#because that wasn’t the choice they fucked up on
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introducing... bitchy reader!
rafe never pays attention to sarah’s friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesn’t care enough to say hi back.
so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.
you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.
“-and he’s not like topper, like, at all. he’s really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-”
“wow,” he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. “such standards you have. no, really.”
“shut up. he’s totally sweet-” sarah says, but you interrupt her.
“he’s, like, totally a dirty pogue.” that catches his attention—not just the fact that there’s something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth.
you nearly sound like rafe.
“that is so rude-”
“what? i’m just being honest. i’d be a bad friend if i didn’t tell you the truth.”
“what truth?” his sister questions.
“that you’re settling for some pogue boy because you’re bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him i’d be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.”
rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laugh—topper is boring, though he doesn’t think he’s heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter.
“hey! i’m not bored-”
“you mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?”
“he has other hobbies! like-”
“like what?” you pause, watching sarah’s expression before giving her a pointed look—a look that says told you so. “who are you really trying to convince right now?” you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarah—some pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. “don’t i totally need this?”
“shut up.”
“that’s what someone says when they know the other person’s right,” you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. he’s watching the whole thing—you’re funnier than he would have thought. “and if you change your mind just go to country club. top’s dime a dozen there.” the two of you start laughing.
“i’m not gonna change my mind-”
“that’s what you said when you started dating topper,” you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.
“-because he’s really nice. he’s a good guy.”
“ugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. you’re talking like you’re in love. get a grip.”
“what? what’s so wrong with that?” sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.
“because you can’t be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.” that’s when he decides to walk in—sarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.
“and what’re you girls talkin’ about?” rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confused—in all the years you’ve known sarah and times you’ve been at tannyhill, rafe’s never once spoken to you.
“i don’t think it’s any of your business-” his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.
“sarah, it’s okay.” you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like you’re gonna tell in something. “it’s really not any of your business.”
blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.
“y’know i heard that shit you were sayin’. you’re funny, kid.” you turn back to look at rafe.
“thanks. i wasn’t joking.”
“yeah. good. at least one of my sister’s friends has ‘er head screwed straight.” you laugh, but the look on your face says you didn’t think it was funny.
“are you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?” he wasn’t expected that retort.
“no. no, i-”
“maybe if your friend wasn’t such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldn’t be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?”
“hey, kid, i-”
“don’t call me that.” you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.
“so have you?” you pause, turning again.
“have i what?”
“made out with some pogue at the bonfire.” he shrugs. “that’s what you said to sarah, isn’t it?”
“again, how is that any of your business?” you ask, cocking your head at him.
“that’s not an answer.”
“i don’t owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i haven’t. i actually have standards.” he doesn’t miss the remark and what it says about his sister.
“good,” rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop it—your short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.
“shut up. weirdo.” you walk to the living room where sarah’s waiting for you.
rafe’s gonna have a hard time staying away from you.
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plug connie springer x black stripper reader
warnings: boy is down bad, a little bit of mikasa x reader??, mikasa is famous heree, connie is a tease, he’s also hispanic asf, ya’ll didn’t even make it to the club, hints of yandere, mirror action, he fucks u while he’s crossfaded, wall sex, he talks a lot, dude is rambling, good ole cream pie, gotta love breeding
a/n: i got carried away (⌒_⌒;)
can you guys tell i like my men desperate lol, this is so long i might make this a series (4.9k words)
one down, like five more to goooo
The lifestyle of stripping was something you truly couldn’t get enough of. The late nights. The smooth poles. Dancing on those smooth poles. And most importantly, the money. Oh fuck, how you loved the money. Living the fast life gave you such a rush that you adored it just as much as you hated it.
It’s not your first choice, not by a long shot. You were raised in Jamaica, New York. And your parents., you loved them. Honestly, you did, but you would probably be the most miserable person in the world if you kept heeding their strict Christian views.
You tried everything to reach up to their impossibly high standards. They wanted you to get an A in every assignment? Try A+. They wanted you to wear less revealing clothes because ‘No man will ever want you’? You’re showing up to your classes in turtlenecks just to keep their mouths shut.
You even made it a routine to clean the entire house top to bottom on Sundays since they started complaining that ‘You never do anything around this house.’ It was beyond annoying. You were fucking tired.
Growing up in Notre Dame School of Manhattan was nothing short of horrible. Proclaimed ‘good girls’ snorting more than half a line of coke in the school bathrooms. Drugs you aren’t even sure how they got access to, but then again, they are rich white kids. Teachers and hypocritical professors pretend to be oblivious to the bullshit drama their students are in. Your parents’ oblivion for keeping you here is even greater. Even after sharing stories with them, they would advise you to be more like the students at your school.
