#search engines are dumb

[synthshenanigans]

Im trying to get a bunch of posts to draw for the incorrect quotes & I legit cant find this one

If anyone has like a link or screenshot to it please give i cant find my own damn post help

[7thedisasterdyke]

not the kind of body shot I wanted to know about

[crowfeathers]

I like having my posts finally visible in fandom tags again but it’s so scary when ppl like posts of mine from 2 years ago. maybe should go back to more privacy

[medicinemane]

One more thing, I really like descriptive forms of stuff (term I've taken from linguistics in descriptive vs prescriptive, and just kind of apply it to everything)

Like, fridge is still a bit nasty smelling, not as bad as before but... I'm not happy Bob, I'm not happy

Was thinking about how I should clean it out on trash day, but then I was like "descriptively speaking, there's no way after 6+ hours in the car that day that I'm gonna feel up to dealing with that, so I just need to push it off to next week", and you know what? I was 100% right

As usual I feel like I've been beaten with sticks (literally, not hyperbolically, that's legit a pretty close approximation to how I feel)

So I was 100% right to predict I'd have trouble even dealing with the normal trash (especially cause I knew it was gonna be harder than usual thanks to one of the cats having diarrhea and missing the litterbox yesterday so... I knew it would suck when I got to it today... keeping up with the bathroom is pretty overwhelming at this point between the cat duties and the busted pipe)

So yeah... just better to describe things as they are without assigning any value and simply talk about what would happen instead of what should happen

[exsqueezememacaroni]

.

[leatherbookmark]

i'm beginning to think that yt has completely lost its fucking marbles

[quadrantadvisor]

I hate the way google works now. When I was a kid I was legitimately good? at googling???? I knew how to isolate the keywords i wanted to find actually relevant information. I scoffed at people typing full sentences or questions into google. Now google's algorithms expect people to be asking "What restaurants are near me" or "how old is this actor?" and it has an AI spit out an answer to you. And I will admit, for the layperson, this probably does improve the ease and speed with which they can use the program. But the problem is, it makes searching for anything the slightest bit "unusual" nearly impossible. Like, could I just turn that shit off, please? I dont want you to predict anything about me, I want to be able to do my own digging because sometimes I know better than you.

[theglizzardwizard]

Grown people mad that i think making porn of toontown is weird (it is) - Irrelevant quartet of furries that are suicidal and horny for vore i guess.

Grown people mad that i helped a furry artist get arrested for grooming his cousin (seems highly unlikely!) - i dont even know what to call this theoretical group of toontown players.

People mad i greened over a decade ago? (why else mention that post. That seems less likely, given the way all this weird bitch behavior Just Happens to coincide with dude getting a court date) - that's just theater kids, honestly

Mad About Ace Discourse Opinions from 2018 (the least likely option) - also theater kids/unemployed fake activist theater adult behavior on par with most other instances of weird shit to come from this blog.

5. Either way i got hit with the "find another server" by somebody who needs to find a medication that works better. Or at least find a hobby that doesn't revolve around making porn of a game my nephew plays :)

[rafesfavgirl]

two graves, one gun — r. cameron

sad rafe fic bc i just got my period and i'm feeling extra emotional :')

series: every few lifetimes

❝ so long, london stitches undone two graves, one gun you'll find someone ❞

pairing: bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: after another night of getting coked out and passing out on barry's couch, rafe realizes you deserve better than him and decides to let you go.

words: 1.3k+

warnings: drug addiction, break-up, might make you cry, ANGSTY asl

the sole of your heel taps anxiously against your living room's hardwood floor, as you stared at the time on your phone's lock screen, which lit up with a photo that wheezie took of you and rafe sitting at one of the tables at midsummers last year, looking at each other as if you were the only people there.

8:30 p.m.

your heart aches at the realization that he had forgotten your date again, but the nerves that settle in your stomach win over, as you think about where he probably is.

pushing your weight off the sofa, you grab your car keys from the hooks on the wall, and dial rafe on your way out the door.

straight to voicemail. fuck.

you skip down the steps in front of your house and unlock your car in the driveway to get in, immediately starting the engine to get on your way.

you dial rafe again as you pull into the road—to no avail.

"damn it, rafe," you mutter, eyes switching between the road and your phone as you type him a message.

you: where are you???

when the message doesn't even go through, you let out a frustrated groan. either his phone's dead or it's switched off. you step on the gas to speed up, zigzagging between cars to get there faster.

you pull to an abrupt stop in front of a beat-down house on the south side, and switch the car off before hopping out.

"mrs. country club, what brings you to this side of the island?" barry stands from the porch when he sees you walking towards him, fuming.

"oh spare me the fake hospitality, barry," you tell him. "where is he?"

"where's who?" he shrugs—but you knew he knew what you were talking about.

"don't play dumb with me," you spat, attempting to walk past him. "i know he's here."

he steps to the side to block you from going any further. "maybe so, but it ain't a pretty sight."

