#then white people will get uncomfortable and complain

[starrysharks]

i wonder if white people specifically white progressives realise that black people are only ever seen as their skin color first and foremost

[andromedasummer]

honestly the biggest thing for me in this hamilton (the musical) v hamilton (the person) stuff is just the fact that there is still a hamilton (the musical) fanbase in 2023. that is honest to god mindblowing to me. i thought we'd left the slave owner musical in the past.

[inkskinned]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main AU

Masterpost

Guys, I'm so sorry. But here's this!

~~~~

Danny blinks and he is somewhere else. He’s sitting at a dining room table, surrounded. There are so many people here. They’re all talking over each other, some yelling, some laughing. This scene comes as a great surprise to him, who -one blink ago- was trying and failing to do his homework at home in his room. Danny shoots up, his chair making a horrible noise as he pushes it away so fast it tumbles over. Everyone in the room turns to look over at him like he’s insane. 

“Oh my god, who are you people?” Danny did not mean to say this out loud, but at the sound of his voice he startles. Danny takes a moment to assess, and then, “Oh my god who am I?”  He is tall, and big, and this is certainly not his body, what is he wearing.

The boy sitting to the right of Danny, a little shorter than he is, with black hair and blue eyes (though now that he’s paying attention that does describe most people in the room),  starts chuckling lightly. “Uh, Jason? Are you good?” 

Danny turns to stare him right in the eyes. “What day is it?”

And he can tell the concern around the table is just ratcheting up every time he opens his stupid mouth.

“Did you hit your head on patrol?” The voice comes from the only blond and one of the only girls in the room, who's to the left of the person across from him. The person across from him is another boy with black hair and blue eyes who is studying Danny in a way that makes him uncomfortable, that under-a-microscope look that makes you feel like you’re failing at something.

“I have no idea if Jason hit his head.” Danny says. “I was just trying to remember if it was my birthday.”

And if he thought the room was busy when he first arrived here it is absolute pandemonium now. Everyone starts shouting and asking questions that he can’t even hear over the shouting. Someone with white hair in a suit just came through a door he didn’t even see earlier to stand by the only person not shouting, who -Danny would guess- is the only other adult in this room, witting at the head of the table. He also has black hair and blue eyes, and where almost everyone else’s reaction was panic, he froze instead. The person across from Danny also isn’t shouting, but the person next to Danny on his right has now fully stood up and looks like he might actually jump across the table to win the argument he ended up in. 

“Are you Jason’s soulmate?” is the main gist of the shouting that Danny can interpret but he’s more concerned with actual Jason at the moment. If they switched bodies... Then Jason might be in trouble…

“Hey, I forget, how long is this body swap supposed to last again?” Danny asks.

“Until you and Jason have physical contact. You have to actually meet.” The boy sitting across from him explains. He seems like one of the only ones that heard Danny talk, everyone else was still shouting. 

“Oh, that just seems terrible. What if we’re in different countries or something?” Danny complained. “Everyone in the world is just supposed to be able to drop everything and afford to fly across the world. The universe is really trying to screw people over now. Honestly, am I in a different country? Where even are we right now?”

“You’re in Gotham.” This voice was new, coming from the head of the table to Danny’s right. 

“Oh no. Nope.” Danny started backing away from the table, almost tripping on his overturned chair. “Absolutely not, no, how do I get out of here?” He starts earnestly looking for a door to get out of this place, but there are three doors he can see and he has no idea where any of them go, and doesn’t this room have any windows? What kind of a room doesn’t have any windows? Do they like to eat in a basement?

“Jason- not Jason. Uh, you need to calm down, everything will be fine alright, We’ll get you and Jason introduced no problem.” Danny swivels to track the voice and it’s the one who was sitting next to him, he’s walking towards him with his hands up and out in front of him. 

“I have to get home.” Danny breathes. 

“We can get you there, promise. Now, I’m Dick, can you tell me your name?”

“Your name is Dick? Who named you Dick?” Danny is so confused he’s stopped panicking. “How old are you for you to go by the name Dick?”

“Okay, rude.” Dick sounds like a petulant child so Danny’s estimations for his age are continuously dropping. “I’m 24.”

Danny snorts. “Okay.” The blond girl starts laughing over at the table. “I’m uh, I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you. Sort of. I’m Tim.” The guy from across from him had made it over to stand next to Dick. “There’s a lot of us here today so the one laughing like a hyena is Steph. That one there is Duke.” African-American, still with black hair but he has brown eyes and waves once introduced. “Damian is the short one next to him, and Cass was sitting across from Dick earlier. Our dad, Jason’s dad-” 

“Not my dad!” Steph interrupted. Tim waves her off.

“Everyone but Steph's dad, is over there, Bruce. Alfred, our butler is the one next to him.” Alfred gives a slight nod to his head. Bruce is just staring at him.

“So, names out of the way. You said you wanted to go home, where do you live?”

“Amity Park.”

[stsgluver]

synopsis. gojo is a very light sleeper.

wc. 550

gojo thinks he’s lucky if he sleeps more than four hours a night. between missions, teaching, and the torment of being enough for everyone but the people who really needed him (geto, haibara...), there is never a chance for him to be at peace.

you haven't moved for the better part of twenty minutes now. for quite possibly the first time in your relationship, you were awake before him. you attributed it to the toll the most recent mission had taken on his body - he'd been gone four days overseas and, from the sporadic messages you received at all times of the day and night, you were almost positive he barely squeezed in a ten-minute nap.

your bodies were perfectly intertwined - his arms were tightly around your middle as yours were around his shoulders, and your legs overlapped one another's as you were desperate to be close. it didn't matter the season, nor the temperature, gojo would rather sacrifice the duvet than be any more than a hair's width away from you.

his face was pressed against your chest and you could feel each little snore he let out (the moment was so rare you found the action to be endearing more so than anything and decided you wouldn't tease him for it later). his silvery white hair was sprawled out messily and there was a small bump at the back from where his blindfold had constantly been pushing the hair up. your fingers dared to brush against the top of his neck, grazing the undercut that he complained he needed to get cut.

"look," gojo whined, pointing to the back of his head, "it's too long." it was barely an inch in length and you had bitten your tongue not to make a less-than-appropriate joke. he found it uncomfortable to wear the blindfold with longer hair and glasses weren't really an option in case they fell off during a fight or got broken. another perk of dating the world's strongest sorcerer is that more often than not he enlisted your help in trimming his undercut (y'know given his infinity and mild paranoia that he'd never admit to).

however, you were unable to get a chance before this mission in particular so now you had the chance to curl your fingers between each of the short, soft tufts. you only halted your movements when you felt him shift against you, trying to bury his face impossibly further into your chest.

after constantly having to be alert for so many years, gojo was a very light sleeper.

"don't stop," he mumbled, his voice raspy and muffled. his fingers tightened their clutch around the back of your (his) shirt and you didn't know you could love anyone as much as you do him.

you felt a pang of guilt and wished you'd resisted touching your boyfriend a little more. "sorry toru."

"don't 'pologise," gojo shook his head slightly, words slurred and riddled with sleep.

surprisingly, he drifted off again. it only took several more minutes of playing with his hair to hear those little snores again.

gojo never gets more than four hours of sleep at night but that was before you. now he's with you and maybe, just maybe, his nightmarish past that tormented him can be subdued by dreams of a future with you.

[phoward89]

This is based on this ask.

Coryo is a hands on dad in this. (Thank God, since he was a real piece of shit in the last daddy!Coriolanus one shot)

Everyone says that pregnancy is a beautiful experience. Women are supposed to look radiant and glowing as they're round with the new life they're growing inside of them.

What nobody tells you is that your feet and ankles swell, your back aches, you pee more than a race horse, you balloon into the size of a beluga whale, and your mood swings are all over the place because of the pregnancy hormones. Oh, and you crave the weirdest things.

Nope, people don't tell you that. You had to learn that the hard way. At least you had your husband by your side during everything.

Coriolanus is a very busy man, being the youngest President of Panem, but he always made time in his busy schedule for you. To check in on you and make sure you were okay. After all, it's his fault you're in the condition you're in.

Okay…

Well…

You both agreed to try for a baby during the honeymoon, so it technically wasn't his fault you're big and miserable right now.

Honestly, Coriolanus had baby fever and replaced your birth control pills with sugar pills a month or so before the wedding, so you were bound to get pregnant right away.

Anyways, you're currently so big that you can't do anything by yourself. Hell, you can barely even walk anymore. You're practically waddling like a duck.

And you're so emotional. You've been crying at the drop of a hat lately. Anything, literally anything, can put you into a crying drag. It was emotionally exhausting.

Your husband, the president, was surprisingly supportive of you. He doted on you. Even when you were complaining about being uncomfortable or crying your eyes out for the umpteenth time, Coryo was right by your side trying to comfort you.

Despite his cold, calculated, stoic nature that everyone saw, he was soft and loving towards you. But only you.

Because he loves you more than anything in this world.

