#these are all normal regular job problems that i would have at any job. my job is on the whole very good and not soulsucking

[monstermoviedean]

thank god it's clock out time i was about to fucking lose it

[genacity]

DAY THREE. DRACULA

ft. armin arlert — shingeki no kyojin (進撃の巨人)

as a vampire and a parent, it’s hard to find a babysitter that’ll stay up all night with your nocturnal little one while you’re at work. luckily for you, armin is here to get the job done.

ruling. nsfw — mature content

content warnings. dom! vampire! parent! reader, sub! babysitter! armin, blood kink, slight pain kink, biting, handjob, vampiric age gap? but normal human age gap (reader is hypothetically mid 20s, armin early 20s), plot before porn, “mx.” title is used to refer to reader but can be interpreted as “mr.”, “ms.”, or “mrs.”

an. hi all! sorry this came out a day late! again, lots of tests yesterday and today lol. c/n stands for child’s name, pls ignore the picture on the right. i couldn’t find one i liked. will be replacing later. enjoy!

kinktober 2023 masterlist

“thank you so much for coming again on such short notice, armin.” you thanked the young man as he was ready to leave your house.

“it was no problem, mx. l/n,” armin dismissed your thanks with a soft smile. “i’m always happy to stay late if it means you’re able to work without worrying about your little one.”

armin arlert, your babysitter; a sweet thing. always willing to come in during unearthy hours of the night to look after your baby. at first, you thought your little bat could handle themselves home alone, but after you found them playing with worms in the bathtub at 5:17 in the morning, you found it best to find a babysitter.

at first, it was hopeless. finding a sitter that would tend to your vampiric needs; to come in at twelve in the morning and stay until four was a nightmare. until you got a message from sweet armin; offering to stay over as long as he was paid well.

and he was — how could you decline? a pretty young face offering to watch your child for just a bit extra? a steal. he was your last hope, and good thing he was good at his job, too. so, he became your regular sitter.

“was c/n any trouble?” you hummed, hanging your coat onto the hook and watching as armin shook his head. “not at all. they were the sweetest, as always.”

“good to hear.” you nodded and turned to armin. “i’m so sorry i kept you here past your promised hours. is there any way i can make it up to you?”

armin shook his head almost immediately at your question. “oh, no! please, it was only an hour,” he dismissed. “it was no trouble at all. c/n was asleep for the majority, so you really don’t have to pay me back.”

“nonsense.” you said as you took a step towards armin. “i insist. i held you up longer than you were in for. allow me to pay you back, my treat.”

armin’s cheeks went a pale pink as he flashed his usual little smile. “well, if you insist.” he laughed nervously, eyes squinting as he giggled and oh, it made your stomach churn.

you noticed that today armin had a book with him. with interest, you motioned to it. it had a black hard cover and silver lettering along the spine. “what’re you reading?”

armin raised his eyebrows and held up his book. “oh, this?” he looked at the cover, then at you. “it’s a new horror romance novel i’ve picked up.”

you hummed attentively. armin was always one to bring a book over while he watched c/n; it was no uncommon occurrence. “what’s it about?”

he seemed to think about it before answering. “well, it’s about a vampire and his long lost reincarnated love.”

you felt your veins run cold. not like they hadn’t been for thousands of years prior, but just then especially had you really felt the shiver. “vampires, you say?” you swallowed, showing as much interest as you could.

“yes, vampires.” he said. “i’m really enjoying the fantasy elements. some of the scenes even make me curious as to what they would feel like for myself.”

“really?” you laughed coolly, walking over to peer down at the book cover for yourself. the silver-print title flickered in the beaming remnants of the moonlight. “which scenes in particular?”

armin paused. “well,” and began again. “at the beginning of the book, the main character goes out to a bar and drinks the blood of a woman. the author describes it as ‘a burning but pleasurable sensation’.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle. pleasurable, is that how humans described your bite nowadays? back when you were alive people were too busy screaming to notice how nice it felt if they were being bit.

“hey, then for your payment tonight, maybe i can help you out.” you blurted out, and suddenly you found yourself too deep in to turn back. armin had already turned to you with a raised brow as you laughed awkwardly.

it was when your lips were parted as you chuckled that his eyes flickered to the sharp peaks of your teeth that glinted so sweetly; the ones that left his eyes blown wide as all of the pieces clicked in his head.

the reason you always worked during the night, the reason why your skin was bone cold all of the times you accidentally bumped into him or patted his hand with thanks before he left after babysitting. you were a vampire. a vampire offering to drink his blood.

he should be scared. he should be running, screaming for help or scrambling to check if that stake and garlic thing was true. this was an undead creature offering to prey upon him. but he didn’t do anything rash. not before dropping his book and grabbing your arms, pulling you forward on top of him.

“armin—” but he was already grabbing you, pulling you on top of him as he staggered back onto the couch. “please,” he breathed as you stumbled forward and towered over the human boy. “i want to know what it feels like.”

your breath hitched in your throat. it felt like you could hear everything. the overlapped pounding of your heartbeats that hammered in your ears; the rushing of blood in his veins and every thick swallow he took. your eyes trailed slowly down his body, his chest rising and falling before you realized what was truly happening.

“please, mx. l/n.” armin begged again. “i want to know if it feels as good as they say it does.”

he watched as your expression softened. “are you sure, armin? i would hate to hurt you.” armin nodded eagerly and gulped. “yes. i’m sure.”

you looked down at his neck. you assumed that’s where he wanted you to bite; it was where vampires in media always aimed. quickly you breathed in and out, looking up at armin for one last motion of confirmation before you continued.

he nodded, as if reading your mind; pulling you further into him with pleading eyes. “it’s okay, mx. l/n. please. i want this. do whatever you want. anything.”

armin’s voice left your head pounding. thoughts spinning round your brain like a racetrack, not once stopping to think logically before you had pulled the collar of his shirt down to sink your sharp fangs deep into the base of his neck.

he let out a loud squeal, hands flying to grab onto your shoulders as his hips bucked up at the sudden pain. your fangs piercing through his skin, locking in deep just before a major vein. your lips closed in around the wound and began to suck harshly as he writhed beneath you.

“mx — oh, ah! it — it hurts, oh god!” armin moaned out, panting as he felt your hands begin to grab at his buckle, he was much too focused on the burning, flourishing madness that spread through his skin. it hurt so badly, sending adrenaline shocks through him that left his body jerking and grabbing onto you. it left his skin red, flushed, and burning to the touch as he moaned again.

there was something about the burning sensation that left him impossibly aroused — the relief of your bloodless lips soothing the everlasting pain, your freezing skin that fought the burn as you held him down. like a boiling hot aphrodisiac, it turned his brain inside out and back again.

your hands pushed his pants down and quickly pulled out his weeping cock. you began to stroke it slowly in pace with your sucks; drawn out enough to make armin cry out and claw at your back. “ohnn, please, more!” armin gasped through a choked whimper, thrusting up into your hand sloppily.

his movements grew messy and irregular. you feared you were drinking too much for armin’s own good — but the metallic taste of him invading your lips and mouth was enough to keep you feeding for a few more moments before retracting your fangs to lick the leaking piercing in his neck as your hand sped up around his cock.

“ah! ah, mx. l/n — i’m gonna — please, let me cum!” the blonde whimpered out weakly once he felt you begin to pull away.

as your fangs drew back from his wound, armin let out a series of sloppy whimpers and moans before bucking up and spilling ropes of cum all over your hand and his stomach; shirt riding up his abdomen from the heat of the moment. armin’s hips slowed their messy pace before he fell limp against the couch. his chest rose and fell and his eyes went in and out of focus.

you looked down at the sight beneath you. never in the thousands of years you had been alive had something that exhilarating happened to you.

and as you began to help him up, cooing to him softly about how good he had done and how you were going to glean him up, you could only hope that something like this would happen again.

[sunflowersbones]

Stalker’s Tango

Warnings: This fic will contain NON-CON, Discussion on mental health, Psychological distress, Stalking, Violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

[AUGUST WALKER x reader]

18+ only. This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The therapy sessions with your new patient have been going well lately; something that surprises you due to his initial distaste towards the mandatory sessions his unit commands. You’re glad that there is progress in some part of your life, as your own mental health seems to be slowly sinking. You chalk it up to exhaustion and stress; but as the events of your life unfold, you realise that your mind hadn’t been playing games. It had been warning you; that danger truly did lurk around the corner.

NOTE: I'm absolutely devastated that I couldn’t put this out in August; my laptop decided to die on me. I know it's not that big of a deal, but still. So for my sake, let's presume that I did post this in August cuz I'm not waiting until next year.

DIVIDERS: @firefly-graphics

*

You observe him as you slowly twirl your pen around; in between your fingers. He was so unlike any of the other patients you’ve ever had.

He always seems so calm and collected. His attire always put together. His clothes were just as stiff and polished as him. He seems to gravitate more towards a monotone cool palette of blues, blacks, and greys, and if he desires to experiment a little; he’ll try brown or a pale yellow, but that’s about it.

You had been having a hard time, trying to figure out if it was due to his personal likes and dislikes or if he chooses it due to a societal and corporate expectation from men’s fashion, but you dismantled the latter thought quite quickly.

His voice is always loud and clear; it never quivers, and he rarely repeats himself. He always just seems so sure of himself. You suppose that’s why he hated this in the beginning—not that he's so fond of it now, but at least he's moved on from his initial grunts and one-word answers.

It must be an offence to a man like him to presume that he is, quote-unquote, “weak”. That talking about your emotions and difficulties or having regular therapy sessions is only for those who make their way into lunatic asylums. That they; as normal citizens, are better than the others.