"ugh," you manage to walk past him and proceed into the house, with him on your tail. "rafe!"

barry catches up to you and blocks your way again. "hey, i told you-"

"barry, you're really testing my patience here, alright?" you say, refusing to back down. you weren't scared of him—okay, maybe a little, but you weren't about to let him see that. "rafe!"

you push past barry again, and make your way further inside, immediately rushing to rafe, who was passed out face-down on barry's couch.

"oh my god, rafe!" you crouch down beside him, not missing the un-sniffed lines of coke on the wooden table in front of him, and pick up his head in your hands. "baby, baby," you gently pat his face with your hand. "can you hear me?"

"told you it wasn't a pretty sight," barry leans against a wooden post and watches you, making you roll your eyes.

"rafe," you try to wake him up again. "babe."

thankfully, his eyes flutter open, relief washing over you as you let out a sigh. "oh thank god."

"y/n?" his voice is barely above a whisper when his eyes lock with yours. "shit!"

you move aside when he suddenly sits up, searching the couch cushions for his phone. "what time is it?"

"rafe-"

"no, fuck!" he shouts when he realizes his phone is dead, and looks up at barry. "i told you to wake me up if i knocked out!"

"i'm not your keeper, cameron," barry shrugs. "just take your shit and go, a'ight?"

"baby…" rafe turns to you kneeling on the ground beside him, his voice much softer now. "i swear i set an alarm— i was just— i didn't think my phone would die and-"

"hey," you place your hand on top of his, squeezing it lightly to make him look at you. "don't worry about it. let's just get out of here, okay?"

he nods, and you stand up, dusting yourself off as you do.

"i'll meet you in the car, doll," he tells you. "i just gotta take care of something."

—

the car ride back to your house is almost completely silent, until rafe breaks it.

"you look beautiful, by the way," he says, eyes shifting to you.

you glance at him, a small smile on your lips. "thank you."

"god, i'm such an idiot!" he groans, clearly frustrated with himself over the situation. "how many missed dates is that this month?"

"rafe, i told you not to worry about it," you tell him. "it's okay, i get-"

"y/n," his voice is stern now, his eyes burning holes into your skin. "how many?"

you sigh, turning the wheel towards the curb to park the car in front of your house. "four," you answer, switching the ignition off. "that was the fourth one this month."

rafe scoffs and shakes his head, eyes averting away from you. he just couldn't look at you anymore, because he knew that even if you didn't show it, you were disappointed. not only at him, but maybe even yourself for putting up with him.

"hey," you place a hand on his knee, and he glances down at the gesture, before finally looking at you. "it's okay."

"how is it okay?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing. "all i do is disappoint you."

"baby, that's not true," you try to reassure him, but he doesn't buy it.

"it is true," he tells you. "and you don't deserve it."

not knowing what to say, you just glance down at your hand on his knee. "rafe…"

"no," he cuts you off, and places his hand above yours to slowly push it off of him. "i can't keep doing this to you."

letting out a sigh, you adjust yourself in your seat so you're looking at him. "okay, rafe, before you saying anything else— i love you, alright? there's nothing you can do that-"

"and that's exactly the problem, a'ight?" he snaps. "you're never gonna walk away from me yourself! even when i bought this shit from barry after i told you to wait in the car." he reaches into his pocket and tosses the small bag of blow in between the two of you. your eyes shift from it to him, the uneasiness in your stomach only getting worse.

"i have a problem y/n," he tells you. "and it's not the kind you can just 'fix' with love."

"then we'll get you help. we'll do any-" you try to reach out to him, but he resists.

"no," he says, motioning a hand between you two. "this has to end."

the words you dreaded hearing comes out of his mouth in one fell swoop, your heart shattering into a million pieces.

"what?"

"i'm never gonna be the guy you need me to be," he shakes his head at you, and if it weren't so dark outside, you swear you'd see his eyes watering. "and since you can't let go, i have to do it for you."

tears brim along your lower lashes as you speak, "no. that is not your choice to make."

"god, y/n, can you stop making this harder than it already is?" he pleads.

"can you stop acting like it's so easy?" you retort.

"you think this is easy?" he asks, taken aback by your accusation. "it kills me to do this."

"then don't," you say, voice cracking as you reach out for his hands. "we can work through your addiction together, rafe. we'll-"

"that's not your responsibility," he shakes his head at you. "if i'm gonna get better, i need to do it on my own."

you sob, "i— i don't want this to be the end.”

rafe glances down at your hands, before bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

you lean into his touch, and a single tear rolls down your cheek—one that he wipes away with his thumb.

"i love you so much," he says, eyes closing as his head tilted down against yours. "i'm sorry."

his lips place a soft kiss on your forehead, and just like that, he's gone.

part 2.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[sp4ceboo]

Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB

tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 4.1k

part 2

The Bene Gesserit are distracted.

If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.

Not that you’re complaining.

You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.

Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.

In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.

Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.

They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.

You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.

The arena is where you thrive.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.

Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.

The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.

The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.

Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.

His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.

Intriguing.

He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.

Too bad you’ll have to kill him.

If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.

The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.

He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’

‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’

‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’

You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.

The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.

A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.

And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.

Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.

And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.

‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’

You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.

Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.

‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’

He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’

‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’

‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’

You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.

‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’

You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’

‘Just Feyd is fine.’

You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.

Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.

And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.

Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.

Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.

The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.

‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’

He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’

‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’

Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.

Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.

Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.

You slap him across the face.

Hard.

His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.

Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.

Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.

Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.

Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.

Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.

His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.

‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’

His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.

Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.

‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’

And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.

Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.

Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.

Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.

As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.

You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.

Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’

You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’

He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.

Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.

Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.

You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.

A smile plays on his lips.

‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’

It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.

[taylormarieee]

You make me wanna...

Summary: You make Brian wanna fuck you dumb...

Pairing: Brian O'Connor x Fem!black!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: PiV sex, Sex in the car, Semi-Public, Arguing, Porn with plot, Fingering, Unprotected Sex,Established Relationship, teasing cuz it's Brian...

A/N: I have no idea if people even read Brian O'Connor fanfiction but I'm gonna write it anyway because I'm obsessed with this man!

Brian was a man of his word. If he said he was going to win this race for you, then that's exactly what he was going to do.

"Hey mama!" Brian calls out with a cat call. You roll your eyes and smile at him.

"Hey blondie! You know i'm your girlfriend right?" You ask with a smirk on your face and a raised eyebrow.

He chuckles and his voice gets lower as he whispers in your ear. "I know mama. Just wanted to show people what's mine." He looks back at you with his charming smile.

You giggle as heat rushes to your face and ears. Your neck gets hot as you shift your weight.

"Good Luck out there Blondie!" You wink at him and walk away joining the crowd.

You watch him wink back at you and laugh. He walks to his car and they all rev their engines.

Somebody yells go and their off. Brian swerves a bit but he makes it. He races down and you cheer for him.

"Yea! That's my baby! Look at him go!" A lot of other people cheer with you.

When the race is almost over you see the cars speeding down. You decide to start chanting as you see him in the lead.

"Blondie! Blondie! Blondie!" As you chant, the people who were rooting for Brian chant as well.

When his car passes the finish line first you scream at the top of your lungs.

You see him exit his car and you rush over to him. You jump into his muscular veiny arms and he spins you around.

"You saw me? I won mama!" He exclaims. "You sure did blondie!"

He stares at you for a couple of seconds before he pulls you closer by your waist and kisses you roughly.

When you both pull away, Brian muttes something, "God you make me wanna..." He trails off and you tilt your head at him.

"I make you wanna what?" You say amused as to what goofy thing he's going to say next.

He licks his lips and motions to his car. You follow him and get inside the passengers seat.

"Let's go for a ride baby. Wanna take ya somewhere special." He says smiling.

You giggle and get comfy. "Ok my Prince." You say laughing. "You better be a good passenger princes, not a naughty one." He starts.

"But of course I'll except both." He finishes winking at you with that sly charming smile he always has.

When you guys reach the top of a hill he grins. "I think right here is perfect." He said as he reached over and kissed you.

"Brian! We're in public!" you giggle as he grabs you and brings you closer to him so you straddle his waist.

"So? Let them watch the show." He responds unfazed. He kisses your neck and runs his hands up and down your curves.

He pushes the seat all the way back and you fall on his chest. You hear his rapid heartbeat.

You look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip seductively. Brian mutters a 'fuck' before grabbing your jaw and kissing you passionately.

You tug on the hem of his shirt and he reaches to pull it over his head. You run your warm hands down his sweaty chest.

"Fuck Brian" You whimper out as you grind on his hard-on. You close your eyes as the friction you feel is blissful.

"Your so gorgeous... You make me wanna fuck you dumb." He rasps.

You whimper at his words as you continue to search for more of that blissful friction you were receiving.

"Please Brian... I need you." you whisper to him in a whiny voice. He chuckles and speaks, "You gonna be a good girl?" He questions

"Yesss! I'll be such a good girl for you Bri... you and you only." You whimper.

He nods his head and begins to take off your clothes. The windows are starting to fog up from the heavy breathing.

"I don't know baby, might have to play with you first." He says smirking at you as he runs his fingers up your slit to your pulsating bud and back again.

You whimper at the sensation and begin to grind on his finger. While doing so, his finger accidentally slips in you from how soaked you are.

"Oh fuck Brian! Feels good..." You whimper. His smirk never leaves his face as he adds an extra finger inside you. First was his middle finger now his ring finger and boy did it feel euphoric.

His pace quickens inside you and your body jolts with every hard thrust his fingers bring to your abused cunt.

"Yea? You like that baby?"

"My fingers fucking the shit outta you, hmm?"

"Being such a good slut for me aren't you baby?"

"My good girl all nice and wet, just for me."

"Such a dirty girl? You like the feeling of getting caught don't you?"

"Having all those people hear you scream my name? Let them know who fucks you dumb?" He teases.

His voice and dirty words made you clench around his fingers hard. You felt your orgasm. You were at the tip of the cliff ready to fall in the ocean of bliss and euphoria.

All you needed was that one push...

"I-I'm gonna- fuck- ngh- I'm cumming brian! Please let me cum!" You whimper holding on to his bicep and the car seat.

