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#am i supposed to be a role model

thegreenleavesofspring · 6 months

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Me: *on the phone with my mother* Yeah God has me in a holding pattern right now so I'm just chilling.

*two days later* Stuff Starts Happening

Which. Don't get me wrong. It's good stuff and stuff I've been praying for for awhile now but also... it is going to be Tiring and Inconvenient to deal with and the holding pattern the boys and I have been in has been remarkably comfortable, actually, and I am reluctant to face the exertion and weariness that the process of this Stuff is going to require and...

Anyway, don't mind me, just complaining about blessings again. XP

(I'm just. I already know good and well that I am going to be Tired for the next few months. Really really Tired. Even with trusting and praying it's still going to take mental and physical energy and also concern for my children and it's just. Gack.)

(Actually maybe I need to be praying that I will soon meet a dependable, trustworthy babysitter so that my children can get to know and trust them before the impending periods of hours of separation. And yeah yeah "Bri just hours?" but keep in mind my children have never been separated from me except once, my eldest stayed with my in-laws while I was in the hospital giving birth to my second son and that Did Not Go Well. Indeed my youngest never even experienced the usual separation anxiety phase that happens around a year old because he has never been without me.

Add to that that we don't actually know ANYONE in the area. Like at all. Except my mother, who is currently without transportation and who I don't... fully... trust to watch my kids for like... four hours. Or longer.

Anyway this has been weighing on me and I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me to pray about it before.)

On another note, when the CPS dude visited today he asked if we were going to be okay (re: my husband no longer providing any financial support at all) and I said yes, because we have no other choice but to be, and we just sort of looked at each other. But I didn't come off as worried because even though I know already that next month is going to be challenging, I also have full trust that God has not brought us this far just to drop us now. Just because I don't know yet what He has planned doesn't mean He doesn't have a plan and also I think I've maybe gotten a glimpse at it? Little bitty glimpse? Just takes a certain amount of effort on my part.

...yes I'm a bit lazy. XP

#Nattering into the void #I am lazy but I am also tired #Not Tired yet but tired #It has been a good year but a tiring one and the last ~month especially #I really do need to pray about the divorce situation more because the Bible is very plain how we are supposed to treat divorce and #reconciliation and God does not contradict His word but also-#It is impossible NOT to see His hand in this whole drama so #???#That said I'm not about to fight Him to *not* get divorced that's for sure and certain #If I never see Dallas again I will be that much the happier #I pray that he and his whole family get saved but somewhere far far away from me and the boys #...which leads me to the “but who will be a good male role model for my children?” but now I'm just digressing and word vomiting at once #And any road Dallas was not and would not be a good male role model for them so.#*le tired flops*

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spacelazarwolf · 1 year

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i think it’s appropriate, funny even, to trauma dump on ppl who are intentionally being an asshole to u.

“lmao u just don’t wanna be bald bc then u’ll look like ur dad”

“i mean yeah honestly it’s kinda traumatic bc i have a rough relationship with my dad. it was rough to go from ‘daddy’s little girl’ to ‘gross gender freak’ after i came out, i’m used to him being my biggest cheerleader even when we didn’t see eye to eye, so to lose his support overnight has been really traumatizing and i’m really sad about it. and like how do i find positive male role models if my own dad doesn’t want to be one for me? who’s supposed to teach me to shave or take me to my first suit fitting or teach me how to be a good man when he doesn’t even believe i am one? what happens when i actually do start to look like him and he still rejects me? it’s just been really stressful to deal with all the—”

#trans #trans man #trans community #queer #transmasc #trans masc

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rileyslibrary · 11 months

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pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod

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capslocked · 5 months

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HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she knows.

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things.

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it.

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?”

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast.

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips.

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more.

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow.

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked.

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face.

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss her if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors.

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees.

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get.

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

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teeldaa · 2 months

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so i was looking up datamined content from early access and wanted to rant and talk about some of the changes Ketheric and Shar His story was changed twice!in both ea version he was a moon elf chosen of shar(he had nothing to do with Myrkul),in the first version Halsin accidentally killed Isobel and that pushed ketheric to release the shadow curse, nightsong was an avatar of shar

this is the original nightsong,a necromancer called "sevryn"(beta version of balthazar?!) had quest for the player to kill her with a dagger that absorbed her power,but if you saved her she could become a camp follower,here's some of her lines

"Shar is the Nightsinger, and I am her Nightsong." "I am her instrument, transforming the faithful into Shadows." "I drink their sorrow, their loss, their grief,then I vomit it back into the world." "I was captured, by Ketheric Thorm - Shar's chosen.He turned me into this creature." "I want to sing my own song, not Shar's, not Ketheric's!"

you can listen to her datamined voice lines here and here's a video about that version in the second version Ketheric turned away from Selûne when Isobel was still alive in that version it was Balthazar who killed isobel then framed Aylin as her murderer there was this isobel's line "I was dead, Aylin. For so long. It was Balthazar - he trapped my soul, he-" and Aylin's line "It is why I couldn't leave your body, even when they came. Balthazar and that Sharran witch told your father that I was to blame." and one Ketheric's line @ Aylin"You killed my daughter, then you stand before me and lie? I'll see you suffer tenfold what my Isobel did."(source) i think being recruitable kinda make sense for this version of Ketheric because he was being manipulated by Balthazar and Shar btw here's ketheric and isobel's datamined models(source)

so act 2 was all about the conflict between Selune and Shar and they just slapped myrkul in there last minute?! so Ketheric being a sharran and a chosen of absolute means shar was somehow supposed to involved with the absolute plot(that why shadowheart and her fellow sharran went and stole the artifact)

