest (which sounds not so bad but read the Yellow Wallpaper and get back to me on that one). While the Yellow Wallpaper is fictional, the life behind it was not. After the traumatic birth of her child the author, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, was remanded to bed rest by the authority of her husband and doctor. Within the sphere of medical control, hysterical women are often treated as children while their doctors make decisions for their mental well-being without consulting them, or they hide the truth of their procedures for “the woman’s own good” and because “she’s hysterical and wouldn’t comprehend the logical need for this.” She then had a mental break due to the treatment. Again, we see hysterical women being silenced, infantilized, discredited from their own experiences, and under the narrative control of male logic and voices.

Hysterical women have often historically been seen as beneath men, except for when they’re dangerous. Listening to victims is inherently threatening to the status quo because all trauma comes from a systemic framework. The framework that upholds patriarchal power. It’s easy to see why that would be seen as dangerous to powerful men. We saw this with the European witch genocide in which oppressed women were targeted and wiped out under the excuse of what was considered women’s work. (Before this time, witchcraft wasn’t tied to any religion and was mostly just seen as women’s work. It was targeted specifically to have an excuse to persecute widows, homeless, disabled, and vulnerable women who no longer had men to reign over them during a time of political unrest and scarce resources). This time period saw hysterical and traumatized women demonized as dangerous, evil, immoral, hypersexual, and supernaturally wily. A threat to the moral fabric of society.

(Interesting history side note: this caused the view of women’s base traits we have today. It stemmed from the Victorian era that came after this time period in which women learned if they behaved a certain way, they would be spared the stake. For example, before the witch trials, women were actually seen as the ones with unsatiable sexual appetites, something we culturally prescribe to men now.)

Notice how none of this has to do with the actual abuse that happens to the women, but instead the labeling and treatment of women when they are already showing the symptoms of abuse, trauma, control, exploitation, and rape.

Jason Todd, The Hysteric

So, how does this relate to Jason Todd? To say that Jason has experienced trauma would be an understatement. Extreme poverty, loss of parent to death and addiction, loss of parent to the justice system, parental abuse, manipulation, witnessing violent crimes, witnessing the aftermath of sexual abuse and assault, arguably (not explicit in the text) his own sexual trauma, witnessing the dead bodies of victims, a violent death, and subsequently a violent resurrection. There’s also an argument to be made for being a child soldier and how that is romanticized up until he dies, but the text does not treat this as traumatizing.

Now, I’m not going to dive into the trauma he experienced. The purpose of this is only to look at how he’s framed as hysterical in the narrative, and as I stated, hysteria was a word slapped on women after they tried to talk about their trauma or exhibited symptoms (or were just unruly women). Jason does embody many facets of the victim experience and this is just one of them.

Feelings vs “logic” - Firstly, it is really hard to talk calmly about things that you carry, your experiences, your trauma, and things that specifically harm you. It is easy to talk calmly about things that don’t. This is why there is an abuse tactic of gaslighting or silencing victims by framing their very real reactions to harm or their triggers as abuse, this is known as “reactive abuse.” This tactic is also employed in oppressive settings where the privileged group will often default to ‘winning’ a debate by being able to remain calm while the marginalized group whose life, personhood, etc is being harmed by the things being discussed and are unable to have a sterilized, emotionless debate.

Both of these settings fit Jason nicely within the moral context of vigilante comics. He fought back, he didn’t lay down, and he will do what he deems as necessary to protect himself and others from his fate. This, however, is framed by Bruce and others as being just as bad as his murderer or even just as bad as Joe fucking Chill. To put this in perspective of a real world equivalent. Combine every billionaire on this planet into one person and instead of their shitty business practices murdering people, they did it with their own two hands. And due to their resources and political power, they would never, ever stop killing or be reasonably contained. More people would die with absolute 100% certainty. Would killing that one person make you equally bad as that person or violating the sanctity of life? That’s the moral question that Bruce puts onto Jason. While the moral question inherent to Jason is actually, is there a line worth crossing to provide reasonable safety (for yourself or the nameless community)? There is actually a difference between those two questions and the reactive abuse framing is certainly a choice. Also, it is funny to me that a man with the amount of power Bruce has (and frequently misuses) can lecture a murder victim on the misuse of power and morality. Are we supposed to be agree with his stoic, philosophical lecturing to a marginalized, abused, murder victim? (yes, we are). Bruce leverages (personal) philosophy against victim’s voice for their own safety, and take a wild guess which one is framed as logical and reasonable.

Jason’s morals come secondary to Bruce’s philosophy in a universe where there is still harm being done (but it’s an acceptable harm). Why is killing the line? Bruce is regularly destroying families and lives by feeding them into the prison industrial complex while supporting it with his whole chest. Or he’s disabling and seriously maiming people with the level of violence he uses.

Crying - Throughout the entire story of Under the Red Hood, we never once see Bruce emote while interacting with Jason outside of tight grimaces. With the exception of the shock he shows at the Joker’s life being threatened, which... Okay, suuure. We never see him cry during any of their interactions, but we do see Jason cry. Specifically, we see him crying when he’s at his most emotionally vulnerable and physically dangerous to the toxic male power fantasy. This kind of vulnerability is rarely shown by male characters, and when it is, it’s usually done with a mist of a tear in their eyes or their face is hidden. There are a few narrative devices that allow men to cry, but they are the exception rather than the rule. Usually, it’s to play for laughs, infantilize, or emasculate. Here, we see Jason combine the violence of a bad victim, bucking the system of power, and fully crying. Just slide right into that hysterical coding like a glove. Jason often shows his feelings entirely. Time and time again, the readers have seen Jason have breakdowns, cry, and be overcome with grief. This is tied to his portrayal as hysterical and unstable in the narrative, but in actuality it shows his capacity for love and how vastly impactful his death was.

This fits nicely with the next point that Jason fits into the hysterical box. Love is framed as one of his key faults. A son reaching for his father.

Love - One of Jason’s defining features is the amount of love and compassion he holds. He’s willing to put up with any treatment, shoulder blame, and sacrifice himself for others to almost an unhealthy degree. However, this doesn’t extend to what he defines as his baseline safety. This one line of safety is the one thing that can’t be crossed, even with all of the love he feels for his father. He desperately wants to feel connection, have a family, and be loved in return with the same unwavering ferocity love that he gives. This is such a fucking key part of the victim experience, especially victims of childhood trauma. The desperation to just be chosen. He’s raw and honest with his reasonable expectation for love to provide safety for him and that is framed as hysterical, needy, unstable, naive, and fucking childish. Victims know what they need to have safety, and this framing as Bruce knowing what’s best for Jason and literally giving a cold shoulder to his needs is disgusting.

Less than - Jason is portrayed as less powerful than Bruce even though they have similar expertise. There are so many instances of this that if you just open any media they both appear in, you can close your eyes, point, and land on an example. It makes me die laughing every time I remember that the Arkham games made Jason just one inch shorter than Bruce. Like, they can’t even be the same fucking height, that’s the level of insecure masculinity surrounding this relationship. Jason cannot and will never be able to be on par with Bruce because of his hysterical femininity and the power of Bruce being the self insert for the toxic male power fantasy. This power dynamic applies to the other batkids as well, but specifically in Jason’s case there is an element of hysteria. The reasons change because he’s so inconsistently written but usually he can’t surpass or even meet a stalemate with Bruce because he’s too emotional, he’s unstable, traumatized, and simply Bad. It’s even explicitly stated by Alfred in Under the Red Hood.

Victim blaming - Jason deserved to die because he didn’t follow orders. Jason deserved to die for not following his training. Jason deserved to die because he was an angry Robin (oh no a child had an appropriate reaction to sexual violence). Jason deserved to die for being human.

Infantilization - Jason is repeatedly infantilized in contrast to Bruce. When given the ultimatum at the end of UtRH, Bruce speaks to Jason like a child, or a bad dog. Ordering him to do things like, “enough!” or “stop this now.” Bruce knows what’s best for Jason (and for everyone in the entire world), we should really just take his word for it and not the victim’s. Imagine staring at a 6 foot wall of a man and scolding him like a child. Beyond that, as mentioned above, his views of love and safety are framed as childish. Even though they are actually leaning more toward collectivism rather than the rampant individualism that Bruce so strongly defers to. (also, just a side note, collectivistic methods in healing from trauma is actually the only scientifically reliable way to heal. Every other method has absolutely abysmal results and higher rates of relapses.)