"Go ahead mama. Leak your juices all over me." He says and just as he said it you make it happen.

You squirt and leak your juices all on his abdomen and raging cock. He praises you through it with 'good girl's' and "Yes mama. Just like that."

Your shaking from that orgasm. He takes note on your shaky legs and suddenly feels the need to make them even shakier.

He wants to make you lose your walking privileges and fuck you so dumb you don't even remember your own name.

He smirks at the idea and his cock jumps out of excitement to destroy you in ways no other man would be able to.

"Mama, you gonna gimme one more ok? You can take it." He says as he lifts your hips to line himeself up with your puffy entrance.

You whimper and try to shake your head no but your already so fucked out.

When he finally slides into you your eyes widen at the delicious feeling of the stretch his cock is giving to you.

You moan out his name for anyone near Brian's car to hear. "Oh Briannn!"

"Fuck mama, your tight as shit baby, fuck yea." He says as he bottoms out inside you.

Eyes rolling in the back of your head at how hard he's thrusting up into you. Not even giving you time to adjust to his length.

You squeal and hold onto his shoulders for support as his thrust almost knock you over.

Your so fucked out and dizzy you're barely processing what is happening and can't make out half the things brian is saying to you.

"Bri... f-fuck." You stutter feeling his cock hit that one spot in you just right. Your legs feel numb and your body feels hot and tingly.

Brian on the other hand is enjoying the look on your face. Pretty swollen lips parted, heavily breathing, tits out and bouncing, pussy nice and tight gripping his cock hard. He loved everything about you.

Your melanin skin glistening with sweat, your braids tied up in a nice ponytail swinging with every thrust he gives you.

"I-I can't take no more bri."

"Yes you can mama. Come on, take this dick like a good girl baby." He encourages.

"I'm close bri!" You cry out, he smiles and whispers in your ear..." Me too baby, cum with me?" He asks.

You shake your head and try to hold it for as long as you can. Brian grunts in your ear and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

Immediately he says, "Cum baby!" You cum hard on his cock, eyes rolled back and feeling dizzy.

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Brian's orgasm hits him like thunder. His thighs are shaking and his eyes are rolled back at how hard your clenching around him milking him dry.

He whimpers and moans at the wonderful feeling. When both feelings are over he pulls out kisses you on your head and places you back in the passengers seat. He gets out the car and notices a man with his dog staring at him.

He doesn't acknowledge the man and just forgets about it. He walsk to the trunk and grabs ablanket for you. When he closes the trunk the man is still standing there staring at him.

"Got a problem man?" Brian asks. The man looks at him and shakes his head before responding.

"This is a public place man and I don't think you and your tramp of a girlfriend should be having sex here where other people are trying to enjoy the view."

"Ok man, one don't talk about my baby that way, and two, I don't exactly see anybody else here. So if you had a problem for however long you were standing there why didn't ya leave? Its a public place right? I could park here and have sex with my girl if I want, got it? And if you ever insult my girl again, I will hurt you." He says before walking back to his car.

He gets in and puts the blanket over you and drives off before the man can even say anything else.

He glances at your sleeping figure a couple of times before driving to take you home.

Taglist: ?

[transform4u]

My boyfriend and I are in a loving relationship, but we're both pretty crappy when it comes to handy work. His car broke down and its going to cost a lot of money. I wish there was a way I could fix it for him.

Standing over your boyfriend's car, frustration radiates from you. The engine's persistent sputtering and the vague sense of impending doom around the vehicle's state of disrepair have you fuming. You snatch your cellphone from your pocket, desperate to find a mechanic who can rescue you from this mess. Just as you're scrolling through contact lists and Google searches, you hear a sudden, jarring snaaappppp—like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.

Your eyes widen in shock as your phone starts to ooze a thick, greasy substance. It spreads quickly, coating your hand and dripping onto your clothes. Before you can react, the greasy ooze starts to morph your outfit into something far more rugged: your pristine attire transforms into a pair of smelly, workout overalls. They’re stained with gasoline and grease, clinging to you with a damp, pungent odor. You take a deep breath and let out a long, appreciative “Damnnnn boy,” as the smell of oil and sweat fills your nostrils.

You notice your Adam's apple swelling, protruding noticeably from your throat, and your voice deepening into a gravelly, rough baritone. Your body begins to shift, growing more muscular with each passing second. Muscles ripple across your arms and chest, your frame expanding and filling out with a newfound bulk. The greasy substance seems to seep into your skin, making you more rugged and burly, covered in a light smattering of body hair that adds to the overall gruff appearance.

As the transformation settles, you can almost feel your brain getting fuzzier, your intellectual thoughts slipping away like oil from a pan. It’s like your mind is getting slicked over with a thick layer of grease, making way for raw mechanical instinct. Your focus narrows to the car, and suddenly, you're a whirlwind of efficiency and strength.

With a clank and a clang, you dive into the engine bay, your hands working with a dexterity and precision that seem almost superhuman. You tighten bolts, replace parts, and clean out the grime with an almost absurd ease. The car groans and purrs under your skilled touch, its problems vanishing one by one.