Daisy,The Urges,Orpheus and The Emperor Daisy was the early access version of dream visitor and every companion used to have their own unique daisy(everyone had the same dream except Astarion)"Down by The River"and"The Power"used to be about daisy there were "urges" in early access that wanted you to kill Daisy Orpheus was in the artefact but he wasn't chained up,he was supposed to be the one who helped you and shielded you from the absolute instead of the emperor.He probably had a way bigger role there is a misconception that original tav was meant to be a bhaalspawn which is straight up false,the dreams and the urges from early access only accrued if you used your illithid power (using them originally meant to have severe consequences) i know some people say daisy was supposed to be a manifestation of the tadpole that was trying to turn you and your party into mindflayers but i don't think it was ever confirmed what daisy or those urges were,i could be wrong but i remember it was datamined that both the Absolute and Orpheus used the Daisy persona...idk i know some people are gonna be like"dream guardian is better,Daisy was creepy/obviously evil"but Daisy only appeared if you used your illithid power,plus you could just reject them...or even kill them

as for the emperor,at first i thought he was just a replacement for Daisy and Orpheus but apparently no!i was watching Harbs Narbs talking about bg3's magic the gathering cards,when he saw the elder brain's card he said"could this be the emperor?"

Cazador and The Butcher …they basically cut everything...(source of datamined lines) so there was this character called "the Butcher"(who was one of the chosen/leader of absolute)who asked you to find his apprentice "Ohler" in Baldur's Gate's graveyard and bring him back a flask(?!),he was the leader of a skeleton faction(their faction was called TadpoledSkeleton)their concept art is still in bg3 artbook

i'm guessing this butcher guy was supposed to be the original Armored male elf chosen of myrkul?!ohler was caught by an ancient and powerful vampire called"the alluring"

you could side with the butcher and bring him back his flask,then he proposed to turn you into an undead,but if he allowed him to performe the ritual to turn you undead he also would try to make you his puppet. if you managed to break free of his control and you had to fight him. To kill him permanently you had to destroy his phylactery,otherwise he would resurrects every time. or you could side with Cazador,he wanted the butcher guy dead

btw i was looking at bg3 art book pdf i found these on cazador's page

is that what he originally was supposed to look like?!the scythe...ugh it looks so cool the other interesting thing is apparently other spawns were somehow okay/happy with their situation

the other thing i wanted to mention is i think Cazador was originally supposed to be a half elf,the language Cazador uses is Kozakuran,The Kozakurans were a human ethnicity The Creche vs The Cult of the Absolute (source) there was supposed to be a fight between the absolute cultist(led by Orin and the butcher)vs the creche(and some sort of team up between lathander priests and githyanki)

you could side with the absolute,they wanted to stop Kith'rak Voss from returning to Vlaakith,here's some of the butcher's lines

and orin's

and this orin badass moment,i'm still salty they cut this for the full release...

or you could side with Voss and helped him escape(i suggest you watch the source video,there's so much more there)

some other stuff there was some datamined stuff bout the city here and here i don't get it...why did they change so many good stuff,Ethel's nephew and hag coven,Raphael's original deals,Zevlor plot twist and...are all gone at first i thought they"cut"those content due to time restriction or resource constraints but that's clearly not the case,There is a clear change in direction,i think what they were originally going for was"choosing the lesser of two evils"then they decided to go with more generic route of good vs evil! bg3 was released in August 2023,larian was looking for beta testers for Acts 2 & 3 in july 2022 idk maybe if they didn't rewrite the companions to be less mean/evil and didn't add halsin and dark urge they could have finish the game?!

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fuckmyskywalker · 4 months

Note

ani sleeping w his stepdaughter cause her mom wouldn’t put out, but he tells her it’s okay because technically she’s half her mom. so he’s not cheating.

— 18+. Smut. Dead dove do not eat. Stepcest/Fauxcest. Afab!Reader | Fem!Reader. This is sick.

— a/n: I don't know who the fuck you are but I want to kiss you. I am. Speechless. (not proofread, it is 3 am).

It was hard for him to take his eyes away from you to start with. He was supposed to be a good role model— to make up for the father you never had… and yet, he was finding himself down on his knees for you. You wanted money to get your nails done? Stepdad!Anakin is handing you the cash. You want a new skirt you saw online? Send the link to Anakin so he can get it for you. You want to relieve that uncomfortable itch that boys your age simply cannot alleviate? Oh, your stepdad is more than happy to help.

There was always a small doubt at the back of his head; you are… well, his wife’s daughter. It could be described as «logical reasoning», but Anakin is— probably— physically incapable of not thinking about you the way he should be thinking about his wife. Sometimes it brings him pure spite, even disgust… but when you are so close— yet so far, can you really blame him? Despite his years, Anakin is insanely attractive; those silver strands mixing with his blonde curls, the small wrinkles around his tired blue eyes, even those strong, hard-working hands that rest on your waist when you greet him after a long day of work… Yeah, can you really blame a man?