Silenced and Safety Villainized - Jason is silenced in his own story, acceptable and honored when he was dead and met with vitriol in life. All of the love given to him as Robin turns to ash as soon as he collides with Bruce’s power and morals. I think any survivor can relate to the experience of being told that what happened to them was a long time ago and it’s time to move on. Or even that they’re leveraging their own safety to get what they want in a manipulative way. Regardless of whether or not there was any accountability or justice for the harm done to them. Alfred asks Bruce if he should remove Jason’s memorial in the cave like two seconds after learning of his resurrection because Jason’s methods of securing safety for himself and using his own voice to define his story. Bruce was able to tell Jason’s story when he died. He was able to memorialize, grieve, and ultimately define Jason’s story because Jason wasn’t there to speak for himself. When Jason does speak for himself, he is villainized and literally stripped of his past significance as Robin (or a good victim) by Alfred within seconds. This is reflected in real life with adoptee advocates speaking about how adoption is unethical/harmful/traumatizing and subsequently being framed as ungrateful, selfish, etc. They were little perfect victims without voices before they grew up and could speak for themselves.

Erased - Gestures at the entirety of how Jason is either talked about or completely erased during the 90s Tim Robin run. He wasn’t convenient to talk about, as victims rarely are. This also ties into how Steph’s death was erased and Babs was written like she “won” at trauma by simply... beating it???

Dangerous - Jason is framed as threatening the basic fabric of society (in a story with vigilantes this is hard to do, so they have him oppose the no-kill rule, and then doubled down on Bruce’s characterization of no-killing). Anything that bucks the status-quo is usually marked as villainous in mainstream vigilante/superhero comics, but this is a step beyond that into the interpersonal and political sphere. Hysterical women are often framed as dangerous, villains, snakes, and treacherous (the other side of this coin is weak, pathetic, and pitiable) because they are victimized and then have the audacity to do something to the system about it. Whether that be the system of their immediate families or the political sphere. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Jason was paired with Talia in Lost Days to hammer this point home to the reader. It could’ve just as easily been anyone with access to the Pit that rescued him, but no, we had DC’s favorite brown, treacherous, venomous, female punching bag.

Bruce Wayne, The Batman

Bruce fits well into the father, enforcer, and logical man slot in Jason’s hysterical story. There is a history of ownership throughout women’s history when it comes to their subjugation to men. Women actually couldn’t be put on trial before the witchcraft genocide because they weren’t seen as legally a person. Their male owner would be put on trial instead. Women would go from being owned by their fathers to their husbands after entering marriage, the most dangerous woman being one who isn’t owned (orphaned, widowed). Bruce does treat (and even thinks) about Jason like he’s something that he owns. He’s his protege, his son, and his responsibility.

The narrative function of Bruce as a perpetrator in Jason’s story.

“The perpetrator asks the bystander (reader) to do nothing. He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear, and speak no evil. The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander (reader) to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement and remembering” (Herman).

Bruce does remember what happened to Jason. He keeps a permanent memorial to his dead son. However, this doesn’t translate into any kind of tangible action. He doesn’t do anything to actually stop the murderer who took his son’s life and he continues to throw child soldiers at the problem of crime (how many children have died for the sake of his no-kill rule at this point?). When met with the reality of his inaction, he fits into the perpetrator’s role like a glove:

“In order to escape accountability for his crimes, the perpetrator does everything in his power to promote forgetting. Secrecy and silence are the first line of defense... If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim. If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure that no one listens... From the most blatant denial to the most sophisticated and elegant rationalization... One can expect to hear the same predictable apologies: it never happened; the victim exaggerates; the victim brought it upon herself; and in any case it’s time to forget the past and move on. The more powerful the perpetrator, the greater his prerogative to name and define reality, the more completely his arguments prevail” (Herman).

I think it is simply fact at this point that Bruce is the head patriarch in Gotham if not, arguably, in the entirety of DC. That level of power in the narrative cannot be ignored, especially when faced with the very real, screaming voice of a victim that Bruce uses all of that power to silence. Bruce, because of his status as patriarch, default protagonist, and self-insert for the toxic male power fantasy, has the ultimate power to name and define reality. Especially to the reader. Bruce doesn’t deny what happened to Jason, because that’s physically impossible to do. But what he does do is ensure that no one listens to Jason, discredits him, and rationalizes his own inaction, actions of violence towards Jason, and victim blames.

Here’s Bruce using the most base form of denial and victim blaming:

After this panel, Bruce also revokes Dick’s access to his childhood home simply for asking a question.

This theme extends to other members of the batfam because of Bruce’s narrative power over them. It’s why we can’t have Dick, Steph, Babs, or even Damian step in and relate to Jason’s trauma or vindicate him. Even when we, the readers, can see parallels and wonder why these conversations or bonds aren’t forming. Jason HAS to be a lone wolf because he is hysterical and a threat to the system of power. This also shows why most of his runs in group settings outside of the batfam fall apart or fall flat. If he was humanized by any other character or had his trauma validated in any actionable way, it would be recognizing the failure of the toxic male power fantasy. The readers are not supposed to see the flaw in this system that allows the bodies of children to pile up and sympathize with one of their voices. It would be a crack in the system of power that exists not only in the source material, but very much within our real world.

Side note: Jason is allowed to interact with others in a wholesome and validating way when he no longer threatens the systemic power of Bruce. When he is silenced by the writers and plays the “nice victim” (like Babs does), he is allowed connection. Only when his healing is done in a way that doesn’t demand action and is only his personal responsibility (gotta love the rampant individualism). If he is hysterical, demands action, and asks for someone to be held accountable for his death, he is shoved away into a lone wolf box. Examples: Gotham Knights (from my very basic understanding, I haven’t played the game, only seen play throughs) and WFA. Victims are acceptable if they do their healing in a neat little box and stay there, but hysterics are the ones who step outside of that box.

Red Hood, The Political Voice of Hysteria and Trauma

Red Hood is deeply political in terms of hysteria and trauma. Herman stated that victims and those that authentically care for them or listen to them intently (whether that be interpersonally, clinically, or professionally) are silenced, ostracized, and discredited. Survivors need a social context that supports the victim and that joins the victim and witness in a common alliance. On an interpersonal level this looks like family, friends, and loved ones. However, trauma is systemic and the social context mentioned above must also be given on a wider social scale. For this to be done, there had to be systemic change and political action. Jason had the interpersonal social support and witnesses to his trauma ripped from him by Bruce. So, we see him move onto a systemic level of addressing trauma in his own political way. He literally cannot escape Bruce and this constant trigger because of Bruce’s philosophy and just... fucking power to define reality... being re-enforced constantly in DC no matter where he tries to go. So, he tries to heal by taking the systemic issue of perpetrators who cannot be held accountable or have fallen through the cracks of accountability into his own hands in a very personal way. A one man political movement.

Whether his methods are moral or ethical doesn’t really matter in the overall framing him as hysteric. He simply has to be opposed by the male power fantasy in some significant way. This shows that the goals, needs, and work towards victim’s and the marginalized’s freedom is dangerous, doomed to fail, and ultimately unethical if the victim is framed in a villain light instead of the more pathetic/pitiable iteration of hysteria.

You can see how this is not only problematic but also reflects the real world values instilled in arguments against human rights movements (which are intrinsically tied to victims rights). Defunding the police is dangerous, the MeToo movement is dangerous, abolition is dangerous, trans rights are dangerous, etc etc etc. Think of the victims voices tied to each of these movements and how they are integral to the real change offered by these political movements. You can’t have human rights violations without creating victims. And you can’t have political movements surrounding human rights without listening to victims.

We can also see how the individuals within these movements are ostracized, villianized, and often silenced (sometimes ultimately silenced with death) because they rally against the systems of power that victimized them. The framing of traumatized, vulnerable people as hysterical is integral to upholding the system of power that traumatizes and harms them.

A popular comic book movie adaptation that highlights the importance of Jason’s hysterical framing and how it impacts the political narrative/how he is written is V for Vendetta. To be fair, it received an insane amount of backlash by conservatives (not within leftist or liberal spaces) for V’s methods in over throwing fascism, but only because of the movie’s release date being so close to 9/11. V and Jason have many parallels, it’s only the lack of hysterical framing that makes V more palatable to the viewer. We are told, not shown through behavior, that V is traumatized by his past and he does not pick a fight with the protagonist that functions as a toxic male power fantasy. He is the protag, with his version of Bruce being men who are not framed in a sympathetic, heroic, or relatable light.