Finally, with a resounding thud, you slam the hood shut, the metal reverberating with the impact. As you step back, a loud, obnoxious fart escapes from you—one of those deep, rumbling, unabashed ones that make the ground shake. You chuckle to yourself, a deep, throaty laugh that matches your newfound persona. You feel a lightness as any last vestiges of smarts, those pesky remnants of your former self, seem to float away, carried off on the smell of exhaust and the echo of your laughter.

In this new state, you stand proudly next to the now-purring car, your greasy, muscled form the epitome of auto-mechanical prowess. You look up and down at your former boyfriend, who now stands at his car looking at you with contempt. Your mind twists and turns, forgetting the fact that the two of you dated. In fact, you think this guy is nothing but a no good city liberal faggot, who can't even fix his own car.

You saunter over to him, a smirk playing on your lips. You extend your hand for a handshake, but he just asks, "How much for the repairs buddy?" You give him a look over, realizing that this preppy son of a bitch is probably pretty loaded. "Goin' be $2,500. Cash," you say with a grin.

He hands you the money without a second thought and drives off. You just chuckle, pocketing the cash. This was going to go a long way at the nudie bar down the street. You couldn't wait to get off work and start throwing dollar bills at those strippers. Nothing you loved more than cracking open a cold beer and watching some dumb blonde whore shake her titties.

You head inside the garage, whistling a tune. The day's work was almost done, and you had a nice stack of cash to show for it. You wipe the grease off your hands and grab a fresh beer from the mini-fridge. Popping it open, you take a long swig, the cold liquid refreshing after a hard day's work.

The strip club was already starting to fill up when you arrived. You grab a seat right up front, slamming your fist on the table to get the attention of the waitress. "Keep 'em comin'," you say, sliding a crisp $100 bill across to her. She gives you a wink and saunters off.

The first dancer of the night takes the stage, a blonde bombshell with tits that could suffocate a man. You lean back in your chair, taking another swig of your beer as she starts to grind to the music. This was your idea of a perfect night - cold beer, hot women, and no one to answer to but yourself. The world was your oyster, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

[tojisun]

um your ghostgaz blurb but also ghost letting gaz tip his head back onto his shoulder and squeezing at his base when he’s inside you so you can have a break from gaz humping your cunt until you both go dumb (and so simon can hear him keen out that ‘ah, right there, rightthere-‘ again)

AHHHHHHHHHHH YEA YEA !!! holy shit this is some good fuckin soup!!

“shh, pretty, ‘ve got you,” simon grunts in kyle’s ear, his words rumbling deeply.

it is a shared moment between the two of them, one that you’re once again a spectator of, but you don’t mind. not when you get a glimpse of kyle’s demeanour breaking for a quiet splintering in the hands of simon.

kyle bucks in his hold, trying to fuck into the tight fist of simon or into the warm press of your cunt, you don’t know, but it has simon tutting before forcing kyle to stop again. kyle keens, desperate for his orgasm, but god are you thankful for the break.

they had you for hours, either taking turns or taking you at the same time, and it has your body aching, pussy all sore and legs a trembling mush. simon massages at your thigh in placation, choosing to relay his affection through touch because this is still a scene—the one that the three of you easily fall into; the one where you are made to be used, often as a vessel to reflecr the guys’ love for each other, like you exist only for their mutual pleasure and not your own.

(objectification kink, the engine search bar had put out as a result of your question from when you were first included into their fold.

there were social media threads and official bdsm websites that expounded on the matter but you understood enough. it was pretty self explanatory, you thought, and, in the silence of your room, you trembled in excitement.

anticipation coursed through you in pinching waves, uncontainable as you waited for the weekend to come.)

so you lay there, watching with hunger as simon pressed his murmured kisses on kyle’s neck, his voice too quiet for you to pick up. but whatever simon is saying has kyle writhing, his body trembling, until he’s collapsing into simon’s chest, head tipped up for a breathy keen. you gasp out at the sound, your pussy squeezing at his cock for a moment, and kyle begins to weep.

simon rumbles a pleasured grunt, snarling something close to, “s’good f’me,” then his fist begins moving, bumping against your sore folds, then back up to the remaining shaft of kyle’s cock.

you blink, feeling saliva pool underneath your tongue as your desire peaks, bloating at the image they make—kyle, writhing and moaning, and simon jerking your lover so he can finally cum—

in you.

“almost—si—!” kyle screams, gasping at his heightening euphoria.

“good,” simon murmurs, slow and sensual, and his face all flushed. “cum f’me, baby. go on.”

you see the moment kyle’s orgasm razes him. his body locks up, his eyes are blown wide, and his jaw drops for a soundless moan. god, you know the feeling—that explosion of ecstasy that almost feels too surreal; like you’ve been ripped from your body and thrusted up into nirvana.

then, something warm trickles into you, spurting on the cushions of your walls. you cry, your exhausted body protesting at being pumped full again—they haven’t even let you squeeze out simon’s spill—and you swear you feel your stomach bulging. making room for kyle’s release.

it—

it shouldn’t turn you on but it does, and simon snaps his eyes back to you like he knows just what exactly is running in your head.

he grins, something that is a little too mean, and you realize that while kyle is done, simon has yet to get his fill.

fuck.