He has to share you with his wife, and despite being something normal, he doesn't like it— but he doesn't know it, or at least hasn't thought about it. Anakin just dislikes how you cling to your mother, it being justified. She raised you alone, she gave you the life you have— he just walked into your life and your mother’s house to make everything more perfect than it already was.

Maybe it is an insult to your mother’s intellect and integrity to… fuck you, but, can you really fucking blame Anakin?

Anakin loves how willing you are. How you are so eager to fulfill the hole your mother is slowly leaving. Late nights at the office and poor daddy is all alone… you sure needed to step up and help him, right? And it is only fair, he gives you everything you want! So you might as well pay him back somehow, right? Right?

A man has certain… urges. Everyone knows that.

You know that.

And if he is married to your mother, and you are— practically half, is it even cheating?

Because it should make you feel guilty, because his cock has no right nestling inside your tight pussy in a way that has you touching the sky, fisting your sheets and moaning his name while your phone buzzes next to your head with a miserable text that reads: «Honey, I'll work extra hours tonight, tell Anakin to buy some takeout.»

“Ignore her,” Anakin groans, pushing your head against your pillow. He pulls your hair too, yanking your head up enough to hear your moans, but low enough for your tears to be eaten by the pillow. Crying on the bed is something girls do all the time, so if your mother sees it, it would be easy to explain. “Focus on me, princess. Does it feel good?”

You nod dumbly, sometimes it seems like your brain decides to take a break every time his cock slides in. “Uh-uh,” You mumble, drool trickling down your mouth.

“Good girl. Don’t think about her. It’s her fault anyway,” Your stepdad grins, slapping your ass for good measure. He likes how responsive you are— so different from your mom. She barely makes any sound. “You feel so fucking amazing, way better than she does.”

The backhanded praise makes your stomach swirl with little butterflies. Daddy complimented you! That’s lovely. That sure fills the void inside your heart. All you wanted your whole life was approval… and now, you have the most perfect, most caring, most attentive man in the universe to give it to you.

So, naturally, you beg for more. “Yeah?” It’s a breathless weak question, but it makes Anakin’s smile grow wider. “Do I… I feel better?”

“A hundred percent, doll,” Anakin purrs, looking down your back, licking his lips already savoring the taste of your sweat, biting them when he sees your ass bouncing and thighs giggling. “I might as well divorce her and marry you instead.”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya answers!#anon #stepdad!anakin #stepdad!anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut

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sturniolos-blog · 4 months

Text

Acting up - Dad Matt x Y/n oneshot

warnings - cute, dad matt, swearing, arguing if you squint

—————————

4:46pm

“Mommy!” Estrella, my four year old yells as she runs in.

“Hey, my love! How was work with daddy?” I ask, estrella running up to me as i pick her up, i kiss her cheek.

“So fun mama!” Ella giggles.

Matt then walks in the door holding some of ella’s toys, “Ella, if you’re going to bring toys you have to bring them back inside where they belong, honey.” Matt sighs, bending down and taking his shoes off.

Ella giggles as i put her down, “Sorry daddy!” She laughs, running to give him a hug.

Matt chuckles, “It’s okay, baby.” He kisses her forehead before walking up to me.

“How was your day? Where’s Mailo?” (name pronounced Milo) Matt asks as he wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my neck softly.

“Stressful.” I sigh, hugging Matt, my head on his chest,

“Oh i’m sorry, honey.” He says, kissing my forehead. I relax into his grip.

“I put him down about 45 minutes ago for a nap, but he since he doesn’t sleep as long anymore he should be getting up any-” I get interrupted by Mailo crying from his room. I let out a laugh and start to walk towards the stairs, but matt grabs my hand. “Stay down here, baby, i’ll grab him.” Matt smiles at me.

“Thank you.” I smile back as Matt walks upstairs to go grab our 2 year old.

—————————

8:37pm

“Estrella get in the bath, baby! Please it’s late and mommy’s getting tired!” I groan as my stubborn four year old, (gets it from her dad.) cries on the floor, refusing to get in the bath.

I kneel on the ground in front of the bath tub and stop the water, “Okay, ella, look baby. Take a breath, please.” I say with my voice soft, grabbing her hands, “If you get in the bath now, you can maybe stay up even later to watch tv, please baby please. There’s bubbles and everything, look!” I bribe her, picking up suds in my hands and showing her.

She stands up and looks at the bath, her sniffles filling the bathroom as she calms down, “I don’t wanna get in the bath!” She yells, starting to continue her tantrum.

I let out a groan before Matt walks in.

“Ella, what’s going on, baby?” Matt says, shutting the bathroom door and crouching down to her level.

Ella cries and hugs Matt around the neck. Matt sighs and kisses her head.

“Why aren’t you getting in the bath, my love?” Matt asks, pulling away from the hug.

I stand up and rub my face, today has been so stressful.

“I don’t wanna daddy!” She yells again.

“Estrella please.” I sigh, standing over the sink as matt is still crouched at her level.

Estrella looks at me and shakes her head, letting out a whine.

“Why not, sweetheart?” Matt coos, brushing the hair out of her face, showing her cute earrings.