Despite vowing to never let himself fall in love again, when you became his personal secretary when he was Senator Snow he fell for you.

It was hard not to. Your beauty paired with your personality was hard for him to resist.

So, he broke a promise to himself that he made at 18 or 19 years old. But, when it comes to love it just happens. Vowing to never fall in love's a foolish notion because one can't control who they fall in love with.

It just happens.

But, unfortunately, when he fell in love with you it wasn't when you were available. You had a long time boyfriend. And since Coriolanus wanted you to be his, he got rid of your boyfriend.

Permanently.

With poison.

And then a few months after your boyfriend was out of the picture, Coriolanus wooed you. He asked you out with pretty words and a single white rose. Of course you accepted.

Then, when he was campaigning to become Panem's youngest president, he proposed. And after he won the election, becoming President Snow, he married you; made you his First Lady Snow.

And now you're about to become a mother, another thing he had a hand in the making of.

The only problem was that your due date’s come and gone.

And you feel absolutely miserable.

“Darling, I just got off the phone with Dr. Wellock about your situation of being overdue.” Your husband, Coryo, announced as he walked into the sunroom room you were lounging in.

“What did he say?” You asked as the platinum blonde made his way over to your side.

“He says that an induction isn't done until the expecting mother is anywhere between 10-12 days overdue.” He said, taking a seat next to you on the sofa.

“So that means I have at least 5 more days of feeling miserable?” You asked, feeling tears begin to well up.

“Unfortunately, yes, my darling rose.” Coryo told you while wrapping an arm around you. Pulling you into his chest, he said, “The doctor gave me a list of things that can help to induce you naturally.” Rubbing your lower back, knowing that it was bothering you lately, you husband told you, “I'm having the kitchen staff cook the foods that'll help naturally induce you, Y/N.”

Coryo was a godsend. He was looking after you when he should be busy running the country. He didn't have an easy job.

He was the President of Panem.

And here he was catering to you. Offering you comfort and gentle reassurances during your difficult time of being overdue and feeling uncomfortable.

Suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. Felt like a burdened. And, before you could even control yourself, you started to cry into your husband's chest.

“What's wrong, little dove?” Coriolanus asked, threading his long fingers thru your hair, trying to soothe you.

“I feel bad that you're here with me instead of running the country. You’re the president, you should be working, not by my side giving me backrubs and helping me get from point A to point B all the time.”

“Y/N, darling, I might be the president, but I'm also your husband. As your husband, I put you and our unborn child before anything, including work. The wellbeing of my family will always come first, Panem second.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” You asked between sobs.

Because he whacked your Academy Sweetheart.

But, Coriolanus couldn't tell you that. No, that's a secret he'll take with him to the grave. Along with all the other various murders he's committed and will keep on committing in order to be all powerful and filthy rich.

No, instead the president just presses a kiss to your head and tells you, “Dumb luck, I suppose.” Rubbing circles into your lower back, causing soft moans to fall from your lips, Coriolanus smiled, “But I consider myself the lucky one for being your husband. There's no other woman in all of Panem that I could ever see myself loving as deeply as I love you.”

Sniffing and wiping at your eyes, you say, “Don't tell me sweet stuff like that or I'll never stop crying.”

Unfortunately, labor inducing foods didn't work. So, Coryo told you that the doctor told him that sex, nipple stimulation, and orgasms could help induce labor. You laughed at him, saying that had to be a lie since, despite your huge size, you were still very sexually active with him. Coriolanus just shrugged, claiming that's what the doctor told him.

You don't know if it was from sex or just your time to go into labor, but in the middle of the night (after having late night sex with your husband) you woke up with labor pains and a soaked nightgown. When you woke up Coriolanus, telling him that it was (finally) time and that you were in labor, he quickly grabbed your baby bag and rushed you to the hospital.

The man, being a very devoted husband and father to be, drove you himself. You feared that Coryo would drag you to the hospital in his pajamas, but much to your relief he did toss on some clothes before taking you.

Once at the hospital, since you're the First Lady of Panem, you were put on VIP status and given a private room with a window view of the Rockies. You didn't really care since you were in the worst pain of your entire life, but it was a nice gesture. Coriolanus sure did enjoy the special treatment you were getting. Remarking how only the best for his love would do.

The president never left your side during your labor. He wiped your sweaty forehead with a cool cloth, buzzed the nurses for ice chips and pain meds for you, and he let you squeeze his hand to the point he thought his bones would break whenever you had a particularly painful contraction.

The hospital staff just melted at the sight of President Coriolanus Snow doting on his First Lady Y/N Snow. The nurses were swooning everytime they heard Coryo tell you, “You’re doing so well, darling.”, “I know it hurts, little dove, but soon we'll have our baby and it'll be well worth it.”, “Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to, my darling rose. I served as a peacekeeper once, I can handle you breaking my hand while in labor pains.”

You were sitting up, pushing hard every 5 seconds, around 3 times per contraction. Coryo was right by your side, holding your hand and telling you, “You're doing wonderful, darling. Just a few more pushes and we'll be parents.”

The nurse in the room fought back the urge to swoon at the president’s words while the doctor just assured you that Coriolanus was right, that he could see the baby's head and after another push the baby would be born.

So, gathering all of the strength you could muster after pushing for what felt like hours, you did one last, hard push.

Your baby came out with a healthy set of lungs. Crying before even needing a spank to the butt.

Dr. Wellock held the baby up in the air, only to announce, “It's a girl!”

A girl. You and Coryo had a baby girl.

Tears of love welled up in your eyes as Coriolanus’ baby blues shines with pride as he whispered, “A baby girl.”, before pressing a soft kiss to your chapped lips.

“Mister President, Sir, would you like to cut the cord?” Dr. Wellock asked your husband as a nurse helped you deliver the placenta.

“Yes, I would like to.” Coriolanus replied before standing up and going over to the doctor. Silently, the doctor passed him the scissors and he cut the cord. After cutting the cord, your husband returned to your side while the doctor passed the baby over to the nurse to be cleaned and wrapped in a blanket.

“She's beautiful, darling.” Coriolanus told you as the doctor quickly cleaned you up.

“Does she have your platinum blonde hair?” You asked, a curious smile splitting your face wide open.

“Yes.” The president nodded. “She has both my light blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“You're going to be beating all the boys off with a stick in about, eh, 13 or so years.” You knowingly giggled right as the nurse appeared with your bundle of joy wrapped in a soft pink blanket and matching hat.

Handing you your daughter, the nurse asked, “What's her name?”

“Cersei.” You and Coryo answered at the same time, looking at your daughter with nothing but love.

Honestly, you were a bit nervous about how Coryo would be as a father since, after all, he had a lot on his plate as the president of the country. But it turns out that you didn't have anything to worry about. Coriolanus was a great father. He was very hands-on despite his strenuous and busy job being President of Panem.

The president always made time for his daughter and, of course, for you.

And when you went out in public, he was always by your side when wheeling your baby in the stroller. So many paparazzis would hide and flash pictures of President Snow with your daughter because it was the only way to get a picture of them together. Coryo never used Cersei for photo ops or publicity stunts. In fact he rarely talked about her at all interviews other then the general and polite answers of, “Oh, she's doing well.”, “Cersei's a happy girl.”, and “She’s hitting all of her milestones.”

Honestly, Coryo didn't like to talk too much about his daughter because he didn't want her in the limelight. He chose to become the president and you chose to become his first lady. You both knew the fame that came with it. But Cersei was born into it and your husband, President Coriolanus Snow, wanted her to have as normal of a childhood as possible.

And then, when your daughter was 3, you got pregnant again. Well, you and Coriolanus weren't trying, but weren't preventing either.

You were too far along yet, just nearing your 4th month. You knew that soon you'd be blowing into the size of a balloon tho.

But you weren't thinking about that right now.

Right now, you were just smiling at the sight of your daughter curled up on your husband's lap as he read her a book during one of his breaks from his office in the presidential wing of the mansion.

“Daddy?” Your daughter, whose platinum blonde hair was in little piggy tales, asked- causing your husband to pause in his reading.

It was cute how Coriolanus melted the first time he was called Dada and decided to let his daughter call him Daddy as she grew despite telling you over and over again during your pregnancy with her that he was going to be called father or nothing at all.

She's like Cersei has your husband wrapped around her finger.

“Yes, princess?” Coryo asked your daughter, looking at her with a genuine smile.

“Mama’s here.” She excitedly told your husband with a big smile on her face.

Coryo looked up, only to tell your daughter, “Oh, so she is.” Waving you into the room, your husband said, “Come in and sit down, darling. You don't need to stand in the doorway.”

“Oh, don't mind me, I was just walking down the hall and thought that I'd just check in on my favorite people while on my way to get a snack.” You told your husband, shrugging off his offer of you joining him and your daughter in the sun room.

“Mama, I want a snack!” Cersei exclaimed.

Coryo chuckled, only to close the book he was reading and place it onto the side table by his sitting chair. Standing up, with your daughter slung on his hip, the president announced, “Looks like a family snack time’s in order before I get back to work being the President Panem.”