Additionally, there is literally an unemoting mask standing between the viewer and V, whereas Jason takes off his helmet to allow the reader to see every aspect of his trauma and pain. V readily dehumanizes himself into an idea, rather than a person. Whereas Jason screams to be seen as a person in a very hysterical way. So, we can see how the framing of Jason as hysteric against the logical, heroic man greatly impacts how the audience reads him when contrasted by a very similar political story/character who uses similar (and arguably more violent) methods to meet his ends. (This just made me realize that I would die for a Jason adaptation written by the Wachowski sisters).

Jason’s work as Red Hood is seeped in leftist, victim, and community centered politics. His portrayal as a hysterical antagonist (at best an anti-hero) is rooted in misogyny and upholding patriarchal, capitalist, and the prison industrial complex systems of power. He is the righteous embodiment of “the personal is political” for victims. Even his Robin run draws attention to and shows correct, angry reactions to the system of patriarchal power in sexual violence.

Patriarchal Writing and Enforcement

Jason is girl-coded and hysterical because he’s supposed to be emasculated, discredited, and disliked by the reader. He serves the narrative function of boosting the toxic male power fantasy of Bruce and in doing so, the writers use one of the oldest tropes in the book (one that we have all subconsciously been taught since birth) to get the reader on their side. Make him a hysterical woman.

References: for anyone interested in furthering their understanding of any of the concepts mentioned above and to, you know, use sources for my own writing.

Barstow, A. Witchcraze

Bondi, L., Burman. E. Women and Mental Health: A Feminist Review

Freud, S. The Aietology of Hysteria

Gilman, C. P. The Yellow Wallpaper

Herman, J. Trauma and Recovery

Ussher, J. The Madness of Women.

Van der Kolk, B. The Body Keeps the Score

Wilkin, L., Hillock, S. Enhancing MSW Students’ Efficacy in Working with Trauma, Violence, and Oppression: An Integrated Feminist-Trauma Framework for Social Work Education

#jason todd #bruce wayne #hysteria #dc #meta #clovis writes #listen I regularly have to write 20-30 page research papers on therapy theory and mental health #I'm so sorry this is so long but it is actually impossible to shorten it #one of my profs once said I write in a way that's academic but still readable and know the meaning of brevity #and I was like: sir I've never been accused of brevity before #this took 3 days to write and get my thoughts straight on it #remember: you asked for this lol #holy fuck the word count on this is nearly 5k I'm so sorry #I literally can't proof read this because my brain has shut off from reading this post #there's probably some stuff misspelled and also missing from this but I'm done with it lol

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galdra-studios · 11 months

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Hi everyone!

The spooky season is here, which is the perfect time to work on our designs for some more villainous characters heh heh!

This month, we bring you some art for Catherine and Julian, another student duo you’ll meet at the Academy, although you don’t run in the same “social circles” so to say. Even though the Seven Winds is meant to be a place for equal learning, some still place a lot of value on lineage. Will you be the one to breach their inner circle? And will it be with tricks or treats in mind?

We made another time lapse of this month’s header art, and this time it’s accompanied by some new music Jesper has been tinkering with~

This coming month Arcadia Fallen will be a part of the Adventure X sale on Steam. So if you, or a friend, needs a cozy adventure for Fall, then here’s your chance!

We have a window in the office that is home to a small collection of house plants. This year I bought a tomato plant, and it actually survived long enough to yield some fruits! However, Fall is a cruel season. Last week, when I opened the window to air the room for a bit, the cold immediately made the poor thing shrivel up and die. Rest in Peace Mr. Tomato.

Thank you so much for following our journey! And we’ll see you in December for another DevLog!

Cheers!

- The Galdra Team

#arcadia fallen #indiedev #visual novel #vndev #vn development #indiegame #art #galdra studios

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myloversgone · 1 year

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What Happens in Vegas…

Summary: Dean and Donna are in a relationship and, when they go to Las Vegas on vacation, she makes a decision that can change everything…

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings: +18 story! Do not read if you’re underage! Smut, descriptions of sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), p in v, dirty talk, little tiny bit of angst and body insecurities. Post series finale.

Word count: 7,100~ (I’m sorry I have no self-control)

A/N: What inspired me to write this story was Briana Buckmaster’s Instagram post about JIBCon 2023. I used her photos for the header. I hope you enjoy it!

A/N 2: This story can be read both as a one-shot or as a sequel to On My Way To You. Your choice ;)

A/N 3: I don’t own the song lyrics or the gif I used in this story. If you’re the owner of the gif, let me know and I’ll happily include the source.

MY MASTERLIST

Since Chuck was defeated, monsters got more rare and hunting became more of a side job for the Winchesters than their main activities. For Dean, that also meant he got to spend more time with Donna.

They’ve been together for almost three years but, for most of that time, they would be away from each other for long periods. With the defeat of their biggest enemy, Donna kept her work as a Sheriff, while Dean became a mechanic, taking jobs mostly in restoring classic cars, and going on hunts from time to time.

With his job being the more flexible one, Dean would usually go to Donna’s place so she didn’t have to ask for days-off and vacations all the time.

One afternoon, Donna got an early shift; the last one before her long-awaited vacation. She managed to take 15 days off, and she planned to spend each and every second of them with Dean, who had arrived in Stillwater that same morning.

They didn’t have any specific plans for her vacation but, on the way home, Donna had an idea.

“Dean, I’m home!”, she yelled from the front door as she entered the house.

“Hey, sweetheart”, he greeted, coming from the kitchen to meet her.

“Hey you”, Donna smiled, showing her dimples. She wrapped her arms around Dean’s neck while his circled her waist, squeezing her body against his and giving her a long kiss.

Donna moaned into his mouth. She would never get tired of kissing him. He was so thorough, so passionate and attentive. He would put his feelings in the smallest kiss, and she could always tell how much he cared about her with the simplest touches.

The woman pushed her fingers through Dean’s hair. It was longer now, for the first time since she met him and, according to Sam, for the first time ever. After a lot of convincing from her part, he agreed to let it grow a little. Everytime a strand would fall on his face, Donna’s heart leaped in her chest. It was the sexiest thing ever. She didn’t know how he managed to look better with age, but she found Dean sexier now than when she met him all those years ago.

Dean was also sporting a beard, but stopping him from shaving so often didn’t take too much convincing from her part. All it took was one wild night where he ate her out like it was his last meal, and his scruff left burns on her inner thighs. The morning after, when he saw the marks, he felt convinced enough.

“Dang it, thank goodness I’m on office duty today, ‘cause walking and running around with my pants scratching my thighs would be a pain in the ass…”, Donna mumbled in front of the mirror, checking the red marks while getting dressed for work. She shimmied into her pants and Dean came to stand behind her.

“You know you look damn sexy with these burn marks, right?”, he asked, kissing her neck, exposed by the tight bun her hair was tied into. That day, she ended up getting late for work.

Now, back in her living room, they broke the kiss, and Dean looked at her with bedroom eyes. “How was your day, beautiful?”

She blushed, like everytime he gave her a compliment. “It went fine, but I was counting the seconds to come home to see you, ‘cause I have an idea”. Donna said, smiling and placing a feathery kiss on his lips. She went past him, in the direction of the stairs leading to the bedroom.

Dean turned around to watch her climbing the stairs, openly ogling her ass. He loved that he didn’t have to steal glances anymore.

“Oh, yeah? And what idea is that?”, he asked, tailing Donna, taking two steps at a time to get to the bedroom’s door with her.

She looked at him over her shoulder, proceeding to take off her Sheriff uniform. “How do you feel about going to Vegas?”.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Dean loved the idea. It was going to be their first road trip together, the first time he was taking Donna on a long journey in the Impala. She didn’t even try to persuade him to fly to Las Vegas, because at that point, she knew all about his fear of planes. Plus, she loved the idea of being on the road with Dean and his beloved car.

The whole trip took two days. They stopped in a nice little hotel to get some rest, and three or four times in secluded spaces on mostly empty roads to make out whenever the sexual tension inside the car was too much for any of them to handle.

The rest of the time, they spent singing along to old rock songs on the radio, eating snacks, or chatting. Donna would usually sit right beside Dean, her head on his shoulder while he gently caressed her curly hair. She would fall asleep sometimes, feeling comfortable and safe by his side, but she did her best to stay awake, keeping him company.

Every once in a while, Donna would get lost in watching Dean drive. The way he owned that driver’s seat, how his long, broad body filled up the space, it was fascinating to her.

One of those times, Dean caught her looking.

“Why you staring at me, sweetheart?”, he asked, stealing a glance at her, eyes coming back to the road a second later.

“It’s just that- dang it, Winchester, am I the luckiest lady or the planet or what? Still can’t believe you chose me, ya know”, she shook her head, feeling a little emotional all of a sudden.