It was a miracle you didn’t turn out that far gone, despite what your profession is currently. You’ve smoked a little weed here and there. Experience some sort of awakening tripping off shrooms the weekend your parents took a trip to Barbados.
Without you, of course. Despite this, you were always taken care of. Your differences in opinion would never justify their abandonment of you. You knew they loved you when they got you a ticket to see The Weeknd live after you got a perfect score on your final, not after telling you their opinions on the matter, of course.
‘I don’t know why you listen to such devil music.’
‘I should’ve never gotten you this trash.’
The guilt you felt for wanting to have fun kept you from almost going. You went anyway, choosing to avoid allowing their misery to affect you.
Everything was fine; you played along with this draining game, and everything was fine. Until they decided to kick you out for finding a small baggie of blow (that wasn’t even yours) peeking out from the top of your purse. You don’t even know how it got there.
Honestly, you didn’t. You tried to communicate that while they were packing all the clothes they could find in your closet into two medium-sized luggage bags. But they wouldn’t listen, opting for screaming so loud you could see the neighbors peeking through the window. At the very least, they were kind enough not to throw them onto the concrete ground. Their stubbornness was unyielding. You just couldn’t get through to them.
You were able to rent an apartment you had put a deposit on a month before this happened because of the money in your savings account. Unfortunately, your funds were only sufficient for rent for two months due to groceries and other necessities.
When graduation came, your parents were nowhere to be found, so you realized that you had to find a means of earning money before you ended up sleeping on the streets.
You tried looking for a ’regular’ job -- a barista, a waitress, even applied to be a fucking bartender. It’s not as easy as it seems when those who already have one talk about finding a job. Why do they claim that they need to hire immediately and yet still reject you? Considering that your lack of work experience prevents you from being hired, you feign a little on your resume. Turns out, you’re not a very good liar.
Where was pretty privilege when you needed it?!
Despite applying to 500 companies, none could offer you a job within the next two weeks, which happened to be when your rent was due.
You really had no other option. You took your pretty ass and marched to the nearest club. Which happened to be the... Hustlers club? Why did that sound familiar?
Upon entering, you outright demanded to speak with the person in charge, and when you saw him, he demanded that he offer you a job. Lucky for you, the owner happened to be there that day. He observed the little moment you had when you stormed in..well, he observed the way your tits bounced in your low-cut tee and immediately pulled you into his office.
He had the thought that you would make him a lot of money if you worked for him, and he’s sure his business partner would agree if she saw you. He just had to make sure.
A figure appeared in the corner, striking up from the edge of his desk and making a slight sniffling noise. A girl, a beautiful one with distinct Asian features. Her leather skirt was short, only barely covering past 2 inches of her thigh. Her tits were pushed up to a necklace in a black corset-like top. An ornamental gold necklace.. with the letter M.
Wait. Is that-
That’s where it dawned on you why the name of this club sounded so familiar. On a random Tuesday afternoon, you find yourself standing in front of a celebrity. You were standing in front of Mikasa Ackerman. The Mikasa Ackerman. As in, owner of Mirror Palais, the highest-paid model in Japan, co-owner of one of the best clubs in New York, Mikasa Ackerman. Oh shit.
You remember seeing her on an Instagram reel in front of this very club, along with the other owner. The other owner, his name was.. what was it again? He swivels you around to face him, almost as if he hears your thoughts,
“Eren Yeager, sweetheart.”
A soft handshake accompanied by a gentle tone. He was quick to introduce you to the beautiful eyes that stayed fixed on your face since you walked into the dimly lit room. Eren guides you towards the brown leather couch where his friend is sitting,
“And, this is the lovely Mikasa. I’m sure you sure you know who she is.”
Feeling intimidated by her intense gaze, you nodded quickly and stumbled a bit when introducing yourself. Her following words didn’t calm your nerves anyhow,
“A real pleasure meeting you, beautiful.”
Eren could tell that Mikasa already liked you; the girl was practically fucking you with her eyes. But he wasn’t here for that; he cleared his throat to draw attention to him in the room. He had a goal in mind: to get you signed up. Eren wanted you dancing in his club today.
He sits you down and swiftly gets into business mode.
‘What kind of position are you looking for?’
‘What’s the minimum salary you want to earn here?’