Even educated people cannot shroud themselves from the taboo around mental health. You of all people know that very well; you’ve dealt with it quite personally. He reminded you of your father, not just in attitude but also in tone. Both of them carry a patronizing effect in their voice, even through the most simple remarks.

Your father was a man of voice and vigour to whom even the notion of mental health was absurd. His anger, most likely contributing to his denial of most problems. People of his generation tend to be like that, while it is changing—not at the pace you wish it would.

Having a patient who does not even try to get better unnerved you a little. You had never been very persuasive, all you can do is help bring clarity. You tell yourself to keep calm; perseverance is the only way to survive in this line of work.

His eyes land on you, onto your pen, and then above you; on to the clock, you presume. In the beginning his eyes never left it, at least now they only longingly look up half way through the session.

“Well, won't you look at that, doc? Times up,” he says in a tone of farce surprise, as if he hasn’t been yearning for the clock to strike.

You heave a small sigh as a smile forms on your lips; for a man his size, he can be quite childish.

“You know, August, it’s not your job to keep up with the clock; it's mine. Your mind is supposed to be relaxed in here.”

“Of course, I simply wouldn’t want to keep your other patients waiting; you're quite in demand, you know.” Your eyes quirk up in a questioning gaze; he already seems to have anticipated it.

“This generation loves coming in here, they think that you can fix all of their problems. They believe that their minds are broken simply because they can't handle the reality of life,” his voice laced with contempt and disappointment.

“Well anyway, see you next week, doc.” His tone was determined, so you didn’t bother to keep him longer than what was required. Your half-assured goodbye was only met by the creaking hinges of the closing door.

The entire bus ride home, your mind had been preoccupied with him; you nearly missed your stop. To some people, it's just a notion; their rigidity tends to crack from the sides, but he truly believes that all of this is useless, and that’s what makes it all the more difficult. It's not just prejudice; it's a true belief. You have to find a way around this or all your work will go down the drain.

You crack your neck as you walk into your apartment, fatigue taking over your entire body. You’d initially planned on taking a warm, long bath, but now you just want to fill your stomach and pass out. You heat up yesterday's mac and cheese, while it's nothing elaborate; it's enough to fill you up. The low rhythmic whirring of the oven lulls you as you think of all your other patients; you still have to come up with a proper time schedule to alternate between all of them, and then there’s August. You’ve met teenagers who are less adamant than he is, the oven beeps as it snaps you out of your thoughts. The smell of cheese fills you with ease, and you decide not to bring work to the dinner table, you’ll think about it tomorrow.

You walk into your bedroom ready to crash when your eyes land on the bluebells you bought a week ago. You curse yourself for forgetting about it again. None of your indoor plants ever seem to survive, no matter how much you care for them. But the wild ones growing outside your window seem to have no problem flourishing as they grow out through the thin cracks of the wall.

You fill a glass up and move to water the plants. As you lean in, you notice that the soil seems damp; a small crinkle forms in between your brows. You can’t remember watering them this morning, but then again, you did everything in a hurry today. Terrified that you’ll miss your morning bus. You don’t think much of it as you place the glass down. Your bluebells seem to be retaining their colour; you hope this one won't die on you.

A strong thud startles you from your repose; suddenly wide awake, your annoyance turns into dread as you suspect that the noise was coming from inside your apartment—you couldn’t remember if you had locked the front door. Nighttime stirs up the imagination of your ears; as you sit up on your bed, your mind convinces you that you can hear low symphonies mixed in the silence. You're sure that you can hear footsteps outside the room, or was it the creak of the door? You feel goosebumps etch your entire body as you force yourself to take a deep breath.

You slowly get out of bed, careful as to not make any noise. You look around for your phone only to realise that you’d left it on the kitchen table. Now your worry increases even more; you can hear your heart beating in your chest. You’re unsure of what to do. You could simply lock the door to your room, but then what? Wait until the morning? For all you know, it was nothing, simply your paranoid nature freaking out.

Your mother tends to make it a habit of informing you about every single crime activity that pops up on the news; whether you're interested in it or not. Her own fear and paranoia seem to have transmitted onto you in an increasing degree. If you are hopefully alive by tomorrow, you’ll keep in mind to stop watching those missing persons documentary.

You slowly peep out of your room. You look over to the left, slightly straining your neck, only to find the main door locked. You heave a relieved sigh at that. You walk into the kitchen and find your phone on the table just where you had left it. The light from the streetlight fills your kitchen with a low yellow glow as you hear another thud. You look over through the window and see a truck unload some boxes, the noise now you’re certain was from this ruckus. You absent-mindedly wonder if someone new was moving in as you make your way back to bed.

The slow-moving normalcy of everyday life makes you indifferent of others in the daytime, but at night... that’s when every little movement terrifies you. You clutch your handbag around a little tighter, your head spins around every few minutes, and your feet pick up their pace no matter how exhausted you are. A pepper spray bottle has found a permanent residence in your bag. You’ve made a habit to always make sure that your door is closed and locked. You don’t want to admit it, but you're actually a little perturbed after last week's incident, mostly about your own forgetfulness.

You wonder if the stress of it is evident on your face; the raven-haired man in front of you has been rather cooperative today. He answers you without the usual quirky remarks. You wonder if it's due to his own interest in taking these sessions seriously or if it's because of the dark circles that lace your eyes. His eyes landed on your face the second he entered and has remained on them since. He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it; however, his inquisitive nature could only keep it in for so long.

“Not to be harsh, Doc, but you look like shit. Not getting enough sleep?”

“Sleep has been evading me as of lately, yes.”

“Why?”

“Nothing much, just work.”

“Huh, I didn’t think dealing with a bunch of paper work and people would be that hard; regret signing up for it?,” he says as he crosses his ankle onto his other leg. His condescending baritone reminds you of a familiar one, and you momentarily snap back a “no,” but you compose yourself rather quickly. Deflection—that’s what they all do.

“Every job has its hurdles, August. But we are not here to talk about mine; we’re here to talk about yours.”

“So tell me how’s work?”

“Can’t talk about it; confidentiality agreement, remember?.” He quips.

“Of course, I didn’t mean the intricacies of it. I meant, how does it make you feel? I’m sure working for the government has its own complicacies.”

“Do you enjoy your work? Does it stress you? Do you ever feel like you’ve neglected life?” His jaw clenches at that as his voice turns gruff.

“No, I do what I have to; I’m ready to make sacrifices for my work, and yes, you could say that I enjoy it. In fact, I think it’s the only thing I enjoy in life sometimes...” The last part seems to be a careless whisper, but you catch on to it anyway.

“Well, that’s not very healthy; why? Do you find life outside of work difficult? Stressful?”

“No. I just find it mundane.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like it's aimed at you rather than the conversation you’re having, but you don’t dwell on it.

The rest of your conversation carries on, and after August’s session, you call onto your next patient. Your greeted by a familiar strawberry blonde; you’d completely forgotten about her.

“Gee Y/N, sometimes I wonder how you even work when you have to deal with a hottie like that fella!.”

“Ha-ha, I survive, Nance. I survive.”

“But seriously, look at him—what an absolute specimen.”

“That he is.”

“Ohhh, I sense tension; is he the grumpy kind?”

“Spot on.”

“Hmm.. well, the hot ones do tend to be like that.”

“So how are the babies?”

“Oh great, its been great as of lately; Charlie said his first words, you know.”

“Ahh, how wonderful!; was it mom?”

The gleam on her rosy cheeks makes the answer apparent. You're so happy to see the girl you’ve now known for two years, who at first meeting was just a gloom of anxiety and sadness. She’s changed so much, and only for the better. You listen to her carefully as she continues; but even then, in the back of your mind, his staring eyes persist.

You huff as you run towards the bus stop, unable to reach on time as you watch your bus leave. You look around; the evening is darker than usual, indicative of the fast approaching winter. You have no idea when the next bus will arrive. This junction being nooked into the corner had fewer buses on this route compared to the main one. So you decide to just walk your way to it.

Your feet ache as your slippers slap onto the road. You should have left the office earlier; it would have spared you the walk. You continue on through the cold night, wrapping your arms around yourself, when you hear a soft snap behind you. You turn around thinking nothing of it, purely based on instinct.

Surprised to find yourself all alone; a tiny part of you is uncomfortable. You start to walk a little faster, restless to reach the bus stop. However, as you turn around a corner, you hear light footsteps behind you; they sound much calmer compared to yours. It means nothing; it’s most likely just somebody walking towards the bus stop, just like you. But your nerves get the best of you, and to ease your mind, you increase your pace. The second you do your followers pace increases as well. They sound much louder now; it puts your heart in a frenzy. You could see the dim light of the bus stop ahead of you. Your body sprints towards it.

You reach the bus stop a little calm now due to the lights that fill the stop; its saxe hue comforts you from the danger your mind intuits. You notice a man asleep on one of the seats. The new-found comfort of the lights and the company gives you the courage to look behind. You come to regret the decision as you feel your heart skip a beat.

A tall shadow stands a few meters away, their figure looming in the darkness. You're unable to see anything but a dark outline; but you suspect it’s a man. Even from afar, his enormous size is terrifying.

You’re so grateful to see a bus approach; you climb into it immediately as its doors buzz open and peep out through the glass window only to find nothing. Nobody’s around except for the man who was asleep on the bench; it's almost as if you had imagined a ghost up. But you know, that was not true because that little heart of yours was still thundering inside you; assuring you that the fear you felt had been very real.