“Because i don’t wanna!” She stomps.

“Oh, well that’s fine.” Matt shrugs, standing up.

“Matt no she needs a-” I start but Matt shushes me. I bite my lip and shake my head.

“No bath?” (pronounced baf by estrella) Estrella asked.

“Nope. But Mailo took one, and he’s your little brother, you’re supposed to be a role model, ella.” Matt says, leaning against the wall, staring down at her.

“I am a role model!” Estrella yells and stomps while crossing her arms.

Matt shakes his head, “Of course you are baby, you’re the best of the best. But if you don’t get in the bath, what does that show Mailo?” Matt asks Estrella.

Ella pauses for a moment, looking down before she shrugs.

Matt crouches back down again, “Get in the bath for mommy, honey.” He says softly.

Estrella nods, “I still get tv while i fall asweep?” She asks with a quiet voice, almost scared.

“Why don’t you ask mommy?” Matt motions to me before standing up.

Estrella turns around and looks up at me.

I smile and nod, “If you can take a quick bath and get out without fussing.” I compromise.

Estrella lifts up her arms for me to take off her shirt, i let out a breath of relief and lift up her shirt, starting to undress her.

—————————

9:03pm

Matt offered to get Estrella out of the tub and ready for bed, he said he felt awful. I happily agreed though, so now i was in our room putting on some face cleanser.

Matt knocks before walking in, Estrella in his arms, her sucking her thumb while resting her head on his shoulder, still barely awake though.

Matt rocks her slightly, kissing her head before patting her back. “You have something to say to mommy, don’t you ella?” Matt urges Ella on.

Ella let’s out a huff before rising and looking at me, “I’m sorry for not being no good mama.” She apologizes, my heart melts.

She reaches her arms out for me and i take her from Matt’s arms, “I forgive you, love. You had a long day too, i know.” I kiss her cheek and she smiles.

“Thank you so much for apologizing.” I hug her tightly.

“Welcome.” She says. I laugh before giving her back to Matt.

“I’ll be right back, baby.” He kisses my cheek before leaving to go out ella down.

—————————

9:24pm

I was in bed on my side, wearing just one of matt’s t shirts and panties, scrolling on my phone.

Matt walks in and shuts the door, “Sorry i took so long, she took a little longer too fall asleep.” He says as he starts to climb on the bed.

“Or you fell asleep with her..” I laughed. He chuckles and shook his head, grabbing my phone and putting it on my nightstand as he climbs on top of me.

“Never.” He whispered, leaning down and locking my lips in a kiss.

I giggle into the kiss and feel him smile into it also.

He rubs my waist, tracing circles with his thumbs. “Are you okay?” He mumbles as his lips move from mine to my cheek, to my jaw, then my neck.

My hands lock in his hair, “Why wouldn’t i be?” I scoff slightly.

He lifts his head up, “You know why, y/n.”

I swallow harshly and nod, shrugging as i look away. “Sometimes.. i feel like i’m not a good mom.” My voice cracks as i avoid eye contact with Matt.

Matt shakes his head, “What are you talking about? you’re a fucking great amazing mom!” Matt praised.

I scoff and push him off of me so he’s sitting on his side of the bed.

“You don’t get it, Matt. Estrella doesn’t listen to me anymore and i’ve tried everything, i’m patient with her, i try to get her everything she wants and- hell i even bribe her with tv so she stops crying. The fact i have to do all that means i’m not a good mom.” I say.

“A-and Mailo, he’s two so it’s not his fault really but i can never get him to stop crying and i just feel so-” My voice cracks.

“I feel so useless!” I let out a choked sob as i bury my face in my hands.

Matt’s arms go around me as i bury my head in his chest, “I hate feeling like i can’t control my own children, but once you come home everything is okay.”

Matt sighs, running his fingers through my hair, “Baby, you are an amazing, strong, beautiful, young women. You are a great mother and anyone who doesn’t see that is full of absolute shit, you had two kids in the span of four years! You’re fucking amazing! And you are not useless, Estrella was telling me how she felt bad, she wanted to apologize, i didn’t ask her too.” Matt said, his voice soft and full of love. He placed a kiss on my forehead, pulling my chin up to look at him.

“Y-you promise?” I let out another soft sob.

“I promise.” He whispers. Leaning in and kissing my lips that were now salty with tears.

“I love you so so much.” Matt whispered.

“I love you so much too. Thank you.” I whisper back.

Matt smiles and leans down, kissing me again, i smile as he pushes me down on my back, i let out a soft moan into the kiss as he sticks his tongue in my mouth.

The door handle fiddles for a second, we both shoot up.

I count down with my fingers, holding up a three.

Holding up a two,

Holding up a one.

The door opens when i get two one and estrella walks in holding a ready bear.

“Mommy and daddy? I sweep in here tonight?” She asks sweetly.

I laugh as me and Matt make eye contact with each other.

Matt pats in between him and i, “Come here, baby.”

She giggles and jumps up on the bed. Jumping on my to get to the middle.

“Night, mama and dada!” She laughs, snuggling into my side as Matt wraps his arms around both of us.

“Night guys.” I whisper, reaching over and turning off the lamp.

—————————

that was it! hope you liked it! it’s 8:29 so i’m just gonna post this cause i said it would be done by 8:30! hope you liked it!