Dean looked at her again and reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers together and bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “You chose me too, D. You could’ve kicked my butt when I flirted with ya, or I could’ve been just a one time thing for ya, but you gave me a chance when I was deep down in the hunter life. I had nothing to offer and you still believed in me”.

Donna was again leaning her head on his shoulder, but she turned her face into his direction. “Watcha talking about? You stood by my side every time, during hunts, with my dickbags exes, you showed me I deserved someone good. You’re not just a pretty little face, Dean-o, you’re my guy”, she said, reaching up to give him a quick kiss.

He smiled against her lips, whispering “I love you, D-Train”.

She placed her head comfortably on his shoulder again. “I love you too, Dean-o. ‘Sides, Jody always told me you had it bad for me. I just needed to check if she was right”.

—-----------------------------------------------------

They arrived in Vegas before it was dark, and went straight to their room to shower and leave their luggage. The plan was to be quick so they could have dinner at the hotel’s restaurant and enjoy the casino.

They ended up getting late because Dean decided to join Donna in the shower.

After dinner, Donna watched Dean playing poker for a while, then they went to play pool together. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, watching her moving in the tight black turtleneck and blue jeans that accentuated every curve of her gorgeous body.

There were two guys playing in the other pool table right next to theirs and, apparently, one of them couldn’t take his eyes off of Donna too, Dean noticed. He would openly ogle her ass every time she bent over the table to play.

Donna didn’t seem to notice it. She took playing pool seriously. She wanted to win and Dean was a great player, so she focused on the game and her boyfriend. Also because he looked freaking amazing, and she couldn’t stop looking at him anyways.

But Dean wasn’t about to let a random dude ogle Donna, not only because she was with him, but also because the guy was being a freak. So when it was his turn to play, he moved to her side of the table, walking behind her and sneaking one arm around her waist, hugging her. Donna leaned against him, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her smile showed her cute dimples, and she returned Dean’s caress, kissing the corner of his mouth. He squeezed her tighter and said “I love you”, loud enough for the guy to hear.

Dean played and sneaked a glance to the other table. The weird dude and his friend had left.

Later in the night, Dean went back to playing cards, but Donna wasn’t feeling like it, so she stayed with him for a while and looked around the casino, observing other guests and thinking about what she wanted to do next. In one corner of the room, there was a karaoke machine.

Dean was focused on the game, but he noticed when Donna left his side. He followed her with his eyes. Her back was turned to him while she talked to a woman, an employee of the casino and, when she turned around, she had a microphone in her hands and a playful smile on her face.

Suddenly, he forgot all about the cards. Donna had a great voice, but she would never sing in public. Only when it was just the two of them. He’d told her she was really good, but she said he was just being nice. So the perspective of watching her sing in front of strangers made Dean feel excited, proud, and aroused, all at once.

When the song started, he knew which one it was before Donna could even open her mouth.

I love myself

I want you to love me

When I feel down

I want you above me

I search myself

I want you to find me

I forget myself

I want you to remind me

I don't want anybody else

When I think about you

I touch myself

As she sang, she ran her free hand on the sides of her body, moving with the rhythm of the music, shaking her head and her hips in an exaggerated but very sexy way, in Dean’s opinion. Cards completely forgotten on the table, he turned his chair around to have a better view of his girlfriend.

Donna put all of her powerful voice and confidence into the performance, eyes glued to Dean while she sang. She was doing that for herself, as an ego boost, just to prove that she could (with the help of a few drinks - baby steps), but it was also for him. Dean taught her that it was okay to speak her mind, to talk about sex and fantasies and how she wanted to be touched; how she wanted to feel. With that song, she couldn’t be more clear.

When the music stopped, the audience applauded and whistled. A few women went to the stage to compliment Donna, and even from a distance, Dean could see she blushed when a woman said “you should be a professional singer!”. When the ladies left, she walked back to him and he went to meet her halfway.

“So”, she started, staring at her feet and smoothing invisible wrinkles on her clothes, “what d’ya think about my performance?”, Donna asked, a dimpled smile adorning her features.

Dean was smirking, green eyes sparkling with delight. “Sweetheart, do you even need to ask? That was fucking awesome and incredibly sexy”, he answered, pulling her into a hug followed by a hot kiss.

She smiled against his lips. “Thank you. It’s true, though”, Donna stated when they broke the kiss.

“What is?”, Dean questioned, intoxicated with her taste.

“What the song says”. She watched his still confused expression. He really was inebriated. “I mean, when I think about you I do touch myself”, she whispered in his ear, standing on her tiptoes.

Dean felt her revelation going straight to his cock. If he hadn’t been already head over heels for her before, now he surely was.

“Jesus fuck, Sheriff Hanscum, you cannot say those things and expect me to not drag you to our room and have my way with you”, he said, circling her waist with one arm and guiding her in the direction of the elevators.

“Oh, well, I’d say mission accomplished then!”, she giggled, excited for what was to come.

—-----------------------------------------------------

After the night of fun and games, singing and drinking, they were both a little tipsy and eager to be alone. Their room was on the fifth floor and Dean couldn’t take his hands off of her, not even during the short elevator trip.

When they reached their destination, Donna opened the door and pulled her boyfriend inside. She locked the door and turned around to look at Dean, who was standing at the foot of the bed, hands in his pants pockets, staring at her with the most sexy smile, strands of hair falling on his forehead.

She bit her lip, smiling back.

“I had so much fun, babe”, she said, approaching him seductively. “And you look so very handsome all in black”, she raised her head to give him a kiss, and Dean wrapped his arms around her, taking the moment to run his hands all over her curves again.

“And you look hot as always, D”, he told her, squeezing her against his chest and lifting her chin to deepen the kiss, thoroughly licking inside her mouth, leaving Donna breathless. She threw her arms over his shoulders, sinking her fingers into the longer hair on the nape of his neck.

Dean broke the kiss and nibbled and sucked lightly on her jaw, making her throw her head back to expose her neck to him.

Between kisses and kitten licks, Dean would groan and nuzzle her, as Donna pressed her body further into his.

When Dean’s hands went under her blouse, she stopped him.

“Wait, Dean. I wanna take a picture. We both look fancy!”, she asked, excited, releasing him and searching for her phone in the tiny bag she placed on the bed when they arrived. Dean gave her a frustrated look, but she winked at him. “I gotcha, cowboy. We are not done. I just need to register this moment”, the blonde reassured.

She positioned the phone on the small vanity opposite to the bed. Dean came closer, resting his elbow on the back of the chair in front of the piece of furniture. When they were both ready, she clicked the button multiple times.

Donna checked the photos. “Oh, my, we look too serious! Let’s try smiling, okay?”.

Four or five pictures later, Dean was done with it. “God, woman, my face hurts from smiling!”. His grumpy complaint made Donna laugh out loud, and seeing her laugh made Dean laugh too, which resulted in a cute photo of them with beautiful smiles.

“Okay, I think we have enough pics! Lemme choose one to send to Jody and the gals”, said Donna, stretching her arm to grab the phone. But Dean was faster, and he swooped her into his arms before she could reach it.

She was laughing in surprise, and Dean threw her on the bed, laying on top of her, watching her amusement with nothing but pure admiration in his eyes.

“Damn, my girl is a bombshell”, he stated, taking in every detail of her, luscious, wavy blonde hair splayed on the pillows, rosy cheeks and dimples adorning her pretty face.

She averted his gaze, blushing with his compliment even after all those years. “Am not”, Donna dodged his comment.

“Yes, you are, baby. Beautiful, hot, sexy, all blonde and perfect and mine”, he insisted. She placed her hand on his cheek, thumb lightly caressing his full lips.

Dean leaned down and kissed her deeply, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned underneath him and pulled back to take her top off, exposing her black lacy bra to his gaze. She worked on unbuttoning his shirt then, while he kissed the air out of her.

When Donna was done with Dean’s shirt, her hands traveled down to his pants, unfastening them. She could see the bulge of his erection stretching the cloth. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Her boyfriend was beautiful all over, and the excitement she felt the first time she saw him naked never really faded. It was still there, every time he got out of the shower or undressed in front of her.

But Dean grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. By then, she was only in her lingerie. He had worked fast on removing her pants, eager to feel her skin.

Dean’s mouth went to her neck and collarbone, slowly working his way down. When he reached her breasts, he gently bit the meaty part right above the cups of her bra.

“Mmmm, D, your tits are amazing”, he said, voice muffled while still working his magic with his tongue and lips. “I could spend hours using my mouth on them and make you cum with just that”, Dean looked up at her, green eyes glistening, locks of hair falling over his forehead. He looked devilishly handsome.