The days ahead had been increasingly difficult, your fear transmuting into insomnia as you lay awake at night petrified of every little noise you hear. The chances of somebody stalking you seem ridiculous, but how many women had believed such and been the victims of an attack?

Your cautiousness skyrocketed these days, and you carried two bottles of pepper spray along with you. You’ve decided to put an installment on a car; your house was not very far away from work but enough to evoke the fear within. You could not rely on the buses anymore; you did not want to end up suffering because of their impunctual timing.

You had been searching through your cabinet to make sure you had all the files that were required. That’s when you found it, it had arrived a week ago; you remember receiving it, but you’d been too busy to check it out. August's health and history files had been finally transferred on to you; you had requested it nearly a month ago.

You skim through the papers, nearly missing it at first, but you reread the part again, and a frown forms in-between your brows. His first mission... he… he’d lied to you.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; all clients lie to a certain extent. Especially during the initial stages of therapy, even when it isn’t a case of "pseudologia fantastica." It's just the initial distress of being vulnerable and the desire to express ones own narrative rather than the truth.

But with August... while you never really thought of it before, now you slightly suspect if August has a case of pathological lying. For some people, it's not about a grand lie; it's about the smaller details. And you're sure it’s the norm in his line of work; the lines between lying and withholding the truth tend to blend pretty soon when one is not cautious. You won't lie; you’re a little disappointed in him, or with yourself; you're unsure.

You don’t know why you thought this conversation would go easily; the clench in his jaw, the anger in his eyes, and the tight grip of his fingers clearly suggested otherwise.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, doc.”

“August please. Let's not waste our time, I know. They sent me your files. I need to have certain knowledge about my patient's history.” His gaze pierces through you at that.

You try your best to approach the topic as softly as you can. “Your mission, your first mission; you weren’t alone; you had a team... and there were casualties. You’d suffered from a severe head trauma too. It was—

“A disaster?” The grimace in his voice was mixed with pain and anger.

“…difficult. Is that why you lied? August I need you to know this is a safe space. I’m not here to judge you; that’s not what we are here to do.”

“You’re a practical person; you know that lying doesn’t help. It simply convinces you that you’ve made progress when, truthfully, you’ve just been stagnant the whole time.”

“I, we, all... all of this,” you say, waving your hand around, “we exist to help you, not to condemn you. You can open up to me; that’s what I’m here for.”

His aggression at that makes you flinch. All you hear is the scraping of his chair, and before you could voice anything, he was gone. No other patient had stumped you the way he had, and when you finally snap out of it and go out in search of him, he’s nowhere to be found.

Your day had gone by uneventfully; August’s departure had been lingering on your mind the whole day. Coming back from work, both your mind and body had been exhausted. You didn’t even bother with dinner, your eyes closing the second you meet the bed.

Your body allowed your mind to sleep for a few hours before the familiar pang of hunger stirred you awake. You turn around and feel your heart clench; an overflow of fear courses through you. Your throat constricted as you whimper; the darkened, sharp outline of the man seated before now moves forward. The small strand of silver moonlight shines onto his face.

“You tend to talk in your sleep, you know.”

Fear paralyses you completely as you stay put. He stands up and walks over to your bed, his entire frame towering over you. He stares at you for a few seconds before flinching away.

One would imagine you were the one who broke into his place to hurt him if they saw him now. The pain etched on his face changes from discomfort to anger. You hear him draw a deep breath in as he composes himself.

“You’re on my mind a lot doc.”

“At first I entertained it, it was just a harmless little fantasy. And you… you’re such a cliché, ” he sighs, “your clothes, your glasses, your office, it doesn’t help.”

“Your table is always meticulously arranged, everything’s always in order, even your stupid post-it notes are colour coded,” he hisses, “I’d wanted to throw everything off of that table and fuck you on it until you were a babbling mess.”

“Not to belittle you doc, but you look like you’d get cock drunk pretty fast.”

He turns toward you, his broad shoulders straightened as he slightly tilts his head

“I’d have my hand around your throat, tight enough for you to barely breath,” he growls, “could make you shut up for once.”

“But then you decided that you wanna fuck with my head. And now I can’t get you out of my fucking mind.”

Your eyes travel towards the door, you could just make a dash for it but he seems to have read your mind. “Don’t even try.”

Your fear overclouds your judgment and you bolt out of the bed, but you barely take three steps, before he grabs onto you and throws you back onto the bed.

“Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult.”

You try again never the less as you smack him. None of this seems to deter him, one of his hand moves to twist your arm around your back. You scream in pain, only to have his other hand warp around your throat. You try to scratch his face, shoulders, neck anything just to make him let you go.

His fingers dig into you harder, his hand now moves around to the back of your neck making you wince “Please,” you whisper as he pushes your face onto you pillow.

“What did you think, you could run away from me? I’m ten times faster that you are. The only way you got away from me is because I let you.”

“Please, please, August. This isn—

You feel him hard against your ass, as he presses himself on to you.

“I didn’t expect you to be begging so soon Y/N, why hurry? we have the whole night for that don’t we.”

Your whole body stills with fear. His hands loosens around you as he’s moves to unbuckle his belt. Suddenly, you sense a rush of energy bloom within you; this might be your only chance.

You use all of your strength to push him away. He slightly looses his balance; just as you use the opportunity to move out of the bed, his hand lands on your ankle making you fall, face flat on to the floor.

You wince as your head and nose pound in pain, your body moving as he turns you around. His hands dig into the flesh of your arms as he looks at you.

“That was your own doing. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can if I wanted to. I can make this really painful for you Y/N, but if you co-operate I’ll go easy on you, understand?”

A slight nod of your head is all you can manage as you hear the sound of your shirt being ripped apart. Your shorts and underpants gone just as easily. Your face ends up on the bed again, as his left arm palms your breast. His other hand moves to coat your cunt with his juices. You feel a rush of disgust and shame course through you.

He rubs his leaking tip on your folds, his teeth gently nipping on your shoulders. He pushes himself into you, your mouth gently  parts as you feel his length inside your body. You hear him curse as pulls you up, your hands extending as you use them to balance yourself.

His hands land on you hip, “shit, your tight. Should have expected that from you.”

He begins to thrust in, slowly at first but then just as he gets comfortable his pace increases. You could hear the sound of his hips slapping into you. The girth of him nearly ripping your core apart. The fabric of his shirt and pants felt like they were made out of small metal pins as they grazed your naked skin.

Your mind still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, your eyes focused onto the movement of the headboard; the bed shaking because of him.

His hand on your hip tightens and as he spills into you, you hear a low carnal moan. You feel him soften inside you as he finally pulls out. You lay down on to your soft sheets— as he lets you go— now stained forever as you feel him trickle down your thigh. You hide your face in the pillow as you feel the tears brim your eyes; you just want to sleep.

“Ah ah, not so fast” he voice carelessly drawls as he pulls you up with your upper arm. He drags you around and before you can wonder where to, he opens the door to your shower.

The expectation is clear in his eyes and as you move in you hear him lock the door. The scalding water helps your mind from dwelling, you don’t want to think about anything right now. You’re more focused on rubbing yourself raw, nearly making your skin bleed as the hot water burning your skin cleans you.

When you come out you’re surprised to find him still there, casually sitting on your hair. He’s tidied himself up, not even a crinkle formed on his shirt unlike your ripped clothes that lay on the floor. Your eyes land on to your bed; they have a new pair of sheets shabbily placed on them. The old ones crumbled, down next to the foot it.

“You should get some rest, your body probably isn’t used to so much work.”

“Now, after you wake up tomorrow your brain will try to come up with ideas to get rid of me. You can try, but let me tell you right now you’ll have to deal with consequences. I can get really, really ugly.”

“It’s not easy to convict people without proof these days. If you try to leave, I will find you and you don’t want that.”

He stands up and walks over to you. You slightly step back, your body moving on its own as he gets closer. His hand moves to lift your head making you look at him.

“I like this arrangement a lot, so be good. We can help each other. So long as you behave I’ll be good to you.” A slight smirk forms on his features “Who knows?, I might just open up to you…doc.”

*

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not wanting to hang out with my boyfriend’s best friend?

My [33F] boyfriend’s [30M] (we’ll call him R) best friend (30s M) (call him D) is chronically late but also never communicates anything. I have ADHD and like I get it. I have all the patience in the world for people who are late if they communicate they will be late. But D will never communicate anything, ever.

R and D have a standing game night on Fridays where they go for dinner and play board games. D “normally” comes between 4-5pm. He picks up his kids from school at 3:30, drops them home with his partner and then drives over. It is a 30 minute drive. But in the past, both on regular Friday meetings, and for other meetups, he has been significantly late (3 hours, once!) without saying a word all day.

R wants me to join them on Friday evenings. I don’t have a traditional ‘job’ but I am a crafter with many things to do and also, as mentioned, I have ADHD. Part of that means I really need a specific time to go and do something otherwise I will just be stuck in like “wait mode” all day unable to do anything because I don’t know when I need to stop doing it. The first time I went out with R & D I did lose the whole day (no work done) because we could get no actual information from D on when he was coming, and he ended up not arriving until after 5pm.

I told D I didn’t appreciate not being able to properly plan my day, and that providing a heads up about these things is generally considered polite. I also made it clear afterwards to R that if D continued to not communicate anything and just “turn up whenever, at some point after 4, maybe” then I would not be joining them on board game nights. 

Today I once again only had “4-5ish, I guess” but by 4:30 not only was D not here but R had heard nothing from him, and suspected he had not even left. I told R I was not coming, I had already mostly lost the day - having stopped work several hours before - but I would at least be reclaiming the evening.