When Cersei was almost 4, you had your son, Cassian Xandros. Then when she was 5 you had another son, Caspian Xenos and when she was 7 you had your last child. Another son, who was named Caelestis Xanthias.

Even tho Coriolanus had not 1 but 3 boys to carry on the mighty and magnificent Snow name, it was your daughter, Cersei, that was his favorite child.

Coriolanus was a good father to all 4 of your children, but it was your daughter that had him wrapped around his finger. She was daddy's little princess. She could do no wrong in his eyes.

But your boys…oh boy…Your son's had to be perfect unless they wanted to hear Coriolanus lecture them. He expected straight A’s and top marks in school from his 3 boys. Expected them to be involved in school politics, chess club, and the debate team. And when it came time for them to be mentors in the Hunger Games for a district that didn't have a Victor to act as a mentor, well you better believe that they had to be perfect at that too.

But not Cersei. Oh no… Coryo let Cersei get away with shit that he'd never let Cassian Xandros, Caspian Xenos, and Caelestis Xanthias get away with.

Cersei didn't want to be a mentor, so guess what? Her daddy, President Snow, let her stay home sick during the games so her mentor spot had to be given to somebody else. If she wanted to quit ballet lessons after just one lesson, saying it wasn't fun, then she could. She could get away with anything she wanted to, because your husband let her.

Coriolanus spoiled his daughter rotten.

And one day, as a young woman, when Cersei went running to her daddy saying that she was in trouble (knocked up) and that the Peacekeeper that got her in that condition didn't want the responsibility of a family, you know what Coriolanus did? He just told your daughter that he'd take care of everything.

And boy did he ever…

He had tea with that peacekeeper, where only one of them walked away from the garden tea table alive, and scattered the man's family all over the districts. Making sure that his younger siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, etc were reaped when eligible.

Coriolanus also assured your daughter that you and him would help her raise her baby. That she'd have your support and wouldn't be alone.

So, when Cersei gave birth to her daughter, Celeste Snow, as a single mother you and Coryo were by her side. Assuring her that everything was fine, that she was going to be a great mother.

You had a sense of deja vu whenever the nurses all gossiped and giggled about how President Snow was such a good father and grandfather to be for staying by his daughter's side and supporting her despite her being an unwed mother.

Coriolanus was a great father to all of your children, but his favorite was your daughter Cersei. So, naturally, his favorite grandchild was her only daughter Celeste. He dotes on your granddaughter Celeste. She was the apple of his eye, even when the boys started getting married and having children of their own.

Coriolanus loved all his grandchildren, but Celeste was his favorite.

You on the other hand didn't have favorites. You loved all of your children and grandchildren equally.

But Coryo wasn't like you. No, your husband was the type to love obsessively, so he had to pick favorites.

So, it didn't surprise you when one day, before the games started, you walked into the sunroom to see your granddaughter and your husband having brunch. It reminded you of how he used to read to her mother all those years ago.

He might be older now with pure white hair, a distinguished white beard framing his face, and a bit more weight on his bones, but he was the same man in spirit he was all those years ago when he used to cut time out of his day just for your daughter. Now he just does it for his granddaughter.

“Grandpa, Grandma just walked in.” Celeste announced, peeling little shell pieces off of her soft boiled egg.

“I see that, darling.” Coryo told your granddaughter. Looking at you, he gestured to the empty seat next to him at the table and suggested, “Why don't you join me, my darling rose.”

“Well, I wasn't planning to, but if you insist.” You smiled, walking further into the room.

Your eyes saw the way Celeste had her hair done in a braid, that looked like the one that Victor from 12 Katniss Everdeen wore and you secretly hoped that your husband wouldn't yell at her for it. You knew how much he couldn't stand the Everdeen girl and feared that he'd be upset with Celeste for wearing her hair like the victor's.

As you sat down, you heard your husband say, “Your hair looks lovely darling, when did you start wearing it like that?”

“Everybody at school wears it like this now, grandpa.” Celeste said with a little devious smile on her face.

And the backlash never came. He just nodded his head and went on to eat his egg.

And that's when you knew that Celeste had the same power over him that Cersei did. That you had as well.

Coriolanus Snow might be a cold, evil, dictator of a president, but to his granddaughter, daughter, and wife he's just a man that loves them unconditionally to the point where it might be considered a weakness if anyone knew.

And perhaps that's why he never speaks much about his girls in interviews. He'll speak about his boys, but not his girls.

Because if anything ever happened to his girls, well…the president wouldn't know what to do with him.

That's how much he loves his darling girls.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503 @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88, @v-love

[socialist-microwave-laser]

incredibly uncomfortable finding out a mutual of mine (thankfully one i wasn't very close to) has been rbing shit complaining about "theyfabs." absolutely vile, if you think that shit is anywhere near okay please weed yourselves out. unfollow, block me, whatever. apparently i haven't been vocal enough about this

your transphobia and bioessentialism is not made progressive by supposedly doing it in defense of other trans people

afab trans people don't have privilege over amab trans people. different experiences do not inherently mean one is better, more desirable, or more privileged than the other. it means they're different

afab vs amab is a reductive binary that not only ignores so many complexities of experience and brushes away even the attempt at intersectionality, but it contributes to the ever-present problem of perisex trans people only acknowledging that intersex people exist when it's convenient to do so. also your bioessentialism is not made progressive by supposedly doing it in defense of other trans people

i've made nicer worded posts about this but they seem to have gone under the radar so let me try again. tme vs tma is a dumb ass fucking excuse for any sort of "analysis" and shows everyone you have no idea what the hell you're talking about. NOBODY is "exempt" from transmisogyny that's the fucking point of systems of oppression!!! they're SYSTEMS!!! white people are not racism exempt! non-muslims are not islamophobia exempt! skinny people are not fatphobia exempt! straight people are not homophobia exempt! stop talking out of your ass and think about your words for longer than five goddamn seconds! also! your bioessentialism is not made progressive by supposedly doing it in defense of other trans people!

stop attacking other trans people! there is an entire fucking attempted genocide happening and you're here just spinning your wheels in the fucking mud getting pissy at random trans people over the internet who are in the exact same struggle as you are! you're not getting anywhere! all you're succeeding in doing is LITERALLY creating new slurs to be used by transphobes against those who should be your fucking siblings

your transphobia and bioessentialism is not made progressive by supposedly doing it in defense of other trans people. it wasn't cute when kalvin garrah did it. it's not cute when blair white does it. and it's not fucking cute when you do it either

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 40 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Casey is obnoxious to you once again, you try your best to go about your day even though you're on the verge of tears. Bradley knew he shouldn't have been lying to you, but he didn't see any other way of dealing with things. Especially not when he was making some last minute changes.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, mentions of smut and age gap (18+)

Length: 5000 words

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

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

Bradley didn't answer his phone when you called him on your way to work. Casey was trying to bait you, of that you were almost positive. But Bradley was acting strange all on his own, and the twin bakery boxes made you a little more anxious than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. 

This was going to be the downside to being with Bradley. He was older and sexy and had a real job and a cute kid, and other people were always going to take notice of that. But he put you in his will. He'd talked about rings, and you'd seen them in his internet tabs. There was no way he wasn't serious about this, because even if he was messing with you, he wouldn't mess with Noah. 

But you still felt jealous and petty as you drove to work. That crown shaped donut was adorable and delicious, but at what cost? Now you wished you had taken the time to see what was inside the pastry box Casey had at the daycare. You called Bradley one more time as you walked into work, but of course he didn't answer even though he should still have his phone on him at this hour. The urge to text or call Natasha was strong right now.

After you took care of a few of your patients, you caved and dug your phone out of your bag. Bradley finally responded to you.

Bradley Bradshaw: Hey, I know you said you're going grocery shopping on your way home today, but I need you to pick up Noah. I'll be late again.

You rolled your eyes as you texted him back.

Why exactly will you be late today?

You didn't have time to wait for a response, because you had to get the exam rooms ready for the upcoming patients. Dr. Kelly was dealing with an emergency in exam room one, and there was another child throwing up all over the waiting room. At the rate you were going here, you'd be lucky if you could even get to Noah on time after work. You felt like you were being pulled in four different directions, and you weren't in the mood for Bradley's bullshit. 

When nobody else wanted to clean up the waiting room, you went ahead and did it without complaining; it wasn't that kid's fault he had food poisoning. But you ended up crawling around on the floor for fifteen minutes with rubber gloves on, and then you just got more backed up with the child who was waiting for you in the last exam room. You didn't have time to eat lunch, but you took a quick bathroom break and checked your phone. 

There was nothing from Bradley, but Natasha had texted asking what you were wearing to Admiral Bates' retirement party. You pressed your lips together and took a screenshot of the poofy purple skirt and top that should be arriving today and sent it to her. Before she could respond, you sent another quick message.

Are you working late with Bradley today? Did you have to work late with him yesterday?