[gentil-minou]

This is the dumbest argument I've ever heard

I can't think of any hobby more wallet friendly than picking up a pencil and paper. Like this is just plain stupid.

Also, I'm not an artist and I don't have drawings skills, but sometimes I paint little watercolors for myself and I have fun even though they look awful, and that's the entire point.

Also also, since I can't draw and I still want to share my ideas, I write. And yeah it takes practice but THATS THE POINT. There's so many genuine ways you can share your ideas with the world.

Hell, model with clay, act out a dumb video, draw stick figures, do whatever. I promise all of that is a better rendition than a program that isn't actually intelligent and is just giving you results based on keywords like a glorified search engine

Just say you want recognition for something you stole and didn't care enough to put the effort in and shut up

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Monopoly is capitalism's gerrymander

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

You don't have to accept the arguments of capitalism's defenders to take those arguments seriously. When Adam Smith railed against rentiers and elevated the profit motive to a means of converting the intrinsic selfishness of the wealthy into an engine of production, he had a point:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Smith – like Marx and Engels in Chapter One of The Communist Manifesto – saw competition as a catalyst that could convert selfishness to the public good: a rich person who craves more riches still will treat their customers, suppliers and workers well, not out of the goodness of their heart, but out of fear of their defection to a rival:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

This starting point is imperfect, but it's not wrong. The pre-enshittified internet was run by the same people who later came to enshittify it. They didn't have a change of heart that caused them to wreck the thing they'd worked so hard to build: rather, as they became isolated from the consequences of their enshittificatory impulses, it was easier to yield to them.

Once Google captured its market, its regulators and its workforce, it no longer had to worry about being a good search-engine – it could sacrifice quality for profits, without consequence:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

It could focus on shifting value from its suppliers, its customers and its users to its shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

The thing is, all of this is well understood and predicted by traditional capitalist orthodoxy. It was only after a gnostic cult of conspiratorialists hijacked the practice of antitrust law that capitalists started to view monopolies as compatible with capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

The argument goes like this: companies that attain monopolies might be cheating, but because markets are actually pretty excellent arbiters of quality, it's far more likely that if we discover that everyone is buying the same product from the same store, that this is the best store, selling the best products. How perverse would it be to shut down the very best stores and halt the sale of the very best products merely to satisfy some doctrinal reflex against big business!

To understand the problem with this argument, we should consider another doctrinal reflex: conservatives' insistence that governments just can't do anything well or efficiently. There's a low-information version of this that goes, "Governments are where stupid people who can't get private sector jobs go. They're lazy and entitled." (There's a racial dimension to this, since the federal government has historically led the private sector in hiring and promoting Black workers and workers of color more broadly.)

But beyond that racially tinged caricature, there's a more rigorous version of the argument: government officials are unlikely to face consequences for failure. Appointees and government employees – especially in the unionized federal workforce – are insulated from such consequences by overlapping layers of labor protection and deflection of blame.

Elected officials can in theory be fired in the next election, but if they keep their cheating or incompetence below a certain threshold, most of us won't punish them at the polls. Elected officials can further improve their odds of re-election by cheating some of us and sharing the loot with others, through handouts and programs. Elections themselves have a strong incumbency bias, meaning that once a cheater gets elected, they will likely get re-elected, even if their cheating becomes well-known:

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/congress/gold-bars-featured-bob-menendez-bribery-case-linked-2013-robbery-recor-rcna128006

What's more, electoral redistricting opens the doors to gerrymandering – designing districts to create safe seats where one party always wins. That way, the real election consists of the official choosing the voters, not the voters choosing the official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/REDMAP

Inter-party elections – primaries and other nomination processes – have fundamental weaknesses that mean they're no substitute for well-run, democratic elections:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Contrast this with the theory of competitive markets. For capitalism's "moral philosophers," the physics by which greedy desires led to altruistic outcomes was to be found in the swift retribution of markets. A capitalist, exposed to the possibility of worker and customers defecting to their rival, knows that their greed is best served by playing fair.

But just as importantly, capitalists who don't internalize this lesson are put out of business and superceded by better capitalists. The market's invisible hand can pat you on the head – but it can also choke you to death.

This is where monopoly comes in. Even if you accept the consumer welfare theory that says that monopolies are most often the result of excellence, we should still break up monopolies. Even if someone secures an advantage by being great, that greatness will soon regress to the mean. But if the monopolist can extinguish the possibility of competition, they can maintain their power even after they cease deserving it.

In other words, the monopolist is like a politician who wins power – whether through greatness or by deceit – and then gerrymanders their district so that they can do anything and gain re-election. Even the noblest politician, shorn of accountability, will be hard pressed to avoid yielding to temptation.

Capitalism's theory proceeds from the idea that we are driven by our self-interest, and that competition turns self-interest into communal sentiment. Take away the competition, and all that's left is the self-interest.