He tries to get a sense of what you’re looking for before proposing to work as a stripper. Although he wants you to, he can compromise. Server position and the minimum salary you asked for was $65,000.
“And I’m not leaving til I get that or something better.”
Well, you wanted better, right? Eren explains to you that his club didn’t have any more waitress positions and Mikasa...
Well, that day, you found out that she was really good with words. She did a great job at convincing you that you’d make double the amount you asked for moving your perfect body on the pole. I mean...
“Look at that body of yours. You’d be pretty famous here, sweetheart.”
And shit, she was right. You really couldn’t blame the girls who never wanted to leave, simply too addicted to the drugs, to the fast life, especially to the money. The amount of money you made every night was simply insurmountable. And you found it funny because it wasn’t just the money. Really, it wasn’t.
The sensation that occurs when your lower body rotates on the pole. The art of dancing like this ignited such a passion from you. The attention, from the men and the women. One of the most popular clubs in the city had you as a crowd favorite. You knew it shouldn’t be something you liked; you never wanted to get too wrapped up in a life like this. But shit, it was sensational.
You didn’t let it slip, even though you shined on the stage. There are people who would take advantage of you even more if they knew you actually enjoyed what you do; you know this. When it was time to go, you left with no hesitation. You had to remind yourself of what you were here for, to provide and care for yourself until you find a better job.
And you stuck to that goal for a solid five months; nothing deterred you. Of course, that’s what you’re thinking. In reality, from the very first moment Eren had you on that pole, you found yourself coming back for one reason. Even if you weren’t subconsciously aware of it, him.
Connie, you heard the owner greet one day. He was definitely attractive. There was something about him, something about how he threw money at you and only you. Your body shivered without fail due to the gray eyes that watched your every move. The way he man spreads and tilts his head back when taking a hit, revealing neck tattoos that you know cover his stomach under that black Nike Tech hoodie. He was so fucking fine.
Only a few men can pull off a buzz cut. How does he do it so effortlessly? Maybe it was the color? How would he change it like it was nothing every two weeks?
You noticed he had a thin mustache, and when you got closer to his face.. Fuck. Was that a diamond nose ring?
He was a drug dealer. You caught that three months ago. Around that point, he began asking for you to exclusively serve his section. Eren had no problem with that; after all, this was his friend. But Connie started getting.. greedy. He wanted more than that. He started getting bold. He wanted your body on that twirling solely for him.
“Hell no.”
Eren filled the quiet section. Your body was followed by both green and gray eyes as you moved on the stage, with Connie’s eyes being more intense and focused compared to the other. The thriving club was filled with both of them enjoying a glass of Richard Hennessy Cognac in the VIP area.
Connie never had a good relationship with mixing Henny and weed. He was aware of that. He has a tendency to indulge in sinful thoughts. He didn’t let that stop him from rolling the blunt anyway.
His mind would get drawn towards dangerous places, mainly when he saw you. The way your thong disappeared between your cheeks under your lacey two-piece made him ready to fuck you right there. To show those perverted and prickly eyes that stuck like glue onto you that they could never have you. That you were his. Or, you will be.
Connie hasn’t even fucked you yet. Hasn’t gone anywhere near the sticky wetness he knows you have in between your legs.
You two indulge in what you could only describe as subtle grinding in the back rooms. All the dancing that you’re supposed to be doing on the pole, you’re doing on his lap instead. It was against the rules; you especially knew this. That didn’t stop either of you. Well, more so Connie than you.
At first, his best friend was against it. The customers you brought in were earning him at least $100k a night. While his other show girls were beautiful, you radiated a different type of aura onto the stage. You were something different. It was genuinely insane how you could move, you didn’t even have prior training. You found that every night, you got better than the previous; it was a natural talent.
Connie, being Connie, offered Eren twice that amount for every night he gets to spend with you alone. That was every night you were on the clock, besides, he had no problem making that back by the next day. When it came to his girl, there was never a problem for him.
And Connie never regretted the amount he spent on you. Being alone with you was something he had grown to crave incessantly. To him? It was worth it. He’d get so excited to just walk into the back room and find you waiting for him. All pretty, just tempting him to ruin you. Then, when you start performing in front of him, your body moves in a way that would hypnotize the stoic man.
And it wasn’t just your body to Connie. There was a certain allure to you. He was observant of the way you moved, spoke, and behaved. He understood that someone like you doesn’t come by every day. He just had to have you, own you. Your body, your fucking soul, everything you possessed, he wanted it for himself. He didn’t care if it sounded selfish; he’s okay with being that when it comes to you.