You used the bathroom and washed your hands, and you checked your phone one last time. 

Natasha Trace: I haven't been working late, and I followed him out of the parking garage yesterday. That shade of purple is going to look stunning next to Bradley's dress whites. I can't decide between my own dress whites or a formal gown. What's your opinion? Look like one of the guys or look like I'm trying too hard? Like I can't fucking win here, you know?

You absolutely loved that she wanted to ramble to you about her black tie options, you really did. But now you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. She just confirmed for you that Bradley left work on time yesterday. At the bare minimum he was lying to you again, but he could be doing something behind your back that would hurt you even more than that.

"Fuck," you muttered, knowing you had to get back to work. You smiled at your patients and let them take their time picking out stickers all afternoon. You cleaned and disinfected the exam rooms. You entered all of the information into the electronic charts while you answered questions for parents. You did it all without freaking out like you wanted to. 

When you were dismissed, you grabbed your things and rushed to your car to make it to the daycare in time to get Noah. Tears already stung your eyes, because you just knew you'd feel so much better when you got to see him and get a hug. You were still trying to decide if it was better or worse if Casey was still here as you parked and headed inside. Then her eyes locked with yours as soon as you entered the small lobby, and she still looked so smug in her cute outfit. But at least this meant she wasn't with Bradley. 

"Oh, it's you again," she said pleasantly as you walked to the counter. 

You put your hand out for the clipboard and said, "Yep. It's me. Told you I wasn't going anywhere. Could you please bring Noah out?"

"I will," she replied, reaching into that fucking blue box and pulling out a crown shaped donut. She nibbled on the end before setting it down again and handing you the clipboard. "You're the last one to arrive for pickup, which actually makes sense when I think about it. Bradley has you running all over the place for him, doesn't he?"

You ground your molars together to keep your mouth shut and signed your name as she took another bite of the donut. 

"I guess that's what babysitters do though. But it's funny that he didn't mention you at all when he and I were at the bakery yesterday."

Your eyes snapped up to meet her self satisfied gaze, and you wanted to rip that pretty donut out of her hand. "Just go get Noah."

"Gladly," she replied, heading for the classroom door. "You're holding me up right now anyway. I need to get back to Sweet Dreams to meet up with someone who looks damn good in a pair of aviator sunglasses. It's so nice having the best bakery in the city right in my neighborhood. It's a great spot to meet up with people."

If Bradley came home with another blue pastry box and claimed he was at work late again, you were going to throw the box back in his pretty face. 

"Mommy!" Noah called as he streaked across the lobby to you a second later. "I painted a purple dog for you!" He was holding up a painting of a purple blob with eyes and a nose, and you couldn't hold back your smile. 

"I love it," you whispered as you picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek. You made the decision to completely ignore Casey as you turned and walked out to the parking lot. "Hey, we need to stop and get groceries, so how about you pick what you want for dinner tonight."

He looked at you with those brown eyes that were identical to his dad's, except that these ones didn't have to try to look innocent, they just were. "Probably mac and cheese and ants on logs."

"Sounds perfect."

Once you and he got inside the grocery store, you were feeling extra ridiculous. You thought about making it a point to run up Bradley's credit card bill as high as you could by selecting imported exotic fruits and a bottle of champagne, but you just couldn't waste the money. You did buy yourself some expensive chocolate that you ate on the drive home though as you wondered just how late he was going to be tonight. 

You were kind of shocked as you pulled down the block with Noah and a trunk full of groceries to see the Bronco parked in the driveway. It was 6:45, so he must have arrived just before you, and you couldn't wait to put him on the spot. You slammed your door before unbuckling Noah from his seat in the back, and you really did feel like the fucking babysitter again right now. 

"Let's go, sweet Noah," you told him, leaving the groceries where they were for now. Hand in hand, the two of you walked up to the porch while he told you how many raisins he wanted on his carrots, but you barely heard him. When you opened the front door, Bradley was standing right there in the middle of the living room with a stupid smile on his face. He was holding another blue pastry box. 

"Hi," he said, leaning down to kiss you, but you backed away. His face scrunched in concern. "Everything okay?"

Noah was already bugging to see what was in the box this time, and you noticed Bradley had his other hand tucked behind his broad back. 

"I mean... no, not really," you said, slightly embarrassed by the way your voice shook. "Did you see Casey at the bakery again today? Just like last night?"

He looked completely taken aback. "How did you know I saw Casey last night?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and whispered, "Why do you keep lying to me about coming home late?"

Bradley sighed and pressed his lips together. "Look, I didn't want to have to lie to you, okay? That wasn't really my original plan, but then things got a little out of hand, and I didn't really see any other option."

"Just say it," you whispered, ready to reach for the box as your hands shook.

"I just wanted it to be a surprise," he said blandly as he pulled his hand out from behind his back. You gasped, and Noah immediately gave up on his mission to get something sweet out of the blue box.

"A dog!" Noah shouted as you looked at the tiny little Yorkshire terrier that Bradley was holding around the middle with one hand. It had a purple bow on top of its head and one leg in a cast, and it was honestly one of the cutest things you'd ever seen in your life. "A dog! A dog!" 

Bradley dropped down to kneel so Noah could get a closer look, but he kept his eyes on you as he said, "I adopted her from the shelter across town. It's on the same block as that fancy bakery. She has a broken leg, so we need to be really gentle with her while she's healing, okay?" He set the box down on the floor and sat with Noah, and now you were feeling pretty embarrassed. You still wanted to know what Casey was doing, but you tentatively sat down on the floor as well. 

When Bradley held his other arm out, you crawled in to give him a huge while Noah petted the little brown bundle of fur. He was showing how gently he could be, and the dog started licking his hands. You kissed Bradley's cheek, but he looked a little stern as he softly said, "You know I did this for you, right? You and Noah."

You didn't know what else to say, so you simply said, "Thank you."

He sighed and kissed your lips. "I saw Casey for like five minutes while I waited in line to buy your crown donut, okay? The guy from the shelter needed to interview me about getting a dog with an injury, so he and I sat in the bakery for a while and talked. I dropped off a check this afternoon, because they don't accept app payments, and I stopped at the bakery again for you. Then the guy from the shelter came by and did a quick inspection of the house and our backyard like an hour ago. And he left the dog with me. That's all."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you, and I love the dog. And I'm happy you got to use your checkbook without anyone laughing at you."

Bradley chuckled as you ran your fingers through the dog's fur. She looked up at you with brown eyes that you swore perfectly matched those of the Bradshaw boys. 

"What's her name?" Noah asked as he got his face licked.

"Whatever you want it to be," Bradley replied. "She doesn't have one yet."

You and Noah made eye contact and both smiled brightly. "Skittles!"

Bradley groaned and laid back on the area rug right next to the snag, and he plopped Skittles down on his chest. "You already had a name picked out? And it's Skittles?"

"Yes!" Noah replied, also laying on Bradley's chest to get better access to his new pet.

"We picked a name that could work for a boy dog or a girl dog," you told Bradley, your heart feeling lighter than it had for the past day. "She's so adorable," you crooned as you ran your dand down her back. "Hi, Skittles. You're precious." Her brown eyes were transfixed on your face as you scratched just the right spot behind her ear. "Why is she in a cast?"

Bradley propped his hands behind his head, and the pup carefully walked up to lick his neck and face as you took a few pictures. "Hit by a car. She was abandoned down near Imperial Beach and someone dropped her at the shelter last week. I mentioned I was looking for a small puppy or younger dog that didn't shed, and Bob found her on the shelter website."

"You were left all alone? You sweet thing," you whispered, getting close enough for a lick across your nose. "She's darling!"

"Can she sleep with me in my bed?" Noah asked as Skittles climbed carefully onto Bradley's bicep and then onto the rug. She sniffed around the pastry box before plopping down bedside Bradley with her broken leg sticking out in front of her. 

"Maybe after her cast comes off, Bub."

Noah tried his best to pout, but you saw right through it, and a few seconds later he was smiling again. "Noah, what do you say to Daddy?" you reminded him. Then he was in Bradley's arms saying thank you a million times in a row.

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

While Bradley unloaded the groceries, you and Noah played on the living room floor with Skittles. He shook his head as he locked your car. "Skittles," he muttered, hauling the last few bags inside. "You've got to be shitting me." He chuckled to himself. You'd come into his life with your candy and your glossy lips and your sweetness and upended everything. He owned a fucking dog now, and you'd named it after your favorite snack. He even had a reminder in his phone to pay off his credit card balance so he could start shopping for a ring next month.

You smiled up at him from the floor as Noah squeaked a toy and held it out to the dog. Damn it, she was actually adorable. And the shelter gave her a little purple bow when he asked for that color. And she definitely had the puppy eyes down pat, because Bradley couldn't even walk through the room without stopping to pet her. 

He ended up carrying Skittles around the house for the rest of the night after you made mac and cheese for dinner. The dog was already trained to go to the bathroom outside, but he needed to be careful with her cast. The staff from the animal shelter had absolutely grilled him for information before they even came out to inspect whether or not the house and yard were safe for her. 