At 5:15 R called me to say that D had been arranging to have his partner come, and had been sorting out childcare (in the form of D’s mum). He at no point earlier in the day had said anything about this to R. In fact they hadn’t spoken at all. D then told R they would be leaving at around 5:45, so wouldn’t be here until at least 6:15.

I reiterated that I would not be coming. It was a boundary I set before and was very clear about, and was now enforcing it. D could have said much earlier that he was planning on inviting his partner, would have to arrange childcare, and would likely be later than usual. He chose not to do that, so I am choosing to not go.

R then got upset with me and said he would not be coming over to spend the night at my place the following evening (we have a normal routine on who stays where which days, and he knows unexpectedly changing that without any discussion at all will also mess with my ability to do things. The routine is important to me) because I was being unfair. 

I told him, again, it’s a firm boundary for me. People who won’t communicate anything at all when you have plans (even loose ones) aren’t respecting other people’s time. Even if that’s not the intention it’s still just… rude to the other person. Other people still have lives when you’re not there, and expecting everyone else to just be ready for “whenever” you feel like showing up without a word is not ok. Again, if it happens only once in a while because Shit Happens that’s different. But if it’s every time, with everyone, forever, then really you’re just a bit inconsiderate.

R says he doesn’t feel that way because he doesn’t have anything going on so it doesn’t bother him, so he isn’t upset with D (even though I have things on, so it does impact and bother me, his partner) but he is upset with me because I am “making him feel bad”. D’s complete lack of communication and lateness is not the problem, the fact I am annoyed about it and choosing to stay home is the problem. I said it is not fair to blame me for this turn of events when (unlike D) I was VERY clear beforehand that I wouldn’t be going if this happened, and that if nothing else he should still be at least a little annoyed with D for not respecting my time after I’d already spoken to him about it.

Instead of actually sitting D down and properly telling him “look I don’t have things to do but L does and it does bother her when you don’t communicate anything so it is messing with her work when you do this and that is not ok”, R then said he just won’t invite me to anything ever again. So I can’t be upset if he’s late.

AITA for refusing to go to board game night?

What are these acronyms?

[the-real-daddy-van-der-bellen]

Most people will have heard or read the phrase "You are closer to becoming homeless than you will ever be to becoming a billionaire". But I think the recent flood has really put it into perspective.

I am guessing that pretty much everyone, at least everyone living in the east of Austria, knows someone who was financially secure, not in any kind of debt, had savings, maybe even "above average" wealthy. And is now facing financial ruin after having their home destroyed. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, of people are in that situation right now.

For example, a family member of mine is a retired doctor - doctors are not RICH-rich, but of course, well-off enough so this family never had any money troubles or the like. A first, currently inofficial, estimation by an acquaintance puts their damage at several 100,000€ - entire basement flooded, large parts of the ground floor destroyed as well, the fancy kitchen they got only a year ago in ruins. It is a matter of if it is even possible to save the house at all or if they, people in their mid-60s, now have to rebuild or move away.

Luckily enough my parents can help them out financially if needed, but that will not be the case for everyone. Insurances pay out about 5,000€ for flooding. With sums like several 100k, that is not even a band-aid. I don't know much about the relief funds but to my knowledge, they pay a maximum of 20%.

If Mark Mateschitz lost his entire house, it would suck, but he would just pay some people to clean it up and financially would not even notice if he had to build five new ones. The money that disappeared from Rene Benko's hands could pay for everyone's flood damage several times over.

A "normal person" with a "normal job" - even if it is a well-paying job like a doctor or someone in middle management or a local business owner or anything like that - a regular, working citizen can never be truly financially secure. You are always at most one bad natural catastrophe away from financial ruin. And unless you can somehow work 1000 hours a day for 1000 years at your normal person job, you will never even come close to the wealth of a Swarovsky, Johann Graf, or Glock's heirs. And these people are still very small fish compared to international billionaires.

Tax payers supporting unemployed people are not the problem, taxes paying for catastrophe relief funds are not the problem, taxes bailing out rich scumbag grifters are the problem, and rich scumbag grifters who know every trick in the book to avoid paying taxes are the problem. But the rich scumbag grifters will still bleed everyone dry without batting an eye while families who have worked honest jobs their entire lives are sitting in their ruined basement, crying over destroyed photo albums and losing sleep over how they can afford to rebuild their home.

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[imahinatjon]

Can you write something about a reader who only focuses on what they did wrong. Like for example, they had a mission that they succeeded flawlessly in, and they know that. But they only focus on the small mistakes and how to perfect them. And after some time, Fyodor, who has started to fall in love with them, grows irritated at their unhealthy habit and decides to teach them a lesson, by overstimulating them. No worries if you don't want to write something like this

It has been WAYYY too long. I am so sorry for not getting to this sooner. But hey! Its done now. Been a busy month and my hands are killing me lol.

Anyway, here it is. Overstimulation with fyodor. Maybe out of character.

How much more?

Fyodor x Reader 18+ 💋

This was... oh THIS was irritating. Fyodor didn't send you out often, in his opinion you were too good for the lowly, mediocre jobs, so he'd wait for a better and more Important mission to send you on- he trusted you'd get the job done.

Not that he'd ever told you that.

So of course, you assume your kept behind so often because your not good enough to go on missions - without even realising that the ones you DO get assigned are the more important ones.

But how were you to know that they were important to him? You'd never seen a 'normal' job.

No normal person would ever be caught complaining to Fyodor in such a way. The only person who spoke to him so familiarly was you.

And it was ovbious he had some sort of feeling towards you, to everyone but yourself. Your colleagues weren't sure if they should worry for you or be glad you'd be somewhat protected.

Aha! But, none of that is the point, not really. The focus of this is what your doing right now - complaining again to Fyodor. Telling him all about your last mission. An astounding success it was! But... well, that one guard? He managed to spot you and alert a few other guys of your infiltration, all because you were a little too loud. I mean, you did take them down, but you have a rather nasty scratch on your arm. Only a scratch, but it hurt, and hindered the rest of your mission. Maybe if not for that first mistake. It would have gone a little more smoothly.

Fyodor really didn't care. You did the job, and you made sure it was a success, all the little details were inconsequential.

But he listened to you. Patting your head as your frowned deeply when you sat beside him.

He wanted to fix the problem. Somehow. Your constant complaining DID get annoying at times. Besides, you were seriously underselling yourself on a regular basis.

Then he had an idea.

In hindsight, a stupid idea which didn't make much sense, and wouldn't do anything to fix things in the long run, but it'd be a temporary fix.

...

That and he just really wanted to eat you out.

This little thought of his, an impulse he'd never have acted on if he wasn't already a little ticked is what landed you on your back, sprawled over a sofa, fyodor gently massaging your genitalia, ghosting gently over all your most sensitive parts with his cold hands.

Occasionally he'd hit that one spot, making you flinch with a cold shiver up your spine and your hips twitch.

You sighed quietly, he was slow, and it was relaxing, blissful, and then you felt something warm fan over you.

Opening your eyes you spied his mouth closing in on you, ready to take in your essence.

"W-wait!" You yelped

Fyodor stopped and looked up, expectantly, he wanted an explanation

"Its not... I'm... what if it doesn't... it won't taste... Good?" You weren't sure hoe exactly it should he said. You were sure whatever he wanted to do would feel heavenly, and you desperately wanted him to continue, but doubts persisted.

He sighed.

"Any more complaining and I'm not letting you come"

'What?' You thought to yourself. He was harsh, and you were sure he would stick to his word should you complain again, but, his hand squeezed yor thight gently. A subtle message 'its okay'

And he was soon back between your legs, tongue working wonders, one hand over your stomach, arm keeping you still, the other toying where his mouth was absent.

He moved around a lot, switching his attention to various parts of your body, bringing you closer and closer to an edge you would soon reach.

You felt your muscles tighten, his hair run between your fingers, and you were sure you must have called his name at some point as your mouth was open and throat a little dry.

You needed some water.

But something was stopping you after your climax. A sensation that slightly ached, made you wince and look down. Fyodor was still going. He has to know you've already come right? Surely...?

Of course he knew.

But you hadn't much time to entertain his intentions as your next orgasm was ready to crash down upon you like a tidle wave, more intense than the previous.

He shifted, leaning up over you.

"Think you can come again..."

You wanted to shake your head no...

But... the I

Thoughts of what he could do to you... this was a change you didn't get everyday.

All you could do was weakly nod. Even if all your insides all felt tight, even if it ached slightly, even if you grew tired... you wanted to take everything he would give to you.

Just like another mission. How much could you take?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good?

[shall-we-die]

Shall we die together?! A question that I have never dared to ask the people closest to me (even my own older brother 🤭 ) Btw, since your request is open may i've a request for all Moriarty the patriot boys with sexy female Assassin s/o who all this time is a florist , fluff ....Oh, yes, s/o likes to tease them when they accidentally meet them😘

Fluff please...

One more thing, what way do we want to die? I want to die beautifully, is that possible?