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #spotify #sturniolo

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wileys-russo · 3 months

Note

Platonic!Alexia Putellas, “How did you even manage to get up there?!?!”, tree

stuck II a.putellas/barça-femeni

"come on!" cata groaned as the ball sailed right past her head again, a widespread grin on your face from the free kick spot. "thats five for five coll, you're losing your touch!" you taunted, the spaniard flipping you off and kicking the ball back to you.

"i'm done with this humilation amiga!" the goalkeeper pulled her gloves off with a defeated shake of her head, making her way out of the goal.

"have you thought about maybe saving some then? won't be so humiliating." you grinned, pulled quickly into a headlock by the girl who chastised you in spanish before letting you up.

"hey!" you groaned as no sooner were you freed did a weight land on your back almost causing your knees to buckle as you stumbled but steadied yourself.

"hola!" mapi sung out, clinging onto you as you tried to shake her off. "finished your laps then?" you laughed, the older girls constant chatter throughout training meaning she was ordered to run an extra ten laps of the pitch under your captains watchful eyes.

"yes! my legs are like jelly compañero, carry me." mapi sighed tiredly, tattooed hand patting your cheek as you struggled to take steps forward.

"for a tiny person you're so heavy." you grunted out as she scoffed in offence. "i am not tiny or heavy!" the defender protested as you rolled your eyes. "tell that to me i'm the one carrying you maría." you groaned out.

"do not call me that! makes me feel like i am in trouble." the older girl huffed as you made your way inside and headed for the change rooms. "why because thats what ingrid says when she's mad at you?" you snickered, whining as mapi sharply tugged your ears for the comment.

"ow! you can walk yourself then!" you dropped her without any warning causing her to fall onto her ass with a hiss of pain. "at least help me up." the older girl held a hand out as you rolled your eyes but grabbed it.

you let out a yelp as suddenly you joined the defender on the ground, mapi hopping to her feet with a grin as a few of the girls wandered out of the change rooms.

"you fall for that everytime pollito." mapi grinned with a shake of her head as you glared up at her, catching both her girlfriends and your captains eyes over mapi's shoulder, both who frowned curiously at the sight of you on the floor.

"ingrid, ale! she's picking on me again." you pouted as ingrids face hardened and she started to quickly walk over, alexia following suit. "mentirosa!" mapi gasped as the taller girls arrived and immediately helped you up.

"she asked me for money for the vending machine and then pushed me over when i said no." you sighed, ingrid pulling you into a tight hug and glaring at her girlfriend whose mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"princesa she's lying!" mapi defended herself with a scoff, eyes burning holes into your head as you sent her a smug smile which quickly turned into a frown when ingrid glanced down at you.

"what have i said about bullying her maría?" ingrid warned as mapi could only scoff in disbelief, alexia running a hand through your hair with a shake of her head.

"honestly, maría you're supposed to be a role model for her she's only sixteen. act your age!" alexia warned, ingrids arms still protectively wrapped around you as both girls guided you away.

you only peeked around them and grinned at mapi who was staring after you venomously, your hand curling up to flip her off as her jaw dropped before you rounded a corner and were out of sight.

as much as in that moment mapi wanted nothing more than to wring your neck, she couldn't deny she really did harbour a large soft spot for you, seeing a lot of herself within you and hoping to be able to use that to guide you forward as you grew older.

so when an hour later you appeared seemingly out of nowhere with a smile and a peace offering in the form of her favourite candy bar, she didn't have a choice but to roll her eyes and pull you into a hug.

however just because mapi cared for you did not stop her also viewing you as the ultimate source of entertainment. as pina and patri grew wiser they stopped giving into the dares and challenges mapi would set them, frustratingly.

but then you came along and suddenly her attentions shifted, forever egging you on to do things to mess with your teammates, and most of the time helping you.

your innocent smile and charming demeanor meant that you were the perfect shield for her to hide behind, alexia rarely ever able to stay upset with you for more than a moment and everyone else just brushing it off as you being young and adventurous.

it was on this particular tuesday after you'd weasled your way back into mapi's good books and alexia had landed herself onto her hit list with the extra laps that mapi decided to make a move.

"i bet you cannot hide ale's boots somewhere she can't find them pollito." mapi pulled you into the change rooms as everyone else headed off for lunch, the defender watching on gleefully at the way your face lit up at the challenge.

"is this because of the extra laps?" you questioned, not quite as gullible as mapi had hoped as she rolled her eyes. "maybe." was all the defender replied as you shrugged, not really needing much convincing to go forward with it anyway.

despite the fact she kept an incredibly tidy home, which you would know given the fact you lived with her, alexia's cubby was rarely not messy, boxes on boxes of shoes stacked on the top shelf as various bottles, medical tape and knick knacks littered the cubby itself.

you smiled at the photos of her and her family taped to the wall having been all but legally adopted into it anyway, eli claiming you as her third daughter from the very moment she met you. you rolled your eyes at the pictures of you taped up, most of which were taken candidly when you weren't looking.

standing up on the bench you rifled through the various nike boxes until you found your captains favourite pair of boots, tugging them out and placing everything back the way you found it.

"where are you going?" mapi asked with a confused frown as you hopped down and headed for the door with the boots in hand. "you only said to hide them, you didn't say it had to be in here."