"Yeah, this is your yard now," he whispered to the dog as he carried her outside in one hand. She licked his cheek before he set her down and watched her sniff around as it got darker outside. She was only a year or two old, which is what he wanted. This way Noah and potentially his younger sibling could have more time with her as the dog grew older. 

"Come here," Bradley called, and Skittles moved as quickly as her little casted leg would allow her to. She stopped at his feet and looked up at him. "Fuck. You really are cute. And I'm going to look like an asshole when I take you for walks." But he was smiling as he picked her up again. When he turned, you were standing in the open doorway.

"You won't look like an asshole, Daddy. You'll look as adorable as Skittles does."

He kissed your forehead and asked, "Is Noah in bed?"

"Yeah. He wants you to go in and say goodnight. And may I please hold the dog for a few minutes?" you asked with a little pout. 

"Nope," he replied, kissing your cheek. "Gotta let Noah say goodnight to her, too."

"Then can I play with her?"

Bradley held the dog's face up to his ear. "What's that, Skittles? You said you like me the best and want me to keep holding you? That's what I thought."

"Hey!" you complained, playfully hitting his arm as the pup licked his ear. You looked happier right now than you had earlier, but Bradley knew he needed to have a conversation about Casey. He couldn't understand what set you off so much earlier. 

As he carried Skittles toward Noah's room, he replayed the events from yesterday in his mind. He'd been sitting in the bakery for about an hour before he finished talking to the representative from the animal shelter, and when he stood up, Casey was already there. And yeah, she was a nuisance as usual. She put her hand on Bradley's forearm and mentioned that she liked his uniform, but she always tried to do that shit. Then she waited in line like she was with him instead of behind or in front of him, and she went on and on about how she lived right around the corner.

When he finally managed to leave with the bakery box and your cute donut, he was exhausted. And he'd only had to listen to her for a few minutes. Then she stood next to the Bronco with him like she expected a ride home or something, which was ridiculous since she told him so many times that she lived around the corner. 

He sighed and kissed Skittles on the head as he carried her in to say goodnight to Noah. "I love her," his son said as Bradley held her so she could lick his face. "I'll be really careful so she can sleep in here with me," he pleaded. 

Bradley kissed his cheek. "Not tonight, Bub. I already told you, she needs to heal up first."

Noah reached out to pet her before rolling onto his side with a little scowl, but he was already asleep by the time Bradley left the room. And then he went into his bedroom which always smelled like wildflowers and found you on the bed wearing that sexy little purple nightie you bought online. For a brief second he wondered if you were wearing your plug, but then he remembered he needed to have a conversation with you. 

You held your hands out to Skittles, but Bradley just shook his head and carried her to the little plush bed he set up in the corner and set her there. She walked in a delicate circle before plopping down and yawning. "How are you this cute?" he asked the animal before turning back to where you were sitting with your arms crossed.

"Why won't you let me hold Skittles?"

"Because we need to talk," he replied immediately. You flopped back against the pillows as Bradley climbed in bed with you. "Come here," he whispered, patting his chest, and sure enough, you crawled over and snuggled against him. "Tell me what's bothering you."

You draped your arm across his abs and said, "You won't let me hold Skittles!"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. He didn't want to have to be the one to say it, so he stroked your bare arm and waited. 

You sighed softly and said, "Casey always tries to bait me when I see her at daycare dropoff or pick up. I'm sorry I came in hot with you today. But you should hear what she says."

Bradley thought he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested in her after he returned from his last deployment. He made no secret of grabbing at you and kissing you in front of Casey. He knew it was probably because you and she were the same age, and Casey definitely saw the way he doted on you. "She's probably just jealous, because I like to spoil you."

You snorted. "She's jealous, because you're hot, Daddy."

Bradley could feel his cheeks flush with heat as you shifted slightly and looked up at him. "What did she say to you today?" he asked.

Your eyes fluttered closed in embarrassment, and you looked bashful as you whispered, "She made it seem like she met you at the bakery. Like it was something you and she planned ahead of time. And she had a blue bakery box and a princess crown donut, and she ate it in front of me. And now I'm starting to realize how ridiculous this sounds, because I trust you."

"I know you do, Princess," he replied as he looked at your purple crown on the bedpost. "And I trust you. But I just can't believe she did that." He studied your gorgeous face and ran his knuckles along your cheek. "I'm sorry I lied to you about staying at work late. That was shitty. I just wanted you and Noah both to be surprised since you've both been bugging for a dog. I just wanted to get you something special."

"Apology accepted. And dog accepted, too," you whispered as he stroked the soft skin of your neck.

"Listen. I'm not interested in Casey. I'm never going to be interested in Casey. I saw her for five or ten minutes at the bakery, and she asked why I was on that side of town. I told her the other guy was from the shelter and I was thinking about getting a dog. She waited with me in line and practically gave me a migraine from how much she talks. I didn't pay attention to what she bought, so if she had a princess crown donut, then she bought it herself."

You smiled up at him. "Those donuts are so good. Pissed me off that she had one and tried to rub it in my face. She must have heard what you ordered."

He smirked. "Yeah well, you're the one getting cream filled donuts and a cream filled pussy anytime you want."

"Daddy!" you gasped. "That's fucking naughty."

"Get up here," he whispered, and then you moved up his body until your lips met his. "I love you. You're Noah's mommy. You're my Princess. I want to be with you. Don't worry about Casey." But he knew he'd have to have another conversation tomorrow, which he was more than happy to do for you. 

You pressed soft kisses to his mustache as he ran his hand up your thigh, curious if you were wearing panties. You were not. "You know what I really want, Daddy?"

"Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

You gently bit his bottom lip before releasing it and giggling. "I want to play with Skittles."

Bradley groaned as you scrambled off of his semi hard cock and climbed out of bed. He got a delicious view of your bare ass as you bent to pick the dog up and carry her back to bed. "You're the cutest little girl! Look at you in your purple bow! Oh, I just love you!"

Then he watched as you climbed back onto the bed with all the care in the world and had the pup cradled against you. When he chuckled and left the room, you didn't even seem to notice. He used the bathroom and went to the kitchen in search of the blue pastry box while he planned out what he'd say to Casey. He wasn't about to tolerate someone intentionally making you uncomfortable, especially when it came to him. 

He grabbed a plate and the fresh princess crown donut, wondering if he could get the bakery to make one that looked like a wedding ring. Then he carried the plate back to the bedroom where Skittles was laying on her back while you tickled her tummy. Bradley just stood there and held the plate as he watched you play and listened to you laugh. You kissed the dog and said, "I'm going to buy you a purple collar and leash with Daddy's credit card. And when your cast comes off, Noah and I will take you for hikes around the block. And Daddy is so big, he's going to look so hot walking such a tiny dog. Either that, or he'll look like an asshole."

"I'm standing right here." 

You smirked when you looked at him. "I know," you said, scratching Skittles on her belly as she squirmed around. "Is it okay if I order her a leash and some snacks?"

"Get whatever you want," he said, handing you the plate and kissing you before he stole the dog from your grasp.

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh.

"It's time for Skittles to go to bed. Eat your princess donut, and then I'll fill you with cream if you're in the mood for it."

You just looked at him coyly as you nibbled on the donut, and he put the pup in her little bed once again.

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

The next morning, Bradley let you sleep in a little later than usual while he got Noah ready and packed you a sandwich for your lunch. He'd kept you up pretty late, fucking you slow and steady until he got a shaking orgasm out of you. Then he took his time as you babbled and kissed him sweetly, finally filling you up with his cum. He called you his little donut as you fell asleep. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he thought about it, starting to get hard in his flight suit as he made your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

"Morning," you sang as you strolled into the kitchen in your scrubs. You kissed his cheek and then pet Skittles where she sat looking up at the sandwich, hoping some would fall on the floor. Then you sat down next to Noah as he ate his cereal and told you that he loved Skittles even more than dinosaurs.

"More than dinosaurs?" you asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he dipped his spoon back into his bowl. "That's a whole lot."

"Yep," he agreed. "I love Skittles almost as much as I love you and Daddy."

Bradley watched you kiss his son on the cheek before you got your own bowl of cereal ready. "Should we thank Daddy again for bringing her home?"

"Thanks, Daddy," you and Noah sang out in unison. 

Bradley just smiled and said, "You're welcome. Noah, finish eating so we're not late. Princess, can you put Skittles in her crate before you leave?"

"Yes," you told him between bites of breakfast. "And I'll order her leash and stuff later today."

He kissed you hard before bringing you coffee in the mug that said Noah's Daddy. Then he scooped Noah up and carried him off to get his shoes on. It was getting seriously late at this point, and he knew he'd be in the daycare for an extra minute or two this morning. "I love you, Baby," he called out, rushing back into the kitchen for a second when he was finally ready to leave. 