Donna moved under him, opening her legs wider to fit Dean’s body in between and, hopefully, get some friction where she needed it the most. “I know you could, cowboy, but not today. You’re killing me here”, she pleaded, already breathing hard.

“Tell me what you want, baby girl”, he teased, releasing her wrists so he could use both hands to take off her bra.

“Want you in me, Dean”, she moaned, and the sight of her bare chest and her needy request made his cock twitch in his pants.

He desperately wanted to fuck her hard and deep, make her scream and sweat under him, but he also wanted to tease her a little, enjoy her creamy skin and generous curves, get lost on her body, smell her, taste her as much as he could. Dean felt like he could spend his entire life with Donna and never get enough of her.

“I wanna taste you, sweetheart. Can I?”, he kept going, mouth glued to her skin, releasing her left nipple and leaving it sensitive. He was kissing her navel, with his hands on her hips, arms hooked under her knees to keep her open for him.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Dean, just do it already”, she cried desperately, writhing under him.

He chuckled and kissed her lower belly, right above the panty line. “Do you know how much I love your skin, Donna? How soft you are? How the curve of your hips drives me crazy?”, his fingers were digging onto her sides, his huge, calloused hands holding her, then descending to the curve of her butt. “You’re so fucking hot, it’s unbelievable”.

“Stop teasing, dirty boy”, she asked, taking action this time. She freed her legs and got a hold of him with them, using her knees and heels to pull Dean up and reach his mouth, giving him a passionate, open mouthed kiss. She sucked on his plump lower lip, positioning her arms around his muscular shoulders. Dean still managed to sneak his hand between her legs, pressing over her mound with his palm, long, thick fingers easily finding her center.

“So wet for me, D. So beautiful”, he complimented against her lips. Donna sighed in relief and satisfaction, finally having him where she wanted. Well, she actually wanted Dean to fuck her, to fill her up in that way that only him could, but she wouldn’t deny being pleasured by his fingers, not at all. Especially because he knew exactly how to make her crazy with those massive hands of his.

“Oh, Lord, I need to feel you, Dean. Please, honey”, Donna gave him her best Minnesota drawl, knowing that her boyfriend couldn’t deny her anything when she spoke like that.

She was right. Dean groaned and stood on his knees on the bed, ripping her panties off. Literally. The lacy fabric was turned into scrapes, making her gasp in surprise and excitement. They’ve been crazy in the bedroom before, but not rip-your-clothes-off crazy. She felt herself getting wetter, knowing that anything he wanted to do would be wonderful.

Dean wasn’t as willing to keep teasing Donna as he was before. She was driving him mad with her little noises and her begging, he was almost sending all the tease to hell and skipping right to the main attraction. She used to be so quiet and shy in bed, that having her leading him on was incredibly arousing.

When she was completely, beautifully naked in front of him, her perfect wet cunt exposed to his sight, making his mouth water, he thought it was time for him to feel more of that amazing skin of her against his. Also, his pants were way too tight with how hard his cock was.

So he threw what was left of her panties aside and started to unbutton his pants. Donna sat on the bed and helped him with it, throwing the piece of clothing into a corner of the room when she was done.

She kissed his naked chest and down, putting her mouth right where the line of hair started under his belly button. Dean knew what her intentions were, but he couldn’t take it now. Maybe later, definitely later, but first he needed to taste her.

“No, no, not now. C’mere”, he pulled her up, holding her chin with one hand and taking her hand in his other one. He guided it to the front of his boxers, making her feel how painfully hard he was.

“Look how hard you make me. Lemme taste you now, lemme do it so you’ll be ready for me”, he said against her mouth, his face inches from hers, his hot breath forming goosebumps on her skin.

“Yes, babe. Do it”, she whispered in response, squeezing and caressing his cock through the thin cloth.

Dean gave her one more wet kiss, placing his hand on the back of her head and gently pushing her to lay back on the bed. He remained on top of her and between her legs, letting go of her lips and keeping eye contact while snaking down her body.

He started by kissing her pussy, right below the patch of hair she kept neatly trimmed. Then, Dean used his thumb and index finger to spread her lips and expose her clit, immediately putting his mouth on it. With the first contact of the tip of his tongue, Donna was moaning loudly.

“Ohhh, good Lord in Heaven”, she threw her head back, fists holding the sheets tightly.

Dean moaned, knowing very well how the vibration of his voice would increase the pleasure. He started sucking and licking on the little nub, adding a finger into her entrance right after, heart racing in anticipation when he felt how slick and wet she was.

He licked her thoroughly, pressing his nose and chin into her, fucking her with his tongue and pushing her closer to the edge with every movement.

It didn’t take long for Donna to come, calling his name and holding onto fistfuls of his hair.

Dean stood on his knees again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while she recovered.

He removed his boxers, giving her a full view of his perfect body and of how hard he was.

“Jesus H, Winchester. You have no business looking that good”, Donna stated between labored breaths, watching him. Dean chuckled and laid down by her side, supporting his head with one arm and circling her waist with the other to pull her body closer and kiss her.

Donna could taste herself and the whiskey they drank during dinner in Dean’s mouth. She sucked on his tongue, moaning. That man’s mouth was made for kissing, she had no doubt.

He ran his hands all over her curves, enjoying her softness and warmth. He couldn’t help but return to her breasts, giving both a good squeeze and pinching her nipples.

She gasped against his mouth, breaking the kiss. “I want you now, Dean”, Donna said, looking right into his eyes, the brown of her irises glistening.

“You have me, baby”, he answered, positioning his body on top of her and entering her slowly, just the tip first, knowing he was not small and even with how wet she was, he needed to be careful to not hurt her.

Dean asked if she was ok, to which Donna nodded, biting on her lower lip while watching the wide head of his cock stretching her pussy.

He pushed further, halfway through his length, and she shivered, throwing her head back.

“Ooooh, fuuuck”, Donna cursed under her breath, sinking her nails into his bicep, the feel of him inside of her too good to handle.

“It’s okay, beautiful, I’ll go slow so you can take all of me”, he grinned proudly, making her giggle.

“Gimme more, big boy”, she pleaded, shimmying her hips to pull him deeper.

He finally buried himself to the root. He could feel all of her, her walls constricting around him, increasing his pleasure almost to the unbearable.

“Wow, D, you feel so fucking good”, he said, kissing her again and pulling his cock almost all the way out, just to push it all in again, making her moan and whimper.

“You too, cowboy. You’re stretching me so good, it’s so hot”, she reached down his back, squeezing one buttcheek to take him deeper. At the same time, Dean angled his hips upwards, pressing right into her clit, and she cried in pleasure.

Crossing her ankles behind his knees, she made herself even tighter, while Dean fucked her deep, long strokes hitting the perfect spot.

Donna lifted her torso from the bed, arms around her boyfriend’s neck, and kissed him, pulling his plump lower lip between her teeth. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, and Dean softly nibbled her throat and snapped his hips harder against hers, fucking her into the matress. He could tell she was close and she could feel him too, deliciously pulsing inside her.

To make sure she would come first, Dean sneaked his hand between their bodies and pressed his palm over her mound, pushing her clit against his dick and keeping the upwards movements with his hips, knowing it would be enough to drive her off the edge.

“Open your eyes, Donna. Look at me when you come on my cock”, he commanded between his teeth, jaw clenched in an effort to keep going while she hit her peak.

Donna did her best to obey, even through the fog of incredible pleasure she was in. Her pussy tightened and Dean groaned louder. He buried himself impossibly deep and the angle of his hips was exactly what she needed to cum, shaking and trembling under him, digging her nails into his muscular back, her eyes open and boring into his, pupils dilated and face contorted as her body experienced the strong orgasm.

The tightness of her was enough to trigger Dean’s release, and he guided her through her orgasm while he throbbed inside her. He mouthed a throaty “fuck” when it was his turn to cum, flooding her with his warm seed.

Donna could feel Dean’s cum leaking down her pussy, her ass and the back of her thighs. He was fucking her so deep, keeping his cock buried like he wanted to plant his seed into her. She rotated her hips, adding to both their pleasures and milking him dry. Dean panted and grunted, face buried in her neck, and she knew he had an amazing ride too.

Once they were both done, Dean didn’t move, with half of his body still laying on top of Donna, his softening cock still inside of her. He gave a deep, exaggerated sigh and she chuckled, kissing his shoulder.

“You ok, Dean-o?”, she teased, the hands that were around his neck now descending to caress his back slowly.