Thank you ~ and have a nice day 💐 author - chan

╔‌‌‌‌═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚

{My dear florist}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Moriarty the Patriot

↬[A/N]•⊰ I have no problem if you want to die with me. However, I want to have a worthy death, so you will have to wait until I find a good reason to die 🕊

╚═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[William]

He would be intrigued and drawn to her mysterious and secretive nature, as well as intimidated by the fact that she's an assassin. He would visit her flower shop frequently, either to buy flowers or just to catch a glimpse of her. She would often tease and flirt with him, finding his aloof and serious personality amusing and wanting to provoke a reaction from him. He would be secretly pleased by her teasing, enjoying the way she challenges and provokes him, but trying to hide it by being stoic and unresponsive. He would find himself drawn to her playful and cheeky personality, despite his serious nature. He might secretly enjoy her banter and look forward to her teasing every time he visits the flower shop. He might also get flustered or caught off guard by her tease at times, his professional persona slipping and showing a hint of vulnerability or embarrassment.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

[Albert]

As expected, Albert wouldn't be flustered very easily. But, when he gets flustered, he can lose his composure quite quickly, and so she'd probably just tease him or keep riling him up to see him get flustered. He would most likely try and swoon her and get her to like him in return, and would also try to figure out how the hell his secret assassin love interest became a *florist*. He'd definitely try to ask her about her job. As in, how she became an assassin, how she is able to blend into normal society so well, and how she ended up as a florist, of all things. He'd probably be really, *really* interested in that. Whenever this love interest of his flirts with him, or teases him, he'd probably get an obvious blush on his face and would be very flustered. He could even be flustered to a point where he struggles to speak.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

[Louis]

He becomes flustered and nervous whenever he sees her at the flower shop, which is odd since he is usually cool and composed. When she teases him, he gets even more embarrassed and stutters more than usual, trying to hide his reddening face. He is always pleasantly surprised by her boldness and sass. He secretly loves her wit and finds her confidence attractive. He starts frequenting the flower shop more often in hopes of seeing her. He starts to develop a routine of buying flowers on a regular basis, even when he doesn't need any, just so that he can see her and hear her voice. He tries to act cool and casual when talking to her but ends up failing miserably and only making himself look even more foolish. He finds himself smiling uncontrollably whenever she tells him a joke or teases him. He gets unusually jealous and annoyed when other people come in the shop to flirt with her.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

[Sebastian]

Sebastian often finds himself visiting the florist shop just to see her, even if he doesn't really need to buy flowers. He's a bit flustered by her teasing, not used to someone having the nerve to mess with him. It's a nice change of pace from his usual environment. Over time, he starts finding himself looking forward to their interactions, secretly enjoying the way she teases him and makes him feel like a typical, lovestruck idiot. Even though he tries to play it cool around her, Sebastian often can't help but blush slightly when she teases him. He begins to fantasize about her, imagining scenarios where he can impress her and win her over. He starts taking extra care with his appearance before going to the florist shop. He becomes jealous when he sees her chatting with the other customers, wondering if she's just as flirtatious with them as she is with him.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

[Sherlock]

He's immediately interested in her, the moment she opens her mouth and starts to tease him. He becomes a regular customer of her flower shop, and never fails to notice the playful edge to her words and actions. He finds himself thinking about her way too much, despite his best intentions. Sherlock will eventually find himself flirting and teasing right back. He's also incredibly confused by her. The contradictions in her character are both intriguing and frustrating. Despite his confusion, Sherlock can't seem to stay away. He finds himself visiting the flower shop more and more often. He becomes even more intrigued when he begins to notice that, beyond her teasing, she's actually quite mysterious. Sherlock starts to observe her, making all sorts of different observations about her, some correct and some incorrect. He gets frustrated whenever he can't figure something out about her, and it becomes increasingly harder to hide his growing curiosity and affection. OK, but I think we need another post about when he finds out she's as assassin.

[watchmorecinema]

Yukio Mishima has been trending this week for uh, reasons. He was a world renowned Japanese author and all of his work is overshadowed by his actions on November 25, 1970. You might not want to read more about this guy because he is horrible and disgusting, but he's utterly fascinating and the movie about him is brilliant.

He's a really interesting character, to the point that he sounds fictional. He's gay, obsessed with ritualistic death, a right wing lunatic, led a private militia that was halfway to a cult, and also was a legitimately great author. His life is covered in the film Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters and it's easily the most beautiful film I've seen in my life. Look at the stills I posted above; every frame of this movie looks like that. It's all just a series of beautiful paintings with people living in them.

The way the film is structured is that it tells the story of his life in three ways. His past is told in black and white flashbacks with static cameras. This is closer to how a movie from the 50's would look like (specifically ones directed by Yasujirō Ozu). The events of three of his books are told with this beautifully stylized look, with sets that look like stage plays. The events of November 25, 1970 is told in an almost normal fashion, with regular colors and competent camerawork. The past is nostalgic, the present is mundane and only in fantasy can you truly come alive.

Through this movie we see the ideology of Mishima coming through. His nationalism, his sexual feelings and his thoughts on beauty and death all come together. Death isn't just a violent and tragic end, it is in itself a beautiful act. Beauty is the only true goal of life and creating beauty brings honor. Growing old and ugly is an act of hate; to die at your peak is to give love back to the world. It is therefore treasonous to live long enough to die peacefully. He pities what heaven must look like now; when men died young and beautiful it was paradise, but now it is filled with old men.

This is an objectively insane way to view the world but it is also fascinating. How much of this was what he believed, and how much of it was just begging for attention? In one instance when asked why he moved to the right politically he said "because the left was full". It was a joke answer, but he clearly wanted to be in the spotlight. His shield society was a paramilitary group dedicated to living a virtuous life of beauty, honor and old ideals. It was also a group of good looking, athletic young men led by a (barely) closeted, conservative gay man. So much of his life could have gone differently but also he was pretty much in control the whole time; he was independently wealthy and revered on the world stage. He could do whatever he wanted, and apparently the way his life went *is* what he wanted.

What's special about Mishima, both in the film and in real life, is that he's a smart and eloquent guy. In films the guy with a crazy worldview is someone like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver or D-Fens from Falling Down. Travis couldn't understand the alienation and loneliness he felt and he couldn't find any healthy solutions. D-Fens was smart enough but not emotionally strong enough to confront his problems or deal with them maturely. These are people that could benefit greatly from therapy (other examples include Joker from Joker, Rupert Pupkin from the King of Comedy, Frank Murdoch from God Bless America, Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, Tyler Durden from Fight Club and so, so many more).

These are either 20 something year olds that are lost in the world, alienated and lonely, or 40 something year olds with a mid life crisis when they realize that everything has fallen apart. People who don't know where to go, or realize it's too late to change things. Travis Bickle had basically no friends, no family, no charisma with women and a lot of rage and anger. D-Fens lost his job, his self respect and was estranged from his ex-wife and daughter. These are people who's lives are shit at best (Patrick Bateman is a bit of a subversion. He is rich and successful, but his life is completely hollow, his relationships are shallow and he personally is very, very pathetic. I need to write about American Psycho later that film is great too.).

Mishima is different. He's smart enough to understand his issues and how to find help. He's got the money and means to do so. He's famous and rich enough that he could basically get away with anything weird or eccentric so long as it was harmless. On the world stage he was a popular author, and at home he led a life of political activism. If he was unhappy he could easily find healthy ways to fix it. His self destruction was the most avoidable of any of them, yet he's the only one that existed in real life. You expect these people to have serious personality flaws and unfixable (or seemingly unfixable) problems, not to be poetic writers that adhere to healthy living and regularly journal about their emotions, while enjoying respect from their peers and fulfillment in their work.

It's a hell of a film. Paul Schrader has not written or directed anything better (he actually wrote Taxi Driver too, so he had some experience with this type of character before) and it stands out as an incredible experience to watch. Like, Mishima's life is public knowledge and you can probably guess how it went, but I've purposefully not said what happened on November 25, 1970 because I don't want to spoil it. It's an event that actually happened but it's better for you to find out via the film than some wikipedia page.

[kn95-blog]

one thing i feel like (disappointingly) wasn't elaborated on enough in mp100 is reigen's own loneliness.

sure, we got that whole episode with the separation arc, but that never really resolves reigen's loneliness. that doesn't change the fact that even down to the end, he has only one adult friend and the rest of them are a gaggle of teenagers that like to hang out around him. and sure, that's not inherently a bad thing necessarily, it's probably the most friends he's had his entire life and that's why he cries when they get him a birthday cake.

but i feel like he's the kind of guy who does actually want adult friends to talk about adult things with. someone at the same stages of life that he's at, or even older.

reigen is so used to helping other people and giving other people advice that i feel like HE needs someone to be there for him, to give HIM advice. someone to scratch HIS back for once.

but another thing is that i feel like part of him thinks he doesn't deserve it, because of all the lying he does.

there is not a doubt in my mind that reigen has so much guilt stockpiled inside himself about all the lying, and (in my own personal headcannon) part of the reason he can so easily jump into danger at times is because he quietly hopes that maybe if he punishes himself enough with enough injury, or even with death, that'll somehow make up for it.

obviously that's not how it works, and reigen is a good person because regardless of the lying, he is still on some level helping people with their very normal problems by giving them very normal solutions, and is just attributing everything to spirits and exorcisms. not to mention everything he has done for mob (despite initially using him for his buisiness). he's a lot more of a grey person than he thinks he is.

i think he really needs some good adult friends, but he just can't really get ahold of any because deep down, as much as he gets on mob for being socially awkward, i think he's just as socially awkward, deep down.

i mean, the guy had to google how to ask someone out to help mob figure out how to talk to tsubomi. i don't think he's as great with people in a social context as he thinks he is. in a business context, sure, he knows exactly what to say because he has all the scripts and all the excuses in the world, but in a personal, social context, i think he can be quite clueless.

he doesn't really know how to talk to people or where to find friends as an adult, so his only friends are any coworkers he potentially has, and half the time he didn't even want to be friends with his coworkers (hence no mention of friends in his previous office job). it's different at spirits and such though, because he has mob, and later, serizawa.

i think for a long time, he considers mob "enough" of a friend, even though he still understands his role as the adult in the relationship and thus can't *actually* discuss adult things with him or treat him like an adult friend, as it would probably be inappropriate. he considers mob a friend even though he's more his student, because mob is one of the only people he sees on a regular basis until serizawa starts working there, and that's when things get a little different.

he realizes that he doesn't have to treat serizawa the same way that he treats mob, because serizawa is an adult, even if he's an extremely, openly awkward one who doesn't know how to socialize very well. but that's okay, because reigen can work with that, he's also very awkward deep down, even if he won't admit it. not to mention that mob, reigen's other friend, is also socially awkward, and reigen successfully navigates conversations with him all the time.

i think once reigen realizes that he doesn't have to hold back as much as he normally does around mob, he finally understands that his best friends can't all just be a million still developing teenagers who aren't on his level with life, and it gives him a kind of emotional release to finally have an adult friend.

serizawa also feels the same way, having only had exactly one friend in the past like fifteen years, and it was his previous boss, who was evil, and told him to attack and kill people. now he has a boss that is his friend, and has him helping people, and frankly i think it gives him much more peace of mind.

anyway i think they're besties.