You gave him and Noah one last kiss apiece, and then Noah hugged Skittles. "We gotta go," Bradley told him, rushing him out to the Bronco. It only took a few minutes to get to the daycare, and Bradley had a good idea what he wanted to say. He found himself hoping that Casey was at the front desk this morning, not wanting to draw this shit out any longer. 

When he walked Noah inside, hand in hand, Bradley saw her right away. She looked up at him with parted lips and a little smile as he tugged his aviators off. Then she looked at his son and said, "Good morning, Noah!" Her eyes darted back up as she added in a softer voice, "And Bradley."

He watched her walk Noah into the classroom before he signed his name on the clipboard. When Casey walked back toward him, there was nobody else in the lobby. He held out the clipboard for her and said, "I'd actually prefer it if you called me Lieutenant Bradshaw."

She giggled as if she was being treated to something even better than use of his first name, and Bradley had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradshaw," she whispered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

He cleared his throat. "Can we chat for a minute?"

Casey set the clipboard down and came to stand alarmingly close to him. This was every bit as bad as you had claimed, and frankly he was more than a little bit surprised by how bold she was. Bradley took a step away and shook his head. "Look Casey, this is never going to happen."

She froze on the spot, and her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. "Oh."

"Right. And I really don't want to have to go to your boss, so I need you to just knock it off, okay? My girl and I don't keep secrets from each other, so I know about how you talk to her, and I don't appreciate it at all. She's as good as being Noah's mom and my wife."

Now her cheeks were a deeper shade of red, and she was rushing back around to the other side of the desk. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm just surprised she said something to you about it."

"Don't be. Like I said, we talk about everything. And if you pull some more shit, I'll hear about that, too. Promise."

He stood his ground until she looked up at him. All she said was, "Okay," and then Bradley put his aviators back on as he turned toward the door. 

"You have a great day."

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

Casey, you literal nightmare. She'd be delighted if she broke them up. Can't wait to see her next time Princess shows up. And Daddy shouldn't even try to be sneaky. Just no, Daddy. But welcome, Skittles! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 41

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@backinwonderl4nd

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@pieceuvmind

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

[dyketubbo]

i get why theres people who dont like when people use their minority status to advertise why they need help i really do but at some point it stops being like. some pet peeve or a recognition that some posts asking for money can be counterproductive in their hostility or even a general acknowledgement that people who need money shouldnt ask on tumblr and becomes like. a slope into "i hate when minorities ask for help because i dont want to acknowledge that being a minority makes it hard to get help and im mad these minority groups hate their oppressors because im apart of the group their oppressors are in so i feel it reflects on me (except this kneejerk hatred of being reminded of this fact reflects on me harshly anyways)"

[scarafvcker]

CAN I REQUEST HUMAN AFAB READER LOSSING IT TO SCARA? I NEED MORE AUS WERE WE LOSE OUR VIRGINITY TO THAT PRETTY MAN

synopsis: scaramouche lets you stare at his pretty self (i.e. he’s making you look into his eyes while he fucks you lol)

cws: virginity loss, exhibitionism, choking (done properly!! pls learn how to choke ppl if y’all are gonna do that), degradation, mean scara, cumshot, no aftercare, afab!reader

word count: 1300+

a/n: this one’s for you anon :) enjoy~

scaramouche knew he was attractive. he was made to be perfect—carved from a white tree by the electro archon herself. he was aware of all the stares he would get and he never really cared for anyone who gazed at him for longer than necessary, never even sparing them a glance.. but you however..

you’re supposed to be helping him on a mission right now. you’re supposed to be staring up at the false skies of teyvat. you’re not supposed to be staring at him. you’re not supposed to be making his shorts get uncomfortably tight. you’re just his underling, just some fatui soldier on his squad. you’re just a human, just a weak human who should be grateful to even breathe the same air as him—let alone, stare at him.

so how did he end up in this position—hovering above you as you lay on a blanket spread out onto the grass, one hand above your head to hold himself up while the other was plunging in and out of your cunt? it all happened so quickly—from stares to glares, hisses to kisses. he had just wanted to put you in your place and this certainly wasn’t the way he intended this to go but who is he to complain when he’s got you shivering at every little touch? you, the oh so strong soldier on his squad. you, the annoying human who shamelessly stares at him everyday.

his indigo eyes are gazing into yours with a dangerous glint and his lips are turned up into a sadistic smirk. he looks fucking beautiful like this—hovering over you while his long and slender fingers graze over every inch of your ridged walls. he’s spent over an hour stretching your virgin hole with just his fingers and each plunge draws out an obscene squelch that you’re sure your fellow soldiers could hear from inside their tents.

it’s glaringly obvious that he doesn’t care about whether or not people could hear or see you getting finger-fucked by your harbinger. he keeps pushing his digits around your walls, occasionally prodding at that squishy spot that has you biting back a moan. each time he grazed over that spot, your hole drenches his fingers more and more, practically drowning his hand in your lewd juices. his smirk grows wider when he decides he’s had enough fun, shoving his fingers as deep as they can go before curling them against that spot repeatedly.

his pace was rapid, the tips of his digits abusing that spot with no mercy. he reveled in the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the way your warm walls twitched around his fingers, the way you couldn’t hold back your sounds, the way your breathy gasps turned into broken moans. he had your body shaking, had you falling apart on just his fingers for the first time tonight, had you failing to hold back your desperate pleas. he slipped his fingers out of you, popping them into his mouth as he tasted your slick. his eyes were still on you, waiting for you to look back and him and when you finally did, he took his fingers out of his mouth with an obscene pop! “didn’t i tell you to keep your eyes on me?” his voice was as smooth as ever and you didn’t miss his threatening tone. he clicked his tongue, using your shirt that was bunched up over your chest to wipe his saliva off of his hand as he sat up on his knees and pulled down his shorts, “those eyes better stay on mine this time.”

you could only catch a glimpse of his cock before he sheathes it into you slowly. his eyes were darting between yours and the place where he was connected to you, making sure you kept eye contact as he watched the way his pretty, pink tip disappeared into your tight hole. he groaned at the squeeze and kept pushing in while his hands flew to the blanket above your head. he want back to staring into your eyes as he slowly filled your virgin cunt, “feel that? feel your harbinger stretching out your pussy? hah.. what a slut you are.”

he gave you barely any time to adjust to his intrusion, slowly pulling his hips back a tiny bit before pushing forward again. the sounds of his hips meeting yours harmonized with the squelch of him fucking his cock into you. he slid his left hand up the blanket, bringing his forearm to rest flush against the ground while his right hand gripped at your jaw harshly. his breath began to tickle your face as he picked up his speed, unblinking eyes staying locked onto yours as he pulled out to the tip before slamming back in with a well aimed thrust of his cock to your a-spot.

you were getting wetter and wetter with each thrust, the friction and each slam of his cock to your a-spot worked together to provide enough of your slick to make the painful stretch a little more bearable. you couldn’t hold your voice back, letting out loud moan after moan as he continued to fuck himself deep inside you. god, this was much rougher than you expected for your first time but with the way he’s glaring down at you while his lips curl into a smirk, all your complaints disappeared—perhaps out of fear or arousal.. or both.

you wrapped your legs around his hips, hands dipping into his silky lock and heels digging into his lower back. eyes trained onto each other as the two of you let indecent sounds reverberate through the silence of the forest, for sure to wake the soldiers sleeping only a few feet away. his hand slides down your jaw to your neck, fingers pressing into the sides to cut off just enough air to get your head all fuzzy while he keeps pounding into you roughly. you’re seeing stars and not just the ones in the sky, your eyes can barely focus on him but you swear his smirk is getting bigger and bigger with each passing second and the tone he speaks with only confirms it, “quiet, slut. you’re gonna wake up the entirety of teyvat.”

ever that sadist he is, he only pounds into you with fervor—slamming his tip into that squishy spot at an inhuman pace just to draw out as many of your sounds as he can. “fuck, listen to your slutty pussy begging to be filled up.. you want that, huh?” he lets out a deep chuckle when you nod your head frantically, only able to let out a slurred ‘uh-huh! uh-huh!’ he starts to fuck you even deeper, his tip hitting your cervix at an inhuman speed, “such a fucking whore. go ahead and cum on my cock, then i might give you want you want.”

his words make the knot in your stomach snap, bringing your body to a shaking orgasm that only intensifies with each thrust he keeps giving you. despite your best efforts, your eyes are rolling into the back of your head once again and through your high, you can hear him click his tongue before releasing his hold on your neck. he pulls himself out of your twitching hole, pumping his cock above your cunt as you look up at him through teary eyes, “i told you to keep your eyes on me. stupid slut can’t even listen to a simple order.”

he clicks his tongue once more before you feel the warmth of his cum splattering onto your abused pussy and just as quick at it happened, it’s gone. he tucks himself back into his shorts, standing up and wiping the sweat off his forehead before walking away. he doesn’t even spare you a glance, leaving you shaking on that blanket with his cum dripping down your cunt. “if you want it so bad, go ahead and fuck it into yourself,” he snickers as he heads into his own tent.