I think this is broadly true, even though it's not the main reason I oppose monopolies (I oppose monopolies because they corrupt our democracy and pauperize workers). But even if capitalism's ability to turn greed into public benefit isn't the principle that's uppermost in my mind, it's what capitalists claim to believe – and treasure.

I think that most of the right's defense of monopolies stems from cynical, bad-faith rationalizations – but there are people who've absorbed these rationalizations and find them superficially plausible. It's worth developing these critiques, for their sake.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/18/market-discipline/#too-big-to-care

[ranhaitanisgf]

May I request Ran with “enemies/rivals to lovers” where Ran accidentally hurts reader (with his words), he goes too far. Usually they tease and make fun of each other but this really hurt y/n, maybe it was one of her insecurities. Anyways, he makes it up too her by taking her “star gazing” and apologizing to her. Thanks!!!!!!!!

— ran haitani // enemies to lovers // stargazing

☆ ˎˊ˗ did i go overboard. well yes. but i chose this one in honor of changing my username ! im in love w this man ur honor. srsly tho i loveee writing the silly little banter with the ran fics its actually so fun :D hope yall enjoyyyy xoxo

☆ ˎˊ˗ fem!reader implied

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 2.0k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

you’re not exactly sure what’s going on right now. 

one moment, you were lazing around your apartment, watching a drama and eating all the junk food you could see, and the next moment you were slung over ran haitani’s shoulder. 

what?

if you’d known that answering the door would have resulted in this, you would have just ignored it. 

“you stupid motherfucker!! let me down right now!!” you yelled, wiggling around trying to escape. ran’s grip around you was iron tight, making it next to impossible to try and get out. “can you just leave me the hell alone?! i was watching my drama!!” 

“nope.” 

“god, you’re such a douchebag sometimes.” you sighed, feeling defeated. there was probably no way you were going to escape back to your apartment if you hadn’t by this point, so you gave up. “what do you even want from me?? i thought you said you don’t like to talk to girls who are nerds ‘cause they freak you out or something.” 

“...”

“are you even going to tell me where we’re going??” 

“...”

“ran haitani!! answer me!!” ran said nothing once again, completely ignoring you as he exited your apartment building. as he kept walking, you heard the faint rumble of an engine, the rumble getting louder as he kept walking. 

finally, his grip loosened around you, though you were a bit caught off guard by how gently he let you down from his shoulder. his hands held you steady by your waist as you stumbled a bit, feeling a bit dizzy from being upside down. 

“ran, seriously, what’re you doing…?” you muttered, brushing his hands off from you. “it’s like 9pm! why are you here?!” 

“get on.” 

“what?” you got no response, instead watching as he settled himself in the front seat of his motorcycle, which you now realized was the cause of the rumbling sound. 

“are you going to get on?” ran asked, turning his head a bit to look at you. you think that your big mistake here was looking him in his eyes; when you saw the emotion and turmoil swirling in his hazy purple irises, you couldn’t help but to oblige. 

“fine, but only ‘cause you’re acting weird. if someone breaks into my apartment, you have to pay for everything since i know you didn’t lock the door.” you muttered, getting on the back seat of his motorcycle. 

you waited for the bike to revv up and for him to start driving, but he paused for a moment, seeming to be thinking. after a moment, he turned around and reached behind you, searching for something in the back compartment. that same cool expression was on his face, making you feel a bit dumb for feeling so flustered at the sudden lack of space between the two of you. for crying out loud, his face was right next to yours! how was he so calm? 

you couldn’t help but notice that he had foregone his usual braids, instead leaving his hair down. the way that his hair framed his face now covered the sharpness of some of his facial features, making him seem a lot less intimidating and more soft than he normally was. 

he let out a small hum when he found what he was looking for, leaning back from you holding a helmet in his hands. he gently put it on your head, looking at you for a moment longer than was probably necessary before turning back around, his back to you. 

what the hell…

as ran started drive off, you realized that there was a con to him having his hair down; as he started to speed up, his hair whipped right in your face, making you sputter as you tried to avoid it. 

“if it’s bothering you, come closer.” you heard him say. you had no idea what kind of face he was making right now, though it was probably the same cool and collected expression as always. what did he even mean by that? does he know how suggestive he sounds? 

as much as you didn’t like him, you also didn’t like having his hair continuously assaulting your face, so you scooted a bit closer to him. as he said, it was a little bit better, though his hair was still getting in your face. 

you were finally given a break at the next stoplight, giving you a moment to take in the cool night’s air. despite the strange circumstances, you had to admit that being on a motorcycle always gave you a sense of comfort in some kind of way. you enjoyed feeling the wind on your face and seeing everything passing by; it made it seem like nothing else in the world mattered except for that moment. 

suddenly, you felt yourself being pushed forward a whole lot more than was considered ‘friendly’. your chest made contact with ran’s back, your head awkwardly propped near his shoulder. looking to the side, you realized that ran had hooked his arm around your back and had pushed you forward, which you found to be somewhat of a feat considering the distance between the two of you, (you supposed he had his lanky arms and stature to thank for that). 

“hey! what the hell was that?!” 

“just helpin’ you out, doll.” 