It’s reasonable to assume that he would have the final say on what you wear for him since he was the only person you would dance for, right? That was the route he took to get your number. That’s the reason you got a text from him while you were getting ready to shower for your night shift.
One of his friends- Was he talking about Mikasa?
You could have given it more thought, but your shift was only an hour away, and Connie was on his way. Using a small gray towel, you drape it onto the fat of your wet boobs. Your hands lather your Shea Butter oil on the top of your left thigh quickly, but you stop when your doorbell rings.
“Coming!”
You yelp, quickly slip on your slippers, and move toward the door. The man had always taken you home, and on the other side of the coin, he always took you to work. You didn’t bother asking how he knew your address the first time, afraid that it would spark an answer you’re not ready to hear. Occasionally, if you were too intoxicated to carry yourself to your apartment, he would act as your knight in shining armor and hold you in bridal fashion to your door without saying a word.
It should have been simple enough: he goes in and gets out. And it would have been that simple if he hadn’t seen your pink lacy thong loosely hanging off your door knob. He was simply a man, one who desired to feel every part of you. The tip of that thong was hanging out of his pockets when Connie left your apartment that night.
Swinging your door open makes you almost breathless. Connie was a tall person. Everything about him just screamed: big. He was easily over 6 feet 2 inches tall, and he came to your door carrying a medium-sized shopping bag. You step back, observing as he comes in right after taking his slides off by your door.
“You’re here early, Con. I’m not ready yet.” You whisper, still a little perplexed he’s already here. Despite the amount of money you know he has, you rarely ever see him in anything other than a white tee and black sweats. Today was no different. Minor differences in each pair made it clear that they were different every time. You suppose it had something to do with his dangerous line of work.
He hands you the cream-colored bag, and his eyes never leave your lips all the while. You suddenly became very conscious that you were breathing the same air as Connie, who appeared right in front of you. He leans in, the ghost of his lips felt against your collarbone,
“You smell good,” His tatted hands sneakily climbed their way onto your wide hips. Before muttering a curse under his breath, he squeezes once. For the first time since meeting you, Connie isn’t being truthful. He didn’t come to your apartment to take you to your job. Tonight, he had different intentions.
He came tonight to put a full stop to the cat-and-mouse game that you guys have been playing for the past five months. Two fully packed blunts and three shots of Don Julio convinced him that his attraction towards you was not going away.
He should’ve realized it when he started making a habit of watching over you outside of the strip club. She needs someone to protect her, he thinks. You don’t pay attention to your surroundings. You have no idea, don’t you? Your beauty could easily lead to someone from the club becoming obsessed and following you. Anyone who wasn’t him.
He also should’ve realized it when he started beating his dick into overstimulation to your pictures on Instagram. And after your shift. Of course, before your shift. Eren witnessed him having to excuse himself during your shift because his dick was painfully throbbing against his boxers.
Connie really liked you. And somewhere in that twisted mind of his, he believed that you two were truly meant for each other. He should’ve never waited this long, “Put this on, ma.”
He pushes the bag towards your chest and moves your hips in the direction of your room. Your thighs twitch as you hum and make a little run to the end of your hall. He follows after you slowly, eyes shifting to the way your ass peaks out from under the towel.
This scene feels oddly familiar. A predator stalking its prey, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You didn’t know what Connie came here to do; in your mind, you were just getting ready for work. He almost felt sorry for you, almost felt sorry for how he was going to ruin you, almost.
He made sure to take his time approaching your door so that you could be ready and prepared for him when he arrived. And you didn’t disappoint. In front of your vanity makeup mirror, you were sat on the cushion chair. Applying what looked like oil from a flower bottle onto your neck.
You look better in the dress than he expected. Your fat tits sitting so perfectly, and the lace meshing with your skin. You pretended to ignore him behind your seat, starting to feel the weight of his presence around you. This was probably the thinnest item you had ever owned, yet his hands pressing on your shoulders made your skin feel like it was on hot volcanic soil.
You catch his eye in the mirror, and despite your flustered state, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of looking away. Not even while his hands lower down to your rib cage, right under your plush boobs. Especially not even while his giant palms wrap around the fabric covering your nipple in a tight grip.
You gasp, a moan bottling in your throat, “C-Con!”
It could have been the way you uttered his name or the way your head pressed against his chest. Regardless, Connie lost control and dropped his head into the crook of your neck, beginning to sprinkle small, wet kisses. He grips harder, and you... you get louder.