[rin-and-jade]

Hello, I was wondering if you had any tips or info about entering headspace/inner world and communicating with headmates? You probably already talked about this or answered someone else's question about this but I'm kinda desperate at this point;-; thank you for this awesome blog!!!

I do have tips and my own posts (well, one of them) regarding to your question!

Here is the post about: inner communication . It has everything about sys communication I wanted to adress generally, but if you need answers to specific issues, drop them in this inbox again anytime.

--

To enter the innerworld, the rule of thumb is to:

Attempt this in a safe place

Make sure you're not busy or preoccupied with work or tasks

limit outer senses (like background noise, light) to focus inwards better

Lastly, is in a state of, and to allow your mind to start wandering off like how you'd normally daydream, but now with the intention of visiting your world

All these things can create a better chance for you to start looking inside the mind's eye. If you're asking why, its because:

Innerworlds operate the same like daydreaming, your brain operates in different modes. One mode, named default network is where mind wandering is a natural occurrence. The reason why i advice people to do so in a quiet place is as to how the salient network doing its job picking for signs and diverting attention to things deemed important. If the salience picks up nothing, you are transitioning to default mode--where all these system processes happen.

If regular relaxation, sensory limitations, and being in a safe area does not promote any innerworld results. This can bring us to internal problem such as anxiety, paranoia, or conditions such as aphantasia. These must be resolved in order to gain better clarity inside as they're actively disrupting your modes and kick the danger-seeking mode to a constant high drive.

--

I suppose that answers your questions, though this awesome blog you're speaking of is struggling with audience reach so, if you do think the posts are helpful, reblogging would help reach more people that needs such resources!

- j

[niennanir]

I make it a stern practice not to air my laundry. If I have a problem I can take it to a close friend whose council I trust, there's nothing to be gained from shouting it at the internet. But every once in a while something happens that I feel I can't go without bring up, usually because I think it impacts more than just me.

My mother, whose sharp wit features on my blog with regularity. is nearing eighty, is still working part time, is hard of hearing, and isn't terribly good at being on her feet for long periods of time.

Which is why sending her cross country to visit her grandchildren is always worrying.

I almost always fly her on Delta. This is because when I request wheelchair assistance from any other airlines they have never, ever delivered. Delta manages to have a wheelchair for her about 70% of the time, not good, but statistically better than 0%. Keep in mind that in the US, wheelchair assistance is required by ADA law and based solely on my experience this means that there are multiple violations of accessibility mandates on a daily basis.

Normally even if the airlines don't do their jobs this isn't a problem because I schedule her a longer than average layover so she has ample time to request skycap assistance from the courtesy desk. Always fun because her hearing aids work poorly in loud echoing spaces like airports. Yesterday was not normal.

Her departing flight was delayed, she missed her connecting and was automatically rebooked. Delta should have had someone to assist her but with all the passengers needing to schedule new connections they shuffled her to the side and told her they could help her in four hours.

And that would be the end of my story, and the beginning of my complaint if it weren't for Wayne.

I don't know Wayne's last name. But I know he works at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta. I know his job involves escorting unaccompanied minors to their connecting flights through one of the largest airports in the country. And I know he saw my mother, undoubtedly stressed at a long delay, an even longer layover, and the ring of a loud airport in her hearing aids.

Wayne stopped to ask if she was alright. He got her safely to the proper gate for her new connecting flight, he stopped by regularly over the next five hours to make sure she was fine, she was hydrated, she had her phone charged. He made sure she had a seat assignment and an updated boarding pass. It wasn't his job. I'm sure he had to snatch moments between tasks, probably on his break. There were other families relying on him to protect what was most important to them. But because of Wayne my mother made it to my brother's house safe and sound.

It wasn't his job. But the people who should be doing that job just didn't do it. And I'm sure there are excuses that sound good but when we're talking about the safety of a disabled, elderly person those excuses are hollow at best. We can do better, Wayne could do better when it wasn't even his to do.

I can't thank Wayne, I wish I could. I wish I could contact Delta and tell them Wayne in ATL needs a raise, he's stepping up and making you guys look better than you deserve. Knowing the current state of stupidity, they'd probably write him up for not focusing on his assignments anyway. So all I can do it air it here.

Thanks Wayne.

[nelyoslegalteam]

please tell me about your dnd campaign, stranger

hi hi hi hi hi hi hi do you have any idea how happy i am to get this ask. you have activated my trap card this is going to be SO long i am sorry in advance but The People Need To Know About My D&D Campaign.

so we’re playing in Adventures in Middle Earth, which is. supposedly a Tolkienverse-specific 5e mod but frankly it’s robust enough to fully count as its own system if you ask me. like it has its own guidebooks, character sheets, premade adventures, and features mechanics that 5e just straight up doesn’t have. it’s like if 5e were actually good. anyway. may i present to you:

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ The Mirkwood Campaign ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

so what, exactly, happened in the intervening years between the events of the Hobbit and LOTR? we did, BAYBEEEEEE!!

we are:

Murdoc, a hobbitish warden (adventures in middle earth’s version of a bard), played by yours truly!! raised in the shire and eventually moved out to the middle of mirkwood by an eccentric uncle who idolizes bilbo baggins, murdoc is the heir apparent to the brandybuck family inn. unfortunately for murdoc, he has developed extremely nasty prophetic dreams and is now burdened with the ability to see the future! a skill that has definitely left him with a very normal relationship to his new day job of Being An Adventurer!! i am unhinged and have uh. Talked About Him A LOT If You Care To Read This, but he is full of murderous rage and also tea and loves his friends very much. he also, more recently, surrendered himself as bait to the great werewolf plaguing mirkwood, trusting completely that his friends would come and save him. he was right. they did. and he lost his right hand in the process. :)

Ríros, an elven warrior (aime version of a fighter), played by @jaz-the-bard. tall, buff, sunshiny, and an absolute himbo. ALSO loves his friends VERY much and this is KEY. unfortunately for ríros, he is a redhead, and that does cause problems in a world where maedhros feänorion once existed. (stranger, i am so sorry if you are not one of my silmarillion regulars and did not know what you were getting into by asking me, a silmarillion blog, to tell you about my d&d campaign, and now have no idea who or what the fuck i am talking about). ríros is notably not maedhros though! he isn't even noldorin!! maedhros is a ghost who lives in his sword (and who is also played by jaz)! and who also maybe kind of accidentally possessed him one time, if you wanna read this here for a better explanation of ríros mostly but also all of the above.

The Bearer, a human slayer (aime barbarian), played by @thymo-leonta. grumpy old man. unwilling father to all these young and stupid adventurers he’s been stuck with. are they all adults? yeah sure. they’re still Children. we are making him go grey. also full of murderous rage. looks like he's running from his perfectly normal, happy, loving family. is actually acutely aware of the fact that he has been doomed to die. killed the werewolf that took murdoc's hand. as a consequence, became the werewolf that took murdoc's hand. has two dogs, both named Dog <3

Déorwyn, a human wanderer (aime ranger), played by @shadowkat2000. resident party Horse Girl. a fellow sufferer of The Bad Prophetic Dreams^TM. because this is not quite unfortunate enough for her, déorwyn Hears Dead People. apparently our GM gives her extra secret bonus ghosts that the rest of us do not hear or know about! this being the source of her foresight makes her pretty distinct from murdoc, despite them both seemingly suffering from the same thing, in ways that i have LOTS of emotions about. her horse is named windrider and Their Bond Is Unbreakable uwu

and @potatoobsessed999, our obligatorily Extremely Ominous GM!

(we are also occasionally joined by Ioreth, a human treasure hunter (aime rogue), whose player is unfortunately not on tumblr. a founding member of the party, has earned the epithet The Feral, mostly loves to hang out in the woods by herself, look for shiny things, and cause chaos. as a beorning, she CAN astral-project herself as a bear. it rules. once got possessed by a ringwraith, probably holds the most compassion for characters who have been through similar out of any of us. is usually covered in mud.)

initially in the employ of radagast the brown, a tenure that did not last due to murdoc's insistence that saruman is evil (i mean. yeah lol.), we're a group of adventurers traveling mirkwood with the aim to defend it as sauron slowly gathers power. we are

very

successful at the Fighting And Killing Things part of this

we specialize in:

lugging unconscious bodies through the woods!

lugging DEAD bodies through the woods!

lugging EACH OTHER'S bodies through the woods!

lugging things through the woods in general!

setting things on fire (usually murdoc's fault)!

making fun of our enemies so bad they just give up!