"you're not landing that!" mapi scoffed in disbelief as you'd tied alexia's boots together and were attempting to throw them up and over a tall tree branch, routinely missing time and time again as they fell to the grass and you sighed.

"new plan." you hummed looking around for a new hiding spot. "or, climb up." mapi gestured to the tree as you looked at it with a hint of uncertainty. "unless you are too scared, pollito." mapi taunted making chicken noises as your jaw hardened.

"gimme those." snatching the boots out of her hand you slung them around your neck, looking up again at the tree with a newfound determination, mapi cheering you on as you started to climb.

"see!" you grinned successfully, sat on a branch and hanging alexia's boots with a satisfied nod, mapi clapping her approval and gesturing for you to get down.

"uh maps?" you called out as the defender had started to walk back toward the training building, turning and raising an eyebrow as your face paled. "i can't." you shook your head as hers cocked to the side in confusion.

"what do you mean?" "i mean, i can't get down." you admitted, not having thought that far when you'd clambered up here, the height in which you were sat now dawning on you as suddenly things became even worse.

"pequeña?" your eyes widened as alexia wandered out, clearly looking for you as she spotted mapi and walked over, asking in spanish if she had seen you considering lunch had long began and you weren't ever someone to miss food.

"okay amiga, don't be mad." mapi started placing her hands on her best friends shoulders who immediately frowned. "maría that is the easiest way to get me mad!" alexia warned with a scowl, pushing her hands off as ingrid walked out next followed by frido as you sighed in defeat.

"whats going on? ale did you find her?" frido asked as the two arrived and mapi rubbed the back of her neck with a guilty smile ingrid knew all too well. "where is she amor?" her girlfriend sighed, rubbing her temple with her fingertips already knowing something bad was happening.

"eh...there?" her hand moved to stretch toward the sky, finger pointing you out as the three girls eyes followed, widening in horror as you gave them a small wave, cheeks flushed red.

"maría. why is she in a tree?" alexia turned her gaze on her best friend who shrank, frido and ingrid hurrying over to the tree as mapi started to back up, alexia advancing with clenched fists.

"its a funny story?" mapi tried with a nervous laugh, turning on heel and sprinting off as alexia moved to grab the back of her training top but missed, cursing under her breath.

"traitor!" you yelled after the tattooed footballer who disappeared inside. "get down älska. right now!" frido yelled glaring up at you as your body deflated. "i can't." you mumbled, barely loud enough for them to hear.

"how did you even manage to get up there!?" alexia yelled making you wince, ingrid already on the phone to someone as you swang your legs back and forth avoiding the blondes eyes.

"i climbed up, just didn't think about how to climb down." you admitted as alexia inhaled and closed her eyes, counting to three as frido rubbed her back sympathetically.

"firetruck will be here in ten, they'll get her down." ingrid returned as your eyes widened in shock. "no way! this place is huge and you're saying the groundsmen don't even have a ladder?" you whined with a groan.

"i hope you told them to have the sirens on." alexia glared up at you as your eyes widened even further. "oh yes. lights, sirens, the full experience." ingrid confirmed as you exhaled deeply, crossing your arms and huffing unhappily.

and lights and sirens there were.

the disruption had caused practically the entire team and staff to come outside, your face burning bright red in embarrassment as an erruption of teasing, whistles and cheers greeted you once your feet hit the grass again.

you hissed in pain as alexia appeared, grabbing your ear and twisting it. "what do you say?" she ordered pointing to the firemen who helped you. "thank you." you mumbled, eyes trained to the ground and wincing as alexia pinched harder. "and?"

"sorry for wasting your time." you mumbled again, nearly falling over your feet as the furious blonde dragged you away still with a firm grip on your ear, your blush deepening at the teasing words from everyone which followed.

"nope! you too." mapi tried to hide before she was seen but it was to no avail as alexia grabbed the younger girls ear and pulled her inside, mapi whining while you remained silent, ingrid following after her with a dissapointed look.

"sit!" you were both pulled into the locker room and pushed to sit down side by side on the bench, mapi glaring up at her best friend and rubbing her ear as you remained silent, eyes trained to the floor.

"sorry chiqui." mapi winced as she looked at you and your ear which was just as red as hers, trying to hug you as you pushed her off and sent her a filthy look making her cringe.

both your gazes shifted as alexia cleared her throat, eyes still ablaze with anger as ingrid stood beside her fixing her girlfriend with a look that meant mapi knew she'd be sleeping in the living room tonight, no exceptions.

"why the hell were you in a tree huh? estúpido!" you frowned as alexia directed the question to you, words racing through your head as something clicked and your frown melted into a pout.

when you added a sad sigh that only mapi knew was very much so fake, her head turned, eyes wide in fear of what was about to come out of your mouth.

"capi i only went up there for you." you mumbled, hitting alexia with your best puppy dog eyes as she frowned and mapi inhaled sharply, seeing where you were going to take this.

"what do you mean?" alexia asked, tone a little softer now as again you sighed.

"well mapi threw your boots up there and i know they're your favourite pair ale so i tried to climb up and get them back for you, but then i got stuck and mapi ran away without helping me." you rested your chin on your fist with another sad sigh.