“Oh, yes. I couldn’t be better. I might need a few hours to be back on my feet, though”, he muttered, face still buried on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Donna chuckled, and decided to keep pushing his buttons. “Oh, ok. I was kinda expecting you to be ready for another round soon. I mean, I could be on top this time-”

Dean didn’t even let her finish talking and he was already holding her waist and quickly flipping them over, so she would be straddling his hips.

Donna left out a squeal and started laughing her ass off. “My lordy, Winchester, I really learned how to win you over, huh?”, she said, leaning down to give him a kiss.

“You know I’d do anything to have you on top of me”, he said after they pulled apart.

He pushed her long hair out of the way and placed one hand on the side of her neck, guiding her into the kiss while his other hand was running up and down her thigh, the softness of her skin against his calloused palm a perfect contrast.

“Anything?”, she asked, whispering inches away from lips and grinding her center down his cock that, she could feel, was getting hard again.

“Yes, baby. Anything. Anything to watch you riding me, those beautiful tits bouncing just for me”, Dean reached behind her, holding his cock and guiding it back inside her. Donna took him with a sigh of satisfaction. “I wanna appreciate all of you, D. Every perfect inch”, he stated, thrusting up into her as she grounded down, both of them finding that perfect rhythm, that push and pull that would once more prove how they were meant to be together.

“You’re so amazing, Dean”, Donna said, sitting back on him and guiding his hands to her breasts. “You make me feel beautiful”.

“You are beautiful, sweetheart”.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Her head was on his chest, and Donna drew lazy patterns on the muscles covering his ribs. She always loved the smell of him, but especially right now, when it was a mix of the cologne she bought him as a birthday gift, sweat, and sex. The perfect combination.

“I love you, Dean”, she bluntly said, lifting her head to look at his face. He’d been toying with her hair, curling the waves between his fingers. He stopped and looked down at her; she was smiling.

He smiled back, thinking that the life he had now was so much more than he ever thought he deserved, that he never thought was even possible. “I love you too, D-Train”.

She kissed his chest and started to move with the intention of getting up.

“Where ‘you going?”, asked Dean, not happy with the loss of her body on top of his.

“I’ll be right back, cowboy, just gonna get the PJs I have in my suitcase and-”

Dean interrupted her explanation by moving fast, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her back to him by her waist.

She squeaked and giggled, having been caught completely off-guard this time. “Dean Winchester, whatta hell ‘you doing?”

With her on his lap, he kissed her shoulder and neck, nuzzling and inhaling her scent before answering. “I’m stopping you from getting dressed”.

“Why?”, she questioned, raising an eyebrow and twisting on his lap so she could face him.

“‘Cause there’s no point. I’m gonna undress you again, probably sooner than later. So, if you wanna sleep now, you better sleep naked and save me the trouble later”, he winked at her, and she pushed her fingers through his hair.

“Fiiine”, she rolled her eyes in fake annoyance and leaned forward to give him a kiss before they would lay side by side, falling in a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Donna woke up in the middle of the night with her bladder so full she thought it might explode. Doing her best to not disturb Dean’s sleep, she got out of bed as stealthy as possible, walking to the bathroom but stopping halfway to steal a glance at her boyfriend.

He was sleeping on his stomach, arms tucked under the pillow. She admired the round muscles on his shoulders and biceps, and how the dim light touched the dip in the middle of his back, accentuating the plain muscles she loved so much. He looked peaceful and so, so beautiful, she could barely believe he was real.

She smiled and resumed her path.

As she was washing her hands after peeing, she got lost in her thoughts, and the resolution to make a big decision settled in her loving heart. But first, she needed to talk to someone.

"Hey, Jack", she called in a whisper, looking up, uncertain of how exactly this thing would work. It's not like she had a personal, direct connection with God before.

Somehow, she knew he was listening, so she cleared her throat and kept going, still in a whisper, deciding it was better to say it out loud than just think.

"Okay, Jackie-boy, I hope things are okay up there and that you're not too busy right now. If you are, you can listen to this message later… or, whatever. Not sure if you have a voicemail or something". She shook her head, feeling foolish but needing to get on with what she wanted to do.

"I just wanted to say that I'm doing something life-changing in a few hours, and I want to ask you to help me with that. I mean, if what I'm gonna do is too crazy, can you please stop me before I do it?", she chuckled and tears filled her eyes.

"I don't think I need to go into much detail, 'cause you probably know what I'm talking about, since you're God and all, so… yeah, if you can just do your stuff and guide me through this, that would be great". Donna took a deep breath and some tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, and I also wanna thank ya, by the way. Whatever happens- doesn't matter how life goes for me… if- if for some reason Dean and I don't… if we don't get to stay together", she stopped herself, the mere thought of being without Dean breaking her heart into a million pieces. "I just need you to know that I'm grateful for every single second I've spent with him so far. He changed my life for the best and I-", her voice broke in a cry of happiness and fear, all at once, "I love him very much. He's the best man I've ever met". She took another deep breath, closing her eyes and wiping away the tears.

Donna opened the bathroom door and went back to the bedroom. Dean hadn't moved, and she really didn't want to wake him up, but she couldn’t help but curl up into his side when she laid down. Without opening his eyes, Dean turned on his side, making space for her and throwing his arm around her waist. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep, at peace with her decision and hoping for the best.

‐‐—---------------

The next morning, Dean woke up to the sight of a naked Donna between his legs, lightly scratching his thighs with her fingernails. When he opened his eyes, she gave him a wet kiss on a spot dangerously close to his groin, instantly waking up his dick.

“‘Morning, handsome”, she sang, giving him another kiss, this time on his pelvis, right above the patch of hair framing his cock.

“‘Morning to you too, Sheriff. What are you doing down there? Trying to murder me?”, he asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Nah, just wanna put my mouth on ya. Ya know, repay what you did for me last night”, she replied, kissing the root of his hard cock. Even though Dean recognized he had great stamina, the way his body reacted so fast to Donna was amazing even to himself. He felt like he was 20 and horny all the time.

“You don’t have to pay me back-”

She interrupted him by holding his cock and surrounding it with her mouth. Donna moaned and sucked eagerly, placing her elbows on the bed to support her weight and lifting her hips to give him a view of her round, full ass.

“God, woman”, he hissed, enjoying the feel of her hot mouth on him. He lifted his head to take a good look at her, the main character of each and every one of his dirty dreams.

Donna was being thorough, sucking and licking him like a lollipop, taking him as far as she could, dragging her lips around his dick and using her nails on his belly and thighs, making his breath hitch with every move.

Dean couldn’t help himself, so he reached for the messy bun on the top of her head and undid it, holding her long hair in a ponytail and fucking her mouth while guiding her up and down his length. The noises she was making and the feel of her tongue on the vein on the underside of his dick were driving him crazy. He wouldn’t last much longer.

“Fuck, Donna. Fuck, I’m gonna cum”, he warned after a particularly satisfying thrust, feeling that familiar pressure building up.

She sucked him further down her throat and swallowed, and he lost it, thick ropes of cum filling her mouth. Donna drank as much as she could, enjoying Dean’s taste and scent. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think of how much he helped free her from her inhibitions, showing her how good it was to have someone she could trust and feel comfortable to be herself around.

Jody was the friend to first point out how Donna’s previous relationships hadn’t worked because the guys were assholes, and not because there was something wrong with her. But Dean was the first man to show her there were good guys out there, and how amazing it was to be treated with respect and love, to make her feel desired and sexy.

She released his softening cock with a pop and started to get up to go clean her mouth, but Dean pulled her from the foot of the bed, grabbing her butt with both hands while he kissed her, shoving his tongue inside her mouth, finding the mess they made incredibly hot.

He licked and bit her lips gently, squeezing her buttcheeks and giving a light slap, making her gasp and hum.

“God, baby, that was so dirty and sexy”, Dean said, hugging her waist with the intention of keeping her on top of him, but she shook her head, laying on her side of the bed and patting her chest, signaling that he should be the one covering her.

He accepted, placing one leg between hers and making himself comfortable on her breasts. Half of his body was on top of hers and they just stayed like that, in silence for a few minutes. Dean was listening to her heartbeats, while Donna was caressing his hair lazily, watching his post-sex doziness. His eyes were closed but he was awake, she could tell by his breathing. That seemed to be the right moment to put into action the plan she “discussed” with Jack during the night. She took a deep breath, gathering the necessary courage.

“Dean?”.

“Hmm?”

“‘You awake?”

He chuckled, his deep voice resonating in her chest. “Yes, sweetheart. Ready for another one?”.

She giggled and shook her head. “No, that’s not it. I mean, duh, of course I won’t deny another round, but that’s not what I was going to ask”.