[suguruplsr]

thinking about high school gojo, where him, reader and others are attending a party. the guests doesnt know about their relationship yet, so when they see reader and geto laughing while talking they told them that they look cute and they should date. and gojo is just side eyeing them and he's suddenly like “ah, yes, you two should date” and the rest is up to youuuu

i’m her boyfriend!

✰ ✰ ✰ satoru wasn’t jealous! okay maybe he was..

જ⁀➴ this is so cute

,, satoru x fem!reader , fluff , toru is a bit jelly n’ flirty , kisses , not proofread , idk , drabble.

“is he joking?” “i don’t think so..” you and suguru scoff under your breaths at satoru’s words, who stood in front of you two with a fed up look. as the people around you and suguru converse in agreement to the idiot’s words, you pat suguru’s back in sympathy before walking towards the white haired male, pulling his wrist as you drag him away,

“what’s wrong? don’t you think you should date him? i totally think you should. y’know you both are..” satoru rambles on and on, ignoring how you roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone, walking through the confused crowd and not minding their comments. hey, if the cats out of the bag, then it’s his fault right?

once you two are are outside, you pin him against the brick wall, covering his mouth with a hand and glaring up at him with those cute eyes that warm his heart. “seriously satoru? how jealous can you be? that was very uncomfortable, plus you know me and suguru would never—“ satoru licks your palm. he licked your hand. your hand is wet with spit— “satoru.” you pull away with a disgusted look, dragging your hand along his tuxedo.

“if you wanted to touch my chest i would’ve gladly took this off baby~” he cheekily grins, wrapping his arms around your body and leaning down, his lanky body covering you as he brings a hand up your puffy cheeks. “satoru?” you click your tongue, trying to turn your head away. only for him to keep your eyes on him, fingers mindlessly playing with the plush of your cheek as he gleams down at you with those stupid tilted glasses.

“yessss sweetheart~?” “you’re jealous.” your blatant words make satoru gasp, dramatically, holding onto your shoulders with a fake wail, “nuh uh! i was just encouraging my best friends to get together!” you jeer, slapping his arm gently, “oh really? i guess i should cut off the guy im talking too. i’m so sure suguru would be a better choice.” you deadpan, crossing your arms at the sight of satoru’s pout.

he looks like a puppy. pink lips turned into a little frown as his cerulean eyes cast down, they’re so bright that you can still see them through his dark shades. he stays silent for a moment, hands moving to your arms and undoing them, holding your hands. “okay.. maybe i shouldn’t have said that. but—“ “satoru.” you cut him off before he can complain, already suspecting his complaints about how the people in the building.

“okay. but i didn’t like them pressuring you two like that, especially you. and even if they don’t know that we’re together, they had no right to do that to some random people!” satoru groans, and you can feel the annoyance radiating off him as he pulls you closer, holding your knuckles up to his lips. “i can agree on that.” you smile, watching him flutter kisses around the back of your hand.

it was so funny to you, how he cures his moods just by giving affection rather than getting it. it’s like he’s the epitome of love. always giving it out like free candy to those he cares about. so cute. “m’sorry baby. i should’ve helped you guys instead.” he sighs, placing a long kiss on your wrist, taking in the scent of your perfume as you ruffle his hair. “i forgive you toru. maybe i’ll kiss you if you admit that you were also jealous.” you grin, loving the way his face scrunches up, a huff leaving his lips.

“oh c’monnn. i’m your boyfriend. i should get kisses without payment!” satoru guides you back towards the double doors, trying hard to not accept the fact that, perhaps, he was a little bit jealous earlier. “hm, i guess poor toru doesn’t want a kiss. didn’t you say you love wearing my lipstick on your lips when i kiss you?” you tease, only for him to hold your neck firmly, leaning down and taking away your breath. your eyes slowly close in content as your lips mesh together. he draws it out long enough for your hands to itch up to his neck, to which he pulls away from with a smile.

“red might suite me more than you think. but only your red of course.” you roll your eyes at satoru’s flirty tone, wiping away the red lipstick coating his lips, despite his whining. “if you leave it on everyone’s going to notice..” you mutter, not noticing how he stares at you with eyes that squint in fondness. “let them. i want everyone to know im yours.” he boldly states, bringing a hand up to your wrist and stopping you. “toru..” your bite your lip in nervousness, only thinking of the possibilities that could arise if everyone learns about your relationship with him.

but satoru hums to himself, staring at your lips and leaning down, inspecting the red that smeared your own lips, “if you wiped it all away then shouldn’t i take a few more kisses? hehe.”

yes, he was jealous.

[lunityviruz]

Something I've noticed is that no matter what fandom or community we are in—black people will always always have to make a safe space for ourselves. Every single fandom I was in there were always black people being treated badly by white people and nonblacks and everytime we spoke on it we are told that we are either making it up or causing problems/discourse.

Even in the LGBTQ+ community where niggas preach about being sooo accepting we have to make *our own flags and spaces because we get talked over and forgotten so damn much. You look up queer related stuff and white people show up first (try the trans selfie tag or look up androgynous stuff on pinterest.) You look up queer shows and it's only white people with a black side character or a white person x a black person like we can't exist on our own. White queers calling black people cops for being uncomfortable with certain labels.

Even with fictional black characters they get the same treatment. Marina from Splatoon 2 and Hobie Brown from Spiderman both are victims of nonblack people hypersexualizing them and masculinizing them. Xinyan from Genshin Impact is a complete and utter stereotype of black people—being seen as aggressive and mean and a literal theft. Don't get me started on how yall whitewash the fuck outta them. It's either sexualize them, whitewash them or forget about them completely.

For some reason white people are seen as more aesthetically pleasing compared to Black people and when we look up aesthetics we literally have to type in "black person x aesthetic" or afro punk or afro goth despite us being the creators of some of these aesthetics. Same with cosplaying, white peoples cosplays are seen as more "canon" compared to black people or even people who's race is literally the character being cosplayed.

Fanfiction writers constantly cater to white people despite trying to market their stuff as "inclusive" while black people get shitted on for making character x black reader fics and don't you know weird ass white people still read them??

Yall tell us to make our own things instead of "complaining" about it and we do, then we get hit with death threats and hate. We make our black edits and get told that it's "blackwashing" and the artists get called the n word, we make black movies and our actors get death threats. We make our own original black art with our black OC'S and get told that we're being selfish and "racist" for not drawing other people. We literally cannot exist without you people hating on us and unnecessarily critiquing us.

[Note: If you nonblack or white niggas come up here and being like "well acschually op🤓☝🏾" I will actually hurt you. If you ask "why is this in the x tag" I will hurt you as well. You try n derail and make it about a different race I'm hurting you.]

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers. 

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves. 

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable. 

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement. 

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance. 

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you. 

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety. 

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

[inkskinned]

they don't see it, because it is around them like air. to them, it would have to be through movies, through magazines. they think it happens outside of life, like it must be selected to be interacted with.

but you discovered in the fifth grade that you couldn't wear shirts with words on them, it was an excuse for someone to look at your chest. you were catcalled before you were in middle school. sometimes you look at that memory and deny it - surely that can't be right, you were young. but you were in a skirt, so maybe that was a natural byproduct. it was a skirt from that place "justice by limited too" - a store literally for kids. it was popular around then. you wore that skirt twice and then never again.

you can't wear headphones, because what if a man wants to talk to you? there's a guy on the internet who complains that women shut themselves off from being approached. at night, you often keep the headphones positioned but with the sound off, just in case you need to hear something behind you.

you learned at 12 that you can't make eye contact, don't acknowledge the aggression. just walk faster and hope he picks on somebody else. don't wear your hair like that. do not park next to that kind of car, park an entire cityblock away if you must.

you can't go to the museum, you're sitting and tying your shoe when he approaches you and mentions that nobody understands art anymore. that in the whole world, it's just you-two. you have no recourse for eating a meal (it's rabbit food if it's salad, and someone will roll their eyes, eat a sandwich. it's pick-me behavior if it's a burger, we get it you're a cool girl). if you like mushrooms you are cottagecore, which is cheesy. if you like video games you're an egirl (similar to a pick-me). boys do not get categories, but if you point out the categories are sexist, you are told okay but these girls really exist.

it is somehow developing, a little undercurrent that you've been uncomfortable with. the nickname "karen" went from being "a white woman that uses her whiteness as a weapon, particularly against people of color," to now mean "any woman raising her voice or being even a little upset." the reappropriation of a term used specifically to call out white women for their racism has set your skin on edge. now it is just another version of "bitch," one that can be said on television. recently you saw a woman get called a karen because a drunk driver sideswiped her, and she screamed when it happened. the comments on the dashcam video all say "why do women always scream about everything." "when has the world ever been bettered by women screaming." "this fucking karen. she deserved to get hit."

in the sitcom, it's a joke that the wife is furious; slamming her hands down into the sink. i do everything around here, might as well do this too. in your house, your father is always in-his-office. before you know better, your first boyfriend is the type to say it's just easier for you. you used to beg him to take you on dates. he used to make a big deal about it, about the sacrifice of effort, even if you were the one who did most of the planning.