"pequeña diablo mentiroso." mapi whispered under her breath, shaking her head with a look of disbelief as you glanced to her, corners of your mouth upturned smugly just for a moment.

"maría!" ingrid hissed in disbelief as mapi stammered out the truth but it was far too late, alexia already sat on your other side and looking over your ear, kissing your forehead and cooing repeated apologies as you tucked yourself into her side.

"we're leaving. go!" ingrid warned sternly, pointing to the door as mapi gave up defending herself, grabbing her bag as ingrid hugged you tightly, saying something inaudible as you smiled at mapi over her shoulder.

"you lose!" you mouthed at her smugly as the defender sighed deeply, shaking her head before mouthing something back at you, admittedly almost as proud as she was infuriated.

"well played amiga."

#woso community #woso #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #barcelona femeni #barcelona femini

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harunayuuka2060 · 3 months

Text

Professor Vargas: No. Definitely not. I would rather build her a house than have her join a dorm full of guys.

Crowley: But... That would add up to our expenses-

Professor Trein: WHICH we could easily afford, headmage.

Professor Crewel: Yes. I agree.

Sam: Look at us already have taken a liking to our little imp!

Professor Vargas: Ha! Yes! The moment I saw her, I claimed her as my daughter!

Crowley: ...

Crowley: *clears throat* Very well. Uh... While we build a house for her and her son, she could stay in the little tent I lent her-

The professors: GIVE HER A ROOM.

Crowley: ...Okay.

Crowley: I suppose the Pop Music Club would not complain if we used their club room for this purpose.

Professor Crewel: Your house will take a month to complete, so you will need to stay in this classroom for the time being.

F!MC: Thank you, professor. And I apologize for causing so much trouble.

F!MC: If there's anything I can do to pay your kindness back, please do tell me.

Toddler Riddle: Yeah. I will help too.

Professor Crewel: There's no need. I will be assigning a housewarden to help you in setting up this room.

F!MC: Th-Thank you, professor!

Professor Crewel: Don't mention it. Have a nice day, pup. *then takes his leave*

F!MC: ...

F!MC: *lets out a sigh of relief* *then smiles at her son* Isn't this great, Riddle?

Toddler Riddle: *nods* Mama doesn't need to knock on people's doors anymore.

F!MC: *hugs him close* Yes. You're right.

Kalim and Lilia: Me! ME!

The other housewardens: ...

Professor Crewel: I am actually thinking of appointing Rosehearts for this job.

Lilia: Crewel, the room they're using is the Pop Music Club's.

Kalim: Yeah! And I want to be friends with her!

Idia: Well, Kalim could definitely buy some furniture.

Lilia: Yes! And I'll buy her son toys!

Professor Crewel: ...

Professor Crewel: Rosehearts, what do you think?

Riddle: I don't mind.

Azul: Are not you appointing him since the lady's son shares his name?

Professor Crewel: Yes. That's the reason.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Thank you for accompanying me, Cater and Trey.

Trey: We want to meet the lady too.

Cater: I met her in person, and she is really nice. Though it felt like I was talking to someone older.

Trey: *chuckles* She's a mother. Of course, you would feel that way.

Riddle: Ah. We're here.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: *noticed that the door was slightly open and decided to peek inside*

F!MC: *cuddling her son while reading him a recipe out of a cookbook*

Toddler Riddle: Mama? Do we have to follow everything in this?

F!MC: Hmm... I think we can change the shape of the eggs and carrots.

Toddler Riddle: I'll make them stars.

F!MC: Oh! That will be great, Riddle! Do you want to cook it yourself? Mama will make you mini-kitchen utensils!

Toddler Riddle: Yes, please.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: ...

*The three decided to move steps back.*

Cater and Trey: *communicates through eye-contact*

Trey: 'Mini-kitchen utensils.'

Cater: 'Yes. And that's so adorable!'

*meanwhile*

Riddle: *his mother issues are trembling*

Riddle: Professor Crewel, I would certainly appreciate it if you would not assign me chores related to assisting the lady.

Professor Crewel: Why? Is there a problem?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: N-No...

Professor Crewel: I was hoping you would be friends with her because you are the same age and can serve as a role model for her to strive more in the future.

Professor Crewel: In any circumstance, I would delegate responsibility to another person. Do not worry.

Riddle: ...

*Back in Heartslabyul*

Trey: Riddle? What happened to you? Why did you run?

Riddle: I had a pressing task to complete.

Cater: Well, Trey? Have you seen how happy they were when we gave them the mini-kitchen utensils? 🥺

Cater: Ridz said thank you and called me "Uncle Cater".

Trey: *chuckles* Yeah. You almost squealed because of that.

Cater: By the way, Riddle? MC was looking forward to meeting you.

Riddle: Huh? Why?

Trey: She's interested to know what our Riddle is like. You know, someone her son can look up to?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Maybe next time, Trey.

Riddle: Definitely...

Trey and Cater: ...

#twisted wonderland #twst teen!mom mc #twst toddler riddle oc #twst riddle #twst trey #twst cater #twst lilia #twst idia #twst azul #twst crowley #twst crewel #twst trein #twst vargas #twst sam

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universalitgirlsblog2 · 4 months

Text

👛🖤SELF-CONCEPT👛🖤

CONTENTS OF THE POST

- MEANING OF SELF CONCEPT

- IS IT NECESSARY TO MANIFEST ?