“You drive me fucking insane,” Your flesh is now exposed to his hands as they slip into the dress. “Skin so soft,” He kneads his hands into your chest, squeezing as if he’s hoping milk will pour out of them. He groans, “God, you’re so perfect mama.” The thought of that makes a shiver run down his body.
Poor Mikasa, she spent all night working on that dress once she heard it was for you. Connie didn’t even let it last for a good ten minutes before you heard a faint rip sound in the midst of your whimpers.
Your brain is struggling to keep up with the speed of everything happening. You attempt to tilt your head back, but he shuts it down right away. “Eyes on the mirror.” He moves one hand to your throat, keeping you still. You feel your body shake under his hold, twitching slightly from his small attack. You didn’t have the courage to look away, not even as far as you could.
“I’ve been so patient.” Squeezing your left nipple, he drops his fingers down the ripped material until they reach the top of your pussy lips. “Cumming to the thought of your pretty face like a fucking teenager,” His words bring a mewl to your lips. Your body starts sweating, nervous at the way his fingers are just rubbing circles around your skin.
Would he pull away if your hips jerked against his hand? You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t. You’ve never allowed yourself to feel this desperate for anyone, but being around Connie left you like this. You were at a loss for what to do. Your thoughts were racing to find something, anything, that would bring him closer to you.
It’s unclear what motivated him to answer your prayers. But in the next moment, he pushed his middle finger into the center of where your slick was overflowing onto the cushion. He creates slight tap sounds with the puddle between your fat lips, playing with you.
Your eyes close for just a second and burst wide open when you feel a sudden intrusion in your sticky hole. “A-Ah!” A sob leaves your lips, your eyes falling back to your face in the mirror when you register his next words,
“Eyes on the mirror, mama. I haven’t done anything to you yet,” As Connie slowly moves his fingers into and out of your dripping core, his eyes struggle to keep track of your face in the mirror or the stain you’re beginning to make on his digits.
He settles with the stain you’re creating. He’s massaging your walls in a way that you can’t help but cover them in a creamy white. It’s impossible not to moan with shaky breaths, whispering his name. He figures the wait was worth it. His dreams couldn’t have prepared him for the real thing. It was more noisy, was more sticky, and it was.. real.
What do you taste like?
Your hips shake as he suddenly removes his fingers from you. You whimper, annoyed by the absence of the touch of fingers on your wet walls, but you stop yourself when you see his movements in the mirror. His mouth wraps around his middle and ring finger, sucking your juices to the fullest. Your breathing stops when he moans, “You taste so fucking good.”
Connie silently pulls you up from your seat and presses you against the nearest wall, causing the ripped dress to fall to the floor. Instantly, your back arched into the prominent bulge that was pressing on your bare ass. Your thoughts wander back to your last session with Connie in the backroom. All that desperate grinding.
“You were squeezing so tight around my fingers,” He pushes his sweat down to remove his throbbing hard dick with a little effort. “Y’gonna squeeze my dick like that next?”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
You jump every time the base of his cock slaps down on your ass. Both of his hands grip your sides, his eyes rolling back as he slides his dick back and forth in between your leaking pussy lips.
“Oh f-fuck! Connie,”
Your voice cracks when you call out for him, and he smiles. He cannot deny that this is the perfect thing; it was always meant to be like this. He spreads your cheeks as wide as he can, lining his tip up to your hole that’s clenching around nothing.
“Yeah, b-baby?” Fuck, you were so wet. “Want me to fuck you? Want- Oh fuck. Want Connie to make you scream?”
Your lips tremble, and you try to slide his dick inside you by pushing your hips back. He lets you, too weak himself, to stop you from taking what you wanted. All you can think right now is Connie, Connie, fucking Connie.
“Shittt. Want y-y’to to make me cum! P-please!”
Pushing him even further inside without his help proves to him that you truly want him to make you scream. You’re barely making it halfway with his thick and long build. Connie is incredibly proud of you right now, taking his dick like a desperate bitch and moaning to fuck the rest of his inches in.
He pulls a little of himself out of you, only to flush his hips abruptly against yours with one single push. Groaning at the same time you gasp out, he whispers in your ear, “Scream for daddy, mama.”
You were so full. His cock tip was touching places that you’ve never been to on your own before, causing your mind to go haywire. His pressure against your cervix was so intense it would have been painful if you weren’t so wet. You oblige almost embarrassingly quickly the moment you feel his dick drag at a steady pace inside of you.