someone on the internet makes a "POV: the most boring person you've ever met" where he puts a towel on his head and just talks like a normal person. his impression of a boring woman is just a woman that is talking about her pretty-average life without exaggeration.

you are sometimes actually sad in the reverse, because actually you did used to struggle to pay attention in conversations. you were also easily bored of normal things, your adhd pinging off of every radio tower in the vacinity. it took time and therapy and patience, and now you delight in the small things about your friends. you like having them show you their organizational systems and talk about their taylor swift tickets. you are entertained by them because you learned to be, even though your brain is structured to only be excited by novelty. you kind of hate the idea that the reason your father will never actually pay attention to you is that you're no longer interesting. eventually the shine wore off, and you were just a person, not a spaceship. he never learned how to just, like, form an actual intimate friendship. it was always at a distance, this sense - emotional closeness was too much. (and yes. he's homophobic).

you're already tired of whatever the fuck is happening with the words "divine feminine", a rancid take that is basically just a rebranding of the patriarchy in action. what the fuck do they mean "being small and delicate and needing protection" is feminine. the words they are looking for are that they want a partner, not that their desire for equivalent support is relegated to gender. the human desire for community is not actually gendered at all. also, what fucking wolves are these "divine masculine" men even battling. fuckken taxes? shouldn't their "desire to protect" also mean "protect you from emotional neglect", or are all emotions off-limits (and how sad would that be. that's a horrible bar to set.)

and they tell you it's really not bad actually, because it's just there. they suggest you get off the internet or you stop reading that book or you stop thinking so hard about the movie or you stop just-being-a-feminist because honestly it's a killjoy sort of thing and then you tilt your head to the side and there's that little siren in the back of your head. if things were actually fine, being a feminist wouldn't put a stop to anything, it would go completely unnoticed, because you wouldn't have any comment to make about any of this

but you are ruining your own life, they tell you. also, girls don't sit like that. also, all girls are catty. also, all girls are bad drivers. also, all girls just need a cute bracelet and an iced coffee.

you do like iced coffee, is the thing. when you close your eyes, the world around you has this strange note to it. and once you hear it, it never stops ringing.

[slutforsnow]

Skin Don't Matter To Me

Quick a/n before the fic gets started; I am SO SO SORRY to those who were upset/uncomfortable/angry that I made the original billy x black!reader a former slave!reader. I didn't think. I shouldn't have been up at 1am writing. It was horrid and a terrible decision on my end. Forgive me or not, is entirely up to you. Ty to the anons who called me out for it and made me realize it was wrong to do that, biracial or not. I hope you can forgive me 🫂

Tw/CW: insecurities, anxiety, racism is brought up (not comments, just behavior).

Summary: Reader gets insecure about her relationship with Billy after seeing some girls flirt with him.

It was a chill Saturday evening in the saloon as patrons drank, played poker, and chatted absent-mindly. It was an easy night, for sure, aside from a few drunken snide comments made towards reader, but she shrugged them off. After all, she wasn't getting paid to fight the customers.

As she hummed and wiped down the bar, which was currently empty, she stopped midway to wipe some sweat off her face—reader loves her afro, and has no problems pulling it back so she didn't sweat to death while she worked, but some nights it was just too hot and having so many people out and about the saloon was making it harder to deal with.

Her dark skin shone in sweat as she worked but didn't complain. She had to make a livin' somehow, and she wasn't gonna do that by moanin' and groanin'.

As she resumed her work, she flashed a smile towards her boyfriend as he played poker. He was in his favorite seat, watching her work as he placed his bets and ignored the other girls hitting on him and trying to get his attention. He was technically working as well—he and his boys were security for the saloon because some of the customers were still quite horrid to the folks of color who worked, especially the women. They'd try to threaten y/n but were often silenced or kicked out by Billy and his men.

Y/n and Billy had been dating for 2 years, despite the ups and downs of him being a cowboy and the racism she'd face for being a black woman.

As she worked, still humming, she caught sight of some white girls being all touchy and whispering things in his ear. She bit her tongue as to not cause a scene and focused on continuing to grab glasses and wipe down tables.

'He'd never leave me. He's said that,' She thought to herself as a reminder that Billy would never leave her for some white girl. She was his, and he was hers. Yet, despite the constant love and affection he would give her, she still got that nagging fear that he would leave her.

A few hours later, Y/n's shift had ended and the couple were headed back home to the ranch that they bought with their savings over the course of their relationship. Y/n was silent the whole way home, which made Billy worry that he did something wrong.

"Darlin' did I do somethin' wrong?" He asked, setting his hat on a hook by the door as he shut the door behind him.

A lump formed in her throat and she sighed, knowing he'd keep asking if she said nothing.

"It wasn't you, Billy it... it's just my fears," She answered, trying to dismiss her fears.

"Well, what's wrong? It won't go away unless you talk to me."

Damn his smooth and relaxing tone- she didn't want to talk about it, afraid it would turn into an argument about his loyalties but he was so understanding that she knew she she couldn't hide it from him.

"Those... those damn whores that keep touchin' on you like you're not taken," She told him, sighing. "I know it's probably stupid or somethin-"

"Oh thank the Lord, I was hoping you'd bring this up," He breathed out, letting out a relaxed laugh and earning a perplexed look from y/n.

"...What?"

"I've been wanting to tell you about that. I never wanted to stress you out, but I hate, and I mean absolutely fuckin' hate when they do that. It gets so annoyin', I tell them I'm taken and to back off, but do they listen? No." As Billy continued to ramble about how he hated the other women touching and talking to him like he wasn't a taken man, she smiled.

He was so vocal about how much he hated it when they touched and flirted with him that it eased her worried soul and she hugged him tightly.

Fucking hell, she loves this man so much.

[nariism]

did we just kiss?!

pair. itoshi sae x gn!reader

content: fluff, idiots in love, not proofread

wc. 0.7k

a/n: based loosely off of the "we accidentally kissed goodbye before they left for work" trope because it's funny and cute

itoshi sae is not an easy man to fluster.

in fact, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him get any further than slightly pink in the face. and even then he didn’t gratify you with any change in his expression, instead stubbornly staring at you with a deadpan. always so serious, that guy.

it’s not like he didn’t have people over. he actually had a lot of people over, but never the same one twice.

“being a celebrity sounds exhausting,” you told him one time. he just grunted at you in lieu of a proper response and slammed his bedroom door behind him. even famous people who live in the lap of luxury need to blow off steam once in a while, and it’s fine, you guess.

you only wish that they were quieter. maybe that was just sae’s type.

you’re not sure how you fell into the role of his roommate in the first place; you definitely did not keep up with the rent as dutifully as you should but for some reason he never minded covering the rest of the insane cost. you were just a friend from his youth— not his childhood by any means, in which the sentiment would hold up much better.

no, you met sae when you were seventeen years old. and since then he’s always spoiled you more than words could describe. in return, he comes home from gruelling practices to see your smiling face and the soft way you ask him “how was your day?”

he used to come home to an empty apartment, to a silence so loud that his ears would hurt. he would fill the air with white noise; leaving his tv running or boiling a kettle of tea, just to keep his sanity going a little longer.

he likes you. enough to allow you to be his white noise. it’s more pleasant than having to drink three cups of green tea every night, at least.

you’d like to think that you know everything about sae after living with him for almost two years. how he looks so tired in the morning and the way he doesn’t bother combing his hair, just slicking it back with some water and calling it a day. how he prefers to brush his teeth before eating in the morning, and then rinsing once with mouthwash after breakfast. how he comes home midday and flops onto the couch wordlessly to take his one hour nap at exactly 3 in the afternoon, and how he always falls asleep looking in your direction as you work at the desk on the other side of the room.

you’d like to think you know everything about sae. you don’t, but one thing is for sure: he really, really, really is not easy to fluster.

but one day, he finds you waiting at the door for him to say goodbye. you’re packing a little lunch into his gym bag because the night before he was complaining about always having to eat out during his breaks and that he was getting tired of bland food. there’s even a little sticky note attached to it with a smiley face and a heart with letters too small for him to read from this distance. and crap, it’s so domestic that he almost gets down on one knee right then and there.

(not that he has a crush on you or whatever, that would be so lame.)

“have a good day, sae,” you tell him with that smile on your face that makes him uncomfortably mushy inside.

“yeah, bye.”

and he’s not sure what kind of demon overtakes him, but he leans in to kiss you. a small peck right on the lips. it lasts maybe half a second before he stands up straight, eyes wide at his own actions, and pushes past you to rush out the door. as always, it slams behind him.

you’re left standing there in the entrance, staring at the door with a mixture of amusement and horror because itoshi sae, your roommate, might have just kissed you entirely on reflex.

he’s totally flustered, too, because in that half-second that his lips were on yours he swears you kissed him back.

when he gets into the backseat of the car waiting for him downstairs, his manager looks at him like he’s seen a ghost.

“are you… blushing?”

sae does not have a very good day after that.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.