Dean lifted his head a few inches and tilted his neck to look at her. “What, then?”

She looked down to meet his eyes, the clear green making her heart skip a few beats. Donna opened her mouth to speak and blushed deeply, unsure of where to start.

Dean looked worried. “What is it, D? Something wrong?”

“N-no! Everything is perfectly fine! Peachy”, she assured, voice higher than normal.

“Okay, so tell me”. Dean waited, watching her face.

“Well, the thing is… I love you. You love me. I mean, you do, right?”, Donna asked, suddenly unsure, regardless of Dean having repeated many times how much he loved her.

“I do, Donna. I love you so freaking much”, he smiled, stretching his neck further to give her a kiss.

“‘Kay, so we love each other, we’ve been together for a while now, we’re here in Vegas… Oh, shoot, Dean, what I wanna ask is if you wanna marry me!”

He stared at her in silence, his mouth opened in shock.

Five seconds later Donna was on the verge of tears, sure that he would say no and/or laugh on her face.

But Dean smiled, and the smile reached his eyes, showing the wrinkles that she found so adorable.

“Are you seriously asking me to marry you in Vegas? With Elvis as a minister and everything?”, he questioned, the playful smile still there.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Please, just answer my question or I think I’m gonna have a heart attack”, she pleaded, frowning a little and bracing herself for the blow.

“And you really thought I would say no to that? Me, Dean Winchester, say no to getting married in freaking Las Vegas?”

It was Donna’s turn to just stare at him, not quite following if that was a yes or a no. Her mind was blank, her insecurities taking over.

“Ask me again, Sheriff”, he said.

“What?”, she shook her head, sure she didn’t understand his request.

“I said, ask me again”, Dean repeated, reaching for her face and lovingly caressing her cheek.

“Okay”, she took a deep breath. “Dean Winchester, do you wanna marry me?”

“I do, baby. I would love nothing more than to marry you”.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Later that day, after they left the chapel as husband and wife and went to celebrate over burgers and beers, Donna sent a few pictures to Jody. Some she kept only for herself and Dean, so they could look at them every once in a while and relive the memory of what happened in Vegas.

THE END

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Taglist: @sexyvixen7 ; @candy-coated-misery0731; @dean-winchester-lover99; @thoughts-and-funnies; @avanatural; @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior; @eevvvaa; @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes; @djs8891; @akshi8278.

#dean x donna #dean winchester x donna hanscum #dean winchester fanfic #donna hanscum #dean winchester

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kimageddon · 2 years

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The Tarot Series - 1 - The Magician

Description: The Magician is one tarot card that is filled with symbolism. The central figure depicts someone with one hand pointed to the sky, while the other hand points to the ground, as if to say "as above, so below". This is a rather complicated phrase, but its summation is that earth reflects heaven, the outer world reflects within, the microcosm reflects the macrocosm, earth reflects God. It can also be interpreted here that the magician symbolizes the ability to act as a go-between between the world above and the contemporary, human world.

On his table, the magician also wields all the suits of the tarot. This symbolizes the four elements being connected by this magician - the four elements being earth, water, air, and fire. The infinity sign indicates the infinite possibilities of creation with the will.

Upright: The Magician is the representation of pure willpower. With the power of the elements and the suits, he takes the potential innate in the fool and molds it into being with the power of desire. He is the connecting force between heaven and earth, for he understands the meaning behind the words "as above so below" - that mind and world are only reflections of one another. Remember that you are powerful, create your inner world, and the outer will follow.

Reversed: When you obtain the Magician reversed, it might mean its time for you to implement some changes. While right side up, the Magician represents true power, the reversed Magician is a master of illusion. The magic that he performs is one of deception and trickery. You may be lured in by the showmanship of his arts, but behind that there may be an intention to manipulate for selfish gain. Getting this card might mean that there is someone who pretends to have your best interests at hand when the opposite is true.

Consider whether this reversed the magician is in your circle, or perhaps might also represent your current state of emotions. It may mean you may become obsessed with power and that might lead to wrong, reckless decisions that will lead to your eventual downfall.

Character: Obi-Wan is wise, and believes in balance above all things, though he is very much a Jedi at heart, his connections to people, Anakin, Ahsoka, Satine, give him a grounded human element. In the reverse, it is just what might happen were Obi-Wan to turn to the Dark Side.

The List of Tags: (If your name is crossed out then check your settings! Tumblr is not letting me tag you!) @two-black-leviathans @fallenrepublick @ashotofspotchka @littlepossss @octupus-on-the-moon @justalittletomato @mach-opress @mustluvecho @nahoney22 @leotatombs @eloquentmoon @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @maulslittlemeowmeow @misogirl828 @alwayssnivellus @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @bacarasbabe @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @rain-on-kamino @roguethe0tter

Wanna be notified when I post my next work? Join my tag list

#the tarot series #star wars tarot #tarot cards #obi wan kenobi #kenobi #kenobi series #the magician #the major arcana #tarot

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 4 months

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Bucky waking you up in the best way possible on your birthday

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky wakes you up in the best way possible on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, female receiving, vibranium arm kink, praise kink, pet names

A/N: My birthday is tomorrow (May 29th) and I had to write and post this. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

A pleasure filled hum left your lips when you felt something in between your legs on your lower region. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked under the blanket to see Bucky in between your legs and eating you out like his life depends on it. Bucky’s free hand tossed the blanket off of the two of you so you can see him.

“Good morning, babydoll.” Bucky huskily says against your pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned in response.

Bucky smirks against your pussy and continued to eat you out. He brought his vibranium hand up to your breasts, giving one of them a gentle squeeze. You shivered at the feeling of the cool vibranium against your skin. Bucky’s tongue flicked against your clit while two of his fingers on his right hand were fucking you. The stubble of his beard was scratching your inner thighs in the way you love so much. Bucky’s eyes flickered up at you, making eye contact with you. His vibranium hand left your breast to caress your chin. He tilted your head down to get a better look at your face. His vibranium thumb rubbed across your bottom lip. You parted your lips just enough for him to slide his thumb in your mouth. You sucked on it, swirling your tongue around it like you do with his cock. Bucky slowly took his thumb out of your mouth and brought it down to your pussy, removing his mouth from your clit and replaced it with his thumb, applying a little bit of pressure as he rubbed it in circles.

“Bucky!” You moaned loudly.

“That’s right, birthday girl.” His voice is husky. “Keep moaning my name.” He says.

His name left your lips like a chant. It was like music to Bucky’s ears.

“I can feel you getting close, doll face.” He says, feeling your pussy flutter around his fingers.

“Mmm yes!” You moaned. “Please let me cum.” You begged.

“You don’t need my permission to cum on your birthday.” He says.

His thumb applied more pressure on your clit as he rubbed it and his fingers moved fucked you faster. Your hands clutched the sheets beneath you. A loud moan of his name left your lips as you came hard. Bucky’s fingers fucked you through your orgasm. He gave your clit one last rub before taking his fingers out of your cunt and licked your release off of his fingers, moaning at your taste. He then kissed up your body. You gasped when his teeth bit down hard enough on your skin to left a hickey. He kissed you hungrily when he got to your lips.

“Happy Birthday, doll.” Bucky says against your lips.

“Mhmm, thank you, babe.” You say, smiling against his lip.

“Just know, there’s more to come on your special day.” He says seductively.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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propagandaprincess · 2 years

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Hi all. I'm finally back (sorta) with that story I promised months ago. Life got hard folks. It still is but I still love this fanfic idea so here it is. I haven't written many chapters but it is plotted. We will see how often I can post, but I can't make many promises.

Header photo is by the lovely, @cosmikla. I commissioned it back in March and knew it would be a damn shame if I never wrote the story to go with it.

You can read the first chapter on ao3 and wattpad

But first have the teaser:

🌠

Twas’ the night of Starfall and everyone gathered round. Not a frown or a scowl or a tear to be found.

The Inner Circle stood close, admiring the sky, waiting for the souls to fly right by.

As they started to fall the gang looked on in awe, then confusion as one stuck out to them all. The star was hurtling fast and as it neared closer, it was clear it wouldn't pass.

Quickly they moved out of the way, for its path was destructive and clear as day.

In the rubble and smoke sat a large stone. Glowing softly all alone.

Rhys approached first, with Feyre in tow, the rest watched on. What was it? They didn't know.

The stone held runes too old to read. They called over Amren who looked on with greed.

Waiting impatiently for her to respond

Eventually she announced: "It's a riddle from beyond."

A look of worry passed between the Lord and Lady. They squeezed each other's hand before telling Amren they were ready.