INCLUDING the ringwraiths (shoutout to ríros)!

serving annoying politicians subpoenas!

murdering them like the one time it was totally justified we promise!

accidentally convincing the council of mirkwood that murdoc's inn is a small fiefdom!

being generally cursed (except for ríros) (he just looks that way)!

HIRE US to take care of whatever problems are happening in YOUR local cursed forest! wights? patricidal politicians? generally awful politicians? sauron? the same fucking werewolf again? it's definitely just tuesday to us!

you can count on

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ the union of murdoc ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

anyhow, jaz is absolutely wonderful and has written several fics of our party, including (but not limited to):

Cooking Contest for the Free Peoples, based on an in-game conversation about beating sauron at competitive cooking,

In Which There Are More Ghosts, which is not canon to game but is in fact Extremely Representative of the exact kind of nonsense we get up to (campaign's haunted),

A Stranger With a Friend's Face, a canon to game horror story of how ríros got slightly possessed, the party acquired maedhros, and neither murdoc nor déorwyn managed to explain the presence of the vengeful ghost residing in murdoc's scepter and bullying him in his dreams to any of the rest of the party right up until this very moment,

and this wonderful drabble from the horror arc in which we were isolated inside of a haunted longhouse. complete with party memes here.

there's more, and i am going to a.) pick on jaz to add them if they can find them, and b.) pick on my beloved friends in general to Please Help Me Infodump About our Game!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Top to Bottom, Left to Right: Murdoc, the Bearer, Déorwyn, Ríros, Ioreth]

[late-to-the-party-81]

Who we are - Part three

AN: Okay, so I wasn’t able to get week 12 of @buckybarnesevents HBS out any quicker, I’m so sorry, but I hope you still enjoy it. Find the previous part of the story here

Once against, thanks to @metalbvcky for looking this over.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, click here.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden.

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 12 - "What should I wear?"

Summary: “How do I look,” Bucky said with a smile, arms outstretched as he did a twirl.

“Like an absolute dream, baby.” Steve walked up to him and placed his hands on Bucky’s lapels. “However, I think that it’s missing something.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together, wondering what Steve could mean, when he saw Steve dip into the pocket of his own suit and bring out a medium sized jewellers box. “Steve?” His voice trembled with a sense of excited trepidation.

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1.6k

CW: Modern A/U, Shrinkyclinks, PWP, D/S relationship, Daddy kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Sub Bucky Barnes, non-traditional collaring, blow job.

It seemed like it had only been a few weeks since the last gala at Steve’s work, but that had been the annual Summer gala and now they were preparing for a public facing product launch gala. As the head of marketing, this event could definitely be classed as Steve’s baby, which, Bucky knew, meant there’d be no ‘shenanigans’ this evening. He’d have to tamp down his desire and neediness and just be a loving and supportive boyfriend who could keep his hands in socially acceptable places in public.

With a sigh, Bucky walked into their closet, his silk robe swishing around his calves. He needed to be the best boyfriend he could be and tonight that meant picking the right outfit. He needed to look classy and put together for the inevitable photos, but not outshine Steve, Tony or any of the other executives.  He normally had impeccable taste, so why was he finding this so hard? Bucky grabbed a suit from the rail and held it in front of himself in the mirror, pulling a face as he thought about how the wine red would look next to Steve’s suit . It wasn’t right.

“Got a problem, baby?”

Bucky turned his head to see Steve leaning in the doorway of the closet, looking absolutely delicious in a navy blue suit with a white shirt and matching bow tie. He adjusted his cuffs and glanced up at Bucky from under his long eyelashes. Bucky just gaped like a fish, trying to remember what the question was as all his brain power tried to go south. “W-what should I wear?” 

Steve smirked, affectionately. “I mean, clothes would be a good choice.”

Bucky rolled his eyes in return, his equilibrium returned by his partner’s teasing. “Ha ha. I just don’t know which suit to pick.” He watched as Steve pushed off the wall and strode over to him, standing next to him so they were both reflected in the mirror.

“Hmmm…” Steve cocked his head, thinking, before turning to rifle through Bucky’s rail. Bucky watched on, absolutely not ogling Steve’s backside in his suit pants, until Steve righted himself and thrust a handful of hangers at him. “Try this on, then come out and show me. I think it’ll work well.” Steve reached up on his toes to press a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips and then walked back into their bedroom, leaving Bucky to look at the clothes in his hands. His lips curled up into a smile as he saw what Steve had picked out. 

Carefully, he placed the clothes to the side and shucked his robe. Then, equally as carefully, he dressed himself with each item, watching the outfit come together before his eyes. With the jacket sitting smoothly across his shoulders, Bucky fastened the buttons and gave a small turn, looking at himself in the mirror. The suit that Steve had picked out for him was an almost exact match for the one he’d been wearing himself. However, instead of a white shirt, Bucky had on a navy one, and a regular tie - the same blue as the suit - as opposed to a bow tie. It was close enough to coordinate with Steve, but with those little changes it wouldn’t look too ‘cutesy’. He pulled on black socks and patent shoes, and snagged one of his favourite watches, before checking his hair and stepping back into the bedroom.

“How do I look,” Bucky said with a smile, arms outstretched as he did a twirl.

“Like an absolute dream, baby.” Steve walked up to him and placed his hands on Bucky’s lapels. “However, I think that it’s missing something.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together, wondering what Steve could mean, when he saw Steve dip into the pocket of his own suit and bring out a medium sized jewellers box. “Steve?” His voice trembled with a sense of excited trepidation.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Buck. About how good we are together, and how much you complete me. Now, if you want something different then we can get that, but given your job and going to the gym, I thought this was the most practical way of showing that you’re mine.” Steve opened the box to reveal a gold bracelet that masculine but also delicate. “Bucky Barnes, would you, formally, become my sub? My one and only baby boy?”

Bucky pressed the heel of his right hand to his eyes, trying to stop the tears, while holding out his left hand towards Steve. “Yes! Of course. Oh my god! Don’t make me cry - I can’t go to the gala all puffy.” 

Steve chuckled as he fastened the bracelet around Bucky’s wrist. “There. Now you’ll always know what you mean to me, even when I’m not with you. How much I love and respect you and how you complete me.” He reached up his hand and placed it on the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, a kiss that Bucky poured all his emotions into.

He was feeling so loved - so wanted - it was almost overwhelming. He kissed Steve back with vigour, holding onto his lover’s arms in case he floated away. All he could think was that he needed to show Steve how much he meant to him in return, and his brain, when Steve was in full dom mode like this, was a one-way street. Bucky dropped heavily to his knees. His hands were immediately on Steve’s belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it free from the loops.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve crooned as he placed a lightly restraining hand on Bucky’s head. “You don’t gotta do that.”

Bucky looked back up at Steve imploringly. “I know, Daddy, but I wanna. Wanna show you how much I love you. Please. Need you, Daddy.”

Steve smiled gently. “Yeah? You need to show me how much of a good boy you can be?” Bucky nodded with a coy smile of his own and Steve shucked his suit jacket and lifted up the front of his shirt. “Then let’s see how quickly you can get me off. We don’t want to be late.”

Bucky didn’t waste another second, releasing Steve’s fly with practised ease and tugging the suit pants - along with the briefs underneath - down to Steve’s ankles. He wrapped his right hand around Steve’s dick - which wasn’t yet all the way hard, but was definitely going in that direction - and started to pump it carefully, while licking all around the tip. The hand that Steve had placed lightly on his head a moment ago curled to grip his hair more firmly. “Fuck, baby boy. You know just what to do to make Daddy feel good, don’tcha?”

Looking up at Steve, Bucky took as much of Steve’s cock into his mouth as possible, giving a little hum that merged with the groan that left Steve’s lips. Normally he wouldn’t be worried about getting messy and sloppy with the blowjob, but he didn’t want to dirty up either of their suits, so he pulled out the big guns straight away - stimulating Steve’s prostate from the outside with his left hand while stimulating his cock with his mouth and right hand. Steve was already breathing hard, his hips twitching as he obviously fought the urge to fuck into Bucky’s throat. Bucky wouldn’t have minded that, but Steve was probably having the same thoughts as him about cleanliness, even though it would have helped with the speed. It didn’t matter though - there would be other times when they could be as messy as they wanted, and they’d both still enjoy this without it.

Bucky rubbed the flat of his tongue against the underside of Steve’s shaft, relishing in the way that Steve gasped at the sensation. Doing this - worshipping Steve in this manner - was the closest he ever got to a dom headspace. He adored the way that Steve would lose his composure, let moans and groans slip past his lips as well as his usual words of praise. It made Bucky’s heart sing and made him feel powerful. Desirable. And while he knew deep down that he was deserving of Steve’s love without all the sexual gymnastics, acts of service was his love language and this was his favourite way to show Steve how much he loved him.

With a twist of his wrist, Bucky pulled another deep moan from Steve’s throat. “Baby, you’re treating me so good, you know that?” Bucky hummed again and smiled as much as he could as felt Steve’s cock twitch in his mouth. “Gonna come soon. Fuck. And I’m gonna do the same to you when we get home. I’m almost there. God!”

Bucky hollowed his cheeks and massaged the spot right behind Steve’s balls and was rewarded with Steve’s orgasm. He swallowed down every drop as Steve spilled into his mouth with a drawn out groan, slowing the pace of his strokes until the hand in his hair slackened. As Steve’s cock softened in his mouth, Bucky drew back and licked up every remnant of his cum like precious liqueur. When he was happy that Steve was clean, he carefully pulled his boyfriend’s up, tucking him in and putting his suit to rights. “There,” he said, looking up with a smile, “nobody will know.”