“whatever.” 

despite the flippant way you muttered the word, you could feel the nervousness all bundled up inside you, twisting your stomach into knots. you weren’t sure what to even think at this point; what was he even trying to do here? last time you’d seen him…

“you freak me out when you talk like that; you’re really gonna be single forever if you keep acting like that.” 

so what the hell was he doing now? why was he suddenly acting like nothing had happened? 

although your thoughts were troubled by his strange behavior, you felt a bit awkward just leaning against him like a noodle, so you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his waist, keeping your grip loose. there were no words exchanged between the two of you for the rest of the drive, which gave you plenty of time to try and decipher his odd behavior. 

you weren’t sure how much time passed before ran pulled over to the side of the road, slowing down and coming to a stop. your arms unwrapped themselves from around his waist and you leaned back, looking around. 

he had brought you to a quiet part of the sumida river, the land around you slowly dipping until it met with the edges of the river. looking around, you couldn’t see any part of tokyo or any city buildings closeby, making you wonder just how far away he had taken you. 

“hey, where are we right now?” you asked, getting off of his bike and stretching a bit. “it feels like we came kind of a long way.” 

“i just followed the river for a bit. we aren’t too far from tokyo.” ran answered, flipping the kickstand down as he got off his bike. he pocketed his keys and slipped his fingers through his hair, fixing it a bit after the wind messed it up a bit. 

“so, are you going to tell me why we’re here?” 

“come on.” ran walked in front of you, walking down the steep grassy hill towards the river. you reluctantly followed, jogging a bit to catch up with his long strides. 

“y’know, with the cryptic way you’re acting, i could think that you brought me here to murder me or something.” 

“...” 

“uh, ran? you’re not actually gonna murder me, right?” 

“no.” 

“okay, right.” the two of you reached the bottom of the hill, standing there for a moment before ran laid down. you were unsure of what exactly was going on, but you laid down next to him, getting a bit worried. 

“hey…did something happen? is everything alright?” you were facing the sky that was littered with stars, but you could tell that ran was taking a moment to think before saying something. 

“you could say that.” 

“huh? what-?” 

“you’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” 

“...” now you were the one who was silent, unsure of how to respond to his question. he was right; you had been avoiding him. it wasn’t his fault that you had gotten butthurt over what was supposed to be a joke, but you hadn’t been able to help your feelings. the two of you joked and insulted each other all the time, so why was it that you were so hurt over that one comment? 

you already knew why, but you weren’t going to tell him, not in a million years. 

“you know i didn’t mean it.”

“i don’t know, maybe you did.” you answered flatly. “i don’t know why you even hang out with me. i’m always wondering if you’re gonna just up and leave one day and never talk to me again.” 

“i wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“you can’t say it’s not outside of your character though, can you? you’ve done that to other people, no?” 

“it’s different with you.” you laughed coldly at that, choosing to ignore it. 

“why are you even bringing this up right now? why come all the way here to talk about this when we could have just talked outside of my apartment?” you peered over at ran, feeling a bit infuriated to see the same damn expression on his face as always. 

“am i not allowed to do something to try and apologize?” he asked, suddenly sitting up and looking towards you. “you’re right that i’ve done that to other people, but you’re not other people. you…” for the first time, you saw his face screw up in frustration, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pressed together. “fuck…you’re just different, okay? i felt like shit after i said that crap, and i felt even more shitty when you started avoiding me. so-” he took a breath, his face going back to his usual calm expression. “-i’m sorry.” 

what. just. happened.

for a longer time than you would care to admit, you laid there staring at him with your mouth wide open, wondering if you were in the real world. to be fair, how were you supposed to believe this was real? the ran haitani, apologizing? to you? 

“you…you’re not fucking with me, right?” you questioned, sitting up slowly. 

“...no.” ran murmured, his gaze fixed on the river in front of you. “i can take you back home now, if you want.” 

“no!” ran quirked an eyebrow at you at your sudden response, his violet gaze turning to you. “i mean, uh, it’s fine. i like it here.” ran smirked a bit at your explanation, laying back down. 

“y’know doll, if i didn’t know any better, i would say that you’re nervous right now. why’re you nervous, hm?” the teasing lilt to his words made your cheeks feel warm, making you lay back down to avoid his gaze. 

“you think i’m nervous? i’m not nervous, i don’t know what you’re talking…about…” your words tapered off as ran moved closer to you, his arm slipping under your frame and pulling you against him. he tucked your head under his chin, his arm moving to rest around your waist. 

“hm, i guess you’re not nervous then. what a shame. you’re pretty cute when you’re nervous~” the close proximity allowed you to feel the vibrations of his voice rumbling through his chest as he spoke, making your heartbeat speed up exponentially. 

“what…what do you think you’re-?”

“shh, look at the stars. that’s why i brought you here.” for some reason, his words immediately shut you up, your emotions being too extreme to say anything snarky back. all you knew at that moment was ran; his voice and the teasing tone he always has, his hair that’s splayed all around him making it seem like he’s an angel, his lazy purple eyes that are looking at you right now despite him saying to look at the sky. 

“you-”

“shh.”

you supposed that you could just look at the stars for now.