~*~*~*~*

Three rights made a left then

Three Fae came along, you get

Three chances to make right

What they did wrong.

Three brothers cut ties that

Three sisters will sew, you have

Three chances to fix

What they still owe.

Three stones are the key to fix

Three mistakes

Three sisters now go

You have no time to waste.

~*~*~*~*

Tagging: @vikingmagic33, @trashforazriel, @buttoncup, @shisingh, @sydney-fae25, @hlizr50 , @ravenhart2016 , @meher-sumedha , @itwasalwaysaboutthetea

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this tag list.

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isabellafm · 2 years

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GO MIN SI, 21, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER. — Is that ISABELLA CHOI? A SOPHOMORE originally from MANHATTAN, NY, they decided to come to Ogden College to study ART HISTORY AND FRENCH STUDIES. They’re THE NEPO BABY on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

— PINTEREST. — SPOTIFY.

HEADER PSD. INTRO PSD.

— CHARACTER INSPIRATION.

Lux Lisbon (The Virgin Suicides), Margo Tenenbaum (The Royal Tenenbaums), Daria Morgendorffer (Daria), Estella Havisham (Great Expectations), Anya (The Midnight Club), Rebecca Doppelmeyer (Ghost World), Darcy Lewis (Thor), Rue (Princess Tutu).

— AESTHETICS.

lipstick stains on a Diet Coke can, brass brushed hand mirrors, the echo of an empty theater, baby pink leg warmers, little white lies, long museum dates, empty wine bottles, showing up late with a large coffee, the lingering scent of Chanel No. 5, Greek tragedies, stacked gold jewelry, vintage designer handbags, book pages worn from multiple reads.

— RECENTLY PLAYED.

Amy Winehouse, Me And Mr. Jones.

Mitski, Drunk Walk Home.

Videoclub, Amour plastique.

Joep Beving, Sleeping Lotus.

Fiona Apple, Left Alone.

Hozier, Shrike.

Delibes, Coppelia: Act I - Ballade.

Tchaikovsky, The Sleeping Beauty, Op. 66, No. 4h - La fée de lilas.

— RELATIONSHIP TO GREER.

The roommates seemed like a duo from hell, both legacy students from Manhattan, daughters showered in privelege and beauty and secrets. Their fathers brushed shoulders at Manahattan dinner parties, and their mothers gossiped over brunch. They appeared to be friends since childhood, to anyone on the outside, or within their social circles, but there was always an emotional wall built between the two. Maybe because of the way Greer could never hide from Bella, never fully, and never her secrets, not even behind a locked door. Isabella was too observant, too aware, and all too keen on judging whoever came and went through suite 208. There was an arragement between the pair: as long as the space was respectful, clean, quiet in the mornings and calm in the evenings, the secrets would die on their way into the hallway. Bella knew she needed Greer, whether or not she liked the fact, and Greer knew she needed Bella, all the same.

— SKELETON TROPE.

Isabella ached an escape from her family name since she could remember, desparate for fame and a ballet career all of her own. Her mother’s family is known across South Korea, generations of wealth sparked by the country’s industrial revolution, and her father is known around New York City as an accountant for the elites. Their business deal of a marriage created their only daughter, their prized possession. Bella can admit she had it easy, best ballet academies and tutors to help with the endless missed school days, but she never planned to apply to Ogden, the way her father had, until a knee injury ended her dreams. A large donation to the school’s cultural studies department, and wouldn’t you know it? Easy acceptance, and now, she’s on her way to whichever arts related job she could wish for, thanks to her family names.

— GENERAL.

FULL NAME: Isabella Areum Choi.

NICKNAMES: Bella, Iz, Ari (family).

BIRTH DATE: July 11, 2001.

ZODIAC: Cancer sun, Capricorn moon, Pisces rising.

ETHNICITY: Korean.

NATIONALITY: American.

LANGUAGES: English, Korean, French, German, Japanese.

ORIENTATION: Heterosexual heteroromantic.

— PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT: 5′5 / 167 cm.

HAIR COLOR: naturally black, currently with brown highlights throughout.

EYE COLOR: dark brown.

TATTOOS: 111 on her inner forearm; ballet slippers on her ribcage; simple heart on her inner, left pointer finger.

PIERCINGS: first earlobe piercing on each ear.

CLOTHING: feminine and tacky; ballet and 90′s inspired, lots of florals; long skirts, frilly socks, mismatched patterns; tights and leg warmers; gold jewelry and a daily gold cross necklace (yes, insert religious trauma); doc martens, vintage handbags; whites, tans, browns, pinks.

MAKE UP: a natural look; claw clips, messy pony tails, and pigtail braids; lip gloss and mascara; highlighter and cream blush for special occassions; also a fan of a lip tint or lipstick.

— PERSONALITY.

POSITIVES: passionate, devoted, intelligent, thoughtful, creative, trustworthy, insightful.

NEGATIVES: pessimistic, dramatic, pretentious, morbid, secretive, blunt, sarcastic.

SKILLS: crying on command, ballet, sewing/hemming.

HOBBIES: practicing ballet, reading, yoga, listening to podcasts, jogging, watching films that make her cry, collecting vintage purses, currating oddly specific spotify playlists, daydreaming.

EXTRACURRICULARS: book club, art club.

EXTENDED: Bella has a soft heart underneath the staged exterior, though there’s very few to see the sensitive side of her. She can be patient, but stern with those close to her, caring for them in a way she craves to be cared for. She’s one for some tough love and blunt advice. Not the most cheerful person, she’s often quiet and reserved, preferring to speak with intention rather than to fill the silence. Her sarcasm can fly over people’s heads with her dry delivery, and she’s the type to give an answer as a joke before offering the truth. Hyperboles are common in her language, and frequently, she’ll enjoy drama for the sake of drama, confusion for the sake of confusion. She’s very closed off, even to people who have known her for years, yet those very close to her would know how lonely she is. She’s beginning to find comfort at Ogden, away from the constant purpose that was ballet, but at the end of the day, even if she won’t admit it to herself, she seeks acceptance amongst her peers.

— ABOUT.

Isabella comes from two lines of wealth, her mother’s family wealth spanning decades in South Korea and her father’s family wealth found working as a hedge fund manager. Anyone who’s anyone would know of the union of the Lee and Choi family and how it brought the Lee’s influence into America.

Her family’s the type to buy impeccible art pieces only to safely tuck them away in storage, own the building where they live in the penthouse suite, and slide through life on the zeros in their bank account. Their daughter never asked for anything, because it would be given before she asked.

Since birth, a precious only child, Bella’s been sheltered away from the ugliness of the world. Sure, she was displayed at dinner parties and large gatherings, but her parents always kept her at arm’s length from many of her peers. Not that she’d have time in her schedule, anyway. Once her mom adored the idea of a ballerina daughter, her days began and ended with ballet lessons, tutoring and French lessons sprinkled into any spare moments.

She grew up with an intense adoration for the arts, and any kind she could get her hands on. Film, music, literature, theater, dance, opera — it consumed her, especially anything dreadful or emotional. As well as her dream of being a prima ballerina. There isn’t much of a story to tell, after all. She ate, slept, and breathed ballet, even regularly missing school and important social events doing so. Proms, dances, birthday parties, Christmas vacations; she wasn’t always allowed such luxuries, because she had to practice, of course.

Freshly 18, the dream she envisioned came falling down. Patellar tendonitis, or “jumper’s knee,” halted everything she’d been working towards, including her acceptance into Juilliard. Sure, she’d be able to dance, stretch, move, be active, with some physical therapy, but going up en pointe? Isabella had to tell her mother that she’ll never see her on stage ever again. Her last pair of pointe shoes are still hanging above her bed, in her dorm room.

Good thing daddy’s alma mater was easily swayed with some donation money, and Bella chose to study art history, maybe find a job at a museum or become a collector, like her mother. She’s still lost on her new dream, because her entire life revolved around the one thing she fully lost. With no more audience to impress, it was a fresh start, and it was frightening.

Things had begun to go well, a roommate that boosted her social status and a bunch of peers who fluttered at the thought of her family’s money. Until Greer went missing. Bella’s left confused, concerned. At first, she laughed; of course Greer took off. Sounds just like her. Now, the situation is no longer funny. She never thought she’d miss having a roommate, but her phone’s constantly on the news pages.

Currently, she’s trying to get through the semester, same as everyone else: spends her mornings in her daily routine, practicing ballet at the private ballet barre in her bedroom, attends her seminars and lectures, and secretly enjoying all the parties and events the school throws.

#ogdenintro

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