Steve grinned back at him and then held out his hand to help Bucky to his feet. “Not so sure about that, unless we manage to fix your hair and this…” Steve cupped Bucky’s chubbed cock and gave it a gentle squeeze, making Bucky gasp and then giggle.

“Well, if I go and sort the former, then hopefully the latter will go away. Gonna brush my teeth again as well.”

Steve stood up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Probably a good idea. I’ll order a car.” Bucky stepped away to return to the bathroom, but stopped in his tracks when Steve spoke again. “And Bucky? I love you.” 

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds,

@crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @starrkermarvel,

@king814318, @scram1326

[candywife333]

King Squishy

{TEASER}

SLATED TO RELEASE IN DECEMBER

alien king (jabba the hutt looking) yoongi x chubby secretary reader

She stared at the screen, squinting her eyes, completely tired from the strain of focusing on the screen in front of her. King Squishy, his ugly blob Majesty, trudged over to her. She had been recruited by the planet, Xalaxia, to manage their secretarial works requiring communications with earth. Since she knew the Xalaxian dialect and English with fluency, she had been the perfect gal for the job.

Y/N wouldn't have minded working on the lush green planet with pink golden sunsets, if not for her treacherously annoying and strict boss. The king of the planet himself. King Yoongi. Or as she liked to refer to him as, the bane of her existence. He would always harp on her to finish the work quickly even when she was ahead of schedule. And he would unscrupulously watch over her every move ,as though she were committing a crime by working diligently on behalf of his stale, rank pumpernickel ass.

He wasn't fluent in English, so he relied on her a lot for even diplomatic efforts of his planet. Here he came, entering the room with an infuriated face, waddling his squishy amber, amorphous ass resembling jelly like a duck. All the people on this planet had two forms, one that resembled something more similar to humans--average heights reaching up to 6 feet and up. The other form most of them carried was that of a a normal human face on top of what could not be described in any other words other than a goopy blob that would shapeshift to form humongous tentacles. The black appendages would sometimes drip inky obsidian fluids as they walked, leaving what Y/N called , a "xalaxian trail".

Y/N tiredly drawled out as she typed a document without moving her eyes off the screen, "What service would you like to procure from me today your Majesty"?

Yoongi snarled as he threw a bunch of papers onto her desk, "Is this what you call a complete financial report of the trade embargo we have between Earth? It has a bunch of typos, even I would be able to tell!!!! Why are you so incompetent, you lazy woman"?

I bristled, alive with fury as I attempted to calm down, staring at the document he threw at me. I felt like laughing when I figured out what his problem was. "Ummm, Sir, you do know that these type of letters require more official language ,right? The spellings are all correct. Whatever you have marked in red ink is just the past tense of regular English verbs. We don't say ever say the word "thinked", we say "thought", to express past tense".

His entire face blanched as he started sputtering in a fury, "F-f-fix it then, you human imbecile"!

And he immediately scurried away, his prominent trail viscously dripping after him. I had to not choke on my own laughter, as I stared at a human blob try to run away from me. His magestically goopy form, was trying to get away, but the massive size of his tush was not letting him, making him look like he was twerking and wiggling his butt as he tried to abscond.

Xalaxians did not wear robes or any clothing for that matter in their blob-like forms, they only wore them when they were humanoid in shape.

Y/N sighed, the days on Xalaxia were becoming monotonous, as she felt encumbered with all the excess transmissions to be translated. She was leaving late nowadays from her work station, dropping down on her bed exhausted, instantaneously falling asleep. It had been exciting in the beginning, with all the cuisines, colorful people, and beautiful outdoor environment. But with the way she had been transferred from working with the kind council member Taehyung to becoming the king's secretary, it had been a less than pleasant transition, putting it very lightly.

She pondered with her hands holding up her chin, maybe she should apply for the yearly mating banquet. Humans were allowed to participate. It was quite simply put, a banquet where people found mates (permanent mates, not casual ones). Y/N had not participated in the last two years she had been on Xalaxia. But even she was feeling a bit lonely from time to time. Maybe a mate would help curb that. She wasn't getting any younger.

Xalaxians mated for life, and since their life span of 1000 years instantaneously conferred upon their partner once a mating bond was formed, it was a very big deal who your partner was. Y/N dreamily imagined finding a kind Xalaxian who would treat her right and give her children, something she had always wanted. They would live in a gorgeous garden estate and relax, sharing a marriage bed. She felt like blushing at the mere thought.

She typed up and submitted the application form on her bed. A tinkling sound came from her lap top indicating that the form had been submitted. Before Y/N could even process the happiness and possibility that would come of starting the search for a mate, she got a phone call.

As she picked up the call from an unknown number, she heard a screeching voice, "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??? HOW COULD YOU SUBMIT A MATE FORM WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, WHEN YOU ARE MY SECRETARY? I FORBID YOU Y/N, I FORBID YOU FROM LOOKING FOR A MATE"!

Y/N's indignance peaked, who the hell did this king think he was? Forbidding her from finding a mate, something that was mandated by law as a privilege allowed to every resident of Xalaxia. Y/n calmly replied, "And I fail to see how that is my problem, you rank ass goop ball. Don't test me, sire. If you infringe upon my rights, I shall merely quit the job. What exactly is your problem anyway"?

He yodeled back, exasperated, "YOU. YOU. It's always fucking YOU". Y/N felt so irritated and frustrated at his vague proclamations. "And what do you even mean by that, Sire"?

He sobbed , clearly inebriated from drinking, as he would never show such expressions of emotion otherwise. "You wouldn't work for me anymore, if you found a mate".

Y/N sniped back, rather confused at his intent, "And how is that supposed to be my concern"?

[akutasoda]

Hello! one of your new followers here–well I mean, you've been in my feed a lot of times and I always seem to see your fics when scrolling through bsd tags.. (hope I wasn't spamming), I think your writing is really nice and its so smoothhh.. To like, read! (ٛ⁎꒪̕ॢ ˙̫ ꒪ٛ̕ॢ⁎)

Anyways, here to drop a 12am thought of Ayatsuji Yukito — Like, because his life is in constant death threats and he's always on the watch and on guard,, how do you think he'd have a relationship? Like, would he hide it because he thinks it'd be a (potential) add on to the growing lists of threats and bind him down.. or would he keep it a secret despite it being hard to do?

(Personally, im kicking my feet at the thought of having a secret relationship with him.. Like forbidden love kinda thing bc of the lines of work.. or just the fact that his s/o is a normal civilian and he wants them to keep that life..)

Sorry for the dump! Take you for your time if you'd ever read this!! (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

—🔎

secrets worth protecting

synopsis - your lover wasn't exactly the easiest person to be with, but you two loved each other too much

includes - ayatsuji

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, hidden relationship, death threats, wc - 656

a/n: hello anon! thank you haha probably one of the best things my writing has been called, also loved this request sm

↪the only two ways i could see him getting into a relationship is either by pure chance of meeting you as a regular civilian or a more unlikely way, you as a co-worker of tsujimura and beibg assigned to watch over him. but personally would prefer having a civilian lover. it brings a sense of normality for him to indulge in despite everything else going on in his life.

↪that being said, actually getting into a relationship with him would be rare. even if he so desperately was in live with you would be so reluctant as he wouldn't want to risk getting you caught up in his problems that wouldn't end pretty. you would have to tell him you really were okay with it and wanted to be in this relationship with him. eventually he would let it happen.

↪you most likely would have to understand that if you were in any threat, being caught in the crossfire, you would not see him for a while. he wouldn't necessarily break it off but would ignore you until it had subsided. and yes he totally would hide it. not only for your safety but because it would distance it from his normal life style. when he's doing his time as a detective, he keeps that to only that, and the minute he's let of he can go to you and indulge in a normal, calm and peace life with you.

↪even though he had to be under constant watch, his work as a detective for them made them reluctantly give him anytime off as a surveillance free time. meaning he could freely be with you.

↪going out would be not very often. mainly spending time together under the santicity of your residence or his. but maybe you could convince him to go out and have fun. showing him all your favourite spots or places to go which quickly become his favourite. but would absolutely love having the time with you where he wholly believed that he could eventually live a normal life with you. he'd be dammed if he ruined your life because of his previous life style.

↪however if you were a co-worker of his. it gave your relationship a more exciting quality to it. wouldn't engage in showing that relationship on the job however, he still would prefer to keep it secret. but just the idea that a simple slip up at work could expose the both of you gave it a slightly different edge to it.

↪he would understand that as detectives you both received a fair share of threats but would absolutely want to avoid you getting involved with his affairs. he wouldn't want you being used against him at all, in either scenario, let alone you being sent death threats from his problems.

↪in either scenario, i think the best way for it to remain hidden is to always keep the relationship for when he isn't under watch and at home safe, with you. even if it proved difficult to do, you both would try your hardest to keep it secret.

↪as i said would want to normally just stay within yours or his residence when together but that's notvall that exciting so if you two did go out he would be on guard until he was absolutely certain that it was safe, then he would thoroughly enjoy himself with you.

↪ however being home with him came with it's own perks, helping each other make dinner, him showing you his favourite dolls, you showing him your hobbies/intrests and staying cuddled up in each others embrace talking about whatever came to mind. it was hard work to try and keep it secret, he wished he didn't have to but for your safety he would. he would do anything to keep the love of his life safe and that even meant he wasn't above using his ability or influence to dispose of problems.