- HOW TO IMPROVE IT ?

- SELF CONCEPT AFFIRMATIONS

- QUOTES ON SELF CONCEPT BY NEVILLE GODDARD

👛MEANING OF SELF CONCEPT

The way we perceive ourselves and the ideas we hold about our competencies and attributes is called self-concept. ( This definition is from my psychology textbook but it described self concept really well )

🖤IS IT NECESSARY TO MANIFEST ?

Self concept is not necessary when it comes to manifesting but it is very helpful and it does make manifesting more simple and easy.

👛HOW TO IMPROVE IT ?

💞Affirm !! Affirm and saturate your mind with those affirmations. The best way to reprogram your subconscious is through REPETITION. The more you repeat a thought / affirmation , the more dominant it will become.

👡Never underestimate the power of music. If you go on a spotify , just search self concept or confidence or that girl playlist & you will find so many songs which are filled with powerful and positive affirmations. Artists like Nicki Minaj , Le sserafim , Ariana Grande always include powerful affirmations in their songs. Listening to their songs enhanced my self concept.

💞Find a role model! Refer to my post on self concept icons , there are three parts in total . Click here - 1, 2 , 3. Suppose you want a self concept like Blair Waldorf , you can use her effect affirmations and a playlist dedicated to Blair and her vibes. Or maybe your self concept icon is Song Jia ? Then use affirmations based on her and listen to playlists dedicated to her. I have made affirmations for Jia too !! Your self concept icon can be anyone !!!! If you go on spotify and just search Blair , Regina, Song Jia or Thewizardliz etc you will find alot of playlists dedicated to them.

👡Create an alter ego and start acting like her . YOU ARE HER NOW !!! STOP IDENTIFYING WITH YOUR OLD SELF WHO HAD POOR SELFCONCEPT. THAT VERSION DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE.

💞Already assume that you have a perfect self concept . Don't give the old story any attention or don't waste your energy on your old self. Stop affirming how you have a " bad " self concept and need to work on it. Just assume that you have a perfect self concept already.

👡Mental diet can do wonders. Whenever you have a thought that doesn't align with your perfect self concept. Ask yourself , "Does this thought align with my perfect self concept?" . If the answer is no , then reject it. Become aware of your thoughts and only entertain productive and useful thoughts. Have a positive SELF TALK

💞Realize how powerful you are. You control your reality. You tell your reality/ 3D what to do. Your circumstances , 3D or reality doesn't control you, you control them. Your inner world creates the outer world. Stop victimizing yourself. You are the main character and director of your life. Start acting like it.

Self concept work is supposed to be easy and fun . Don't complicate it.

🖤SELF CONCEPT AFFIRMATIONS

I have a strong and empowering self concept .

I am the creator of my reality

I control how my life unfolds

Everything always works out to my advantage

Circumstances and things are always rigged in my favor

I deserve the best in every area of my life

I am the girl who has it all

I am the It girl of my reality

Nothing is impossible in my world

I am good at everything

I am a master manifestor

I am the best

I am loved and valued

I am wanted by everyone

I am the prize

The world is my oyster

I am successful at everything I do

I have Lucky girl/ boy syndrome

I am the universe’s favorite child, so all my needs and wants are always met, instantaneously

I am powerful beyond limits

I am fearless, unstoppable , invincible and antifragile

I am the one with all the health, wealth, and happiness in the world.

I have a perfect self concept

I can maintain a good mental diet easily.

I am aware of my thoughts

I only think useful and productive thoughts

I am completely in love with myself

I always get what I want

I don't chase , i attract

I am a priority , queen / king , and chosen.

👛QUOTES ON SELF CONCEPT BY NEVILLE GODDARD

"Your opinion of yourself is your most important viewpoint. You are infinitely greater than you think you are.”

“Change your conception of yourself and you will automatically change the world in which you live. Do not try to change people; they are only messengers telling you who you are. Revalue yourself and they will confirm the change.”

“Stop trying to change the world since it is only the mirror. Man’s attempt to change the world by force is as fruitless as breaking a mirror in the hope of changing his face. Leave the mirror and change your face. Leave the world alone and change your conceptions of yourself. The reflection then will be satisfactory.”

“To reach a higher level of being, you must assume a higher concept of yourself."

“I AM wealthy, poor, healthy, sick, free, confined were first of all impressions or conditions felt before they became visible expressions. Your world is your consciousness objectified. Waste no time trying to change the outside; change the within or the impression; and the without or expression will take care of itself. When the truth of this statement dawns upon you, you will know that you have found the lost word or the key to every door. I AM (your consciousness) is the magical lost word which was made flesh in the likeness of that which you are conscious of being.”

"Everything depends upon our attitude towards ourselves. That which we will not affirm as true of ourselves cannot develop in our life.”

"Our present mental conversations do not recede into the past, they advance into the future to confront us as wasted or invested words.”

"The individual’s inner speech and actions attract the conditions of his life.”

“Nothing is impossible to you.”

“Live your life in a sublime spirit of confidence and determination.”

“The world cannot change until you change your conception of it. 'As within so without'.”

"" The part you play on the world's stage is determined by your conception of yourself ."

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