Connie regrets not having done this sooner, as the drugs he took earlier are still mixing in his system, alternating and speeding up his thoughts. His body was ablaze. You’re covering the entire length of his dick with your juices, causing him to become frantic and desperate to get more out of you. His thrusts match his crave. You were warm, and your cries were heaven to his ears, “Big! Y’re so b-big, daddy!”
You’re not complaining, far from it, as he tears your pussy to shreds. In fact, you’re taking him so well, and he praises you for it. Like he said, you were made for this moment, for him. You’re such a,
“Good girl. Fuck! My g-good girl takes me so well,”
He can hear your slick drip on the floor below you despite the smacking sound in your room. You’re so needy for him, as he is for you. The walls echoed with your wailing sounds as you fucked him back, making Connie shudder.
He’s gonna cum. He can feel his balls churning as they slap repeatedly against your twitching clit. Fuck. He’s gonna cum so deep inside you he prays it reaches your womb. Although it’s his first time exploring the depths of your perfect cunt, he recognizes that you’re also going to cum.
He can tell by the way your legs are shaking rapidly, by the way, your moans get higher in pitch, by the way, you’re whispering his name out like a prayer. And he’s determined to make you cum before him. Do you squirt? Do you cream? He thinks he’ll die and go to heaven if it’s both. Your next plea erupts another groan to tumble out his mouth,
“M’gonna- M’gonna cum! O-oh fuck- M’gonna cum so h-hard.”
Holding your arms behind your back with his tatted hand, he moves his hips inside you at a faster pace than ever before. “Shit. Me t-too, mama.” He angles his waist to keep pressing into that spongy spot that makes you tremble. “Just like that. Cum, baby. C-cum all over this fat dick.”
Small tears start to fall down your brown cheeks, and your back arches sharply on Connie, causing your stomach to clench at once. The man above you receives both your cream and squirt splashing from your sweet core, and you weep. Your muffled moans fill the air as he cranes your neck towards him for a nasty, drooling kiss.
As he gets closer to his orgasm, his rapid thrusts become sloppy and crazed, and his heart beats twice as fast as he sees the beauty fucked out underneath him. The more Connie moved inside of you, the more he swayed. Your essence was covering his lower half so much that he couldn’t wait another minute before dumping his kids against your cervix, a shaky moan accompanying his release.
His thrusts slow down, causing tiny drops to spill onto the floor, but his lips never leave yours, and he has to remind himself to let you breathe when you start to whine against his mouth. He lets you go and instead presses tiny kisses against your panting mouth.
Both of you, Connie in particular, were on cloud nine. Your clenching onto him brings Connie’s mind back to Earth, but he is not satisfied. He wanted to go again. He needed it, so it was only natural he started moving at a steadfast pace inside you again.
“Again. Let’s go a-again, mama. Shitt. Your pussy is so-”
Before that night, you’ve never experienced pleasure on this level. Connie took you, on every corner of the house. Both of you left unaware of Eren’s multiple missed calls as he fucked his cum into you like a dog in heat. It’s safe to say that you didn’t show up for work that night or the night after. Connie made sure you never danced at a strip club again.
@hatake05 @thickbihhwitdagapp 🫶🏾
#lumiwrites#plug connie#connie springer x black reader smut#18+ content#aot smau#aot smut#aot x black reader#aot x reader#aot x black y/n#connie springer#connie x black reader#connie x black y/n#connie x you#mikasa ackerman#mikasa aot#connie aot#connie attack on titan#eren yeager x black reader#eren yeager#mikasa x reader#mikasa x black reader#aot fanfiction#x black reader smut
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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
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Request:
This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-
Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)
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[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]
[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]
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Freedom.
Freedom was sweet.
Freedom was bitter.
Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.
You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.
And trouble you found.
Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?
Then he appeared, your guardian angel.
A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.
You loved him since that day.
And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.
You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.
Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.
That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.
When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.
You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.
A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.
Something in him changed after that night.
It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.
Life was good.
Everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.
Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.
“You okay?”
Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.
“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.
When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.
“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”
You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.
“That’s not it, Cooper.”
“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.
You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.
“Pregnant.”
It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.
You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.
“What in the hell…”
You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.
He was having none of it.
He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.
“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.
“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”
Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.
“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”
“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”
He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.
“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”
He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.
A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.
He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.
It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.
Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender or a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?
Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?
“Is not fucking possible, sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.
Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.
“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”
His body moves despite his protests.
He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.
“What do you wanna do?”
It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.
“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”
You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.
But did you really want that?
It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.
No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.
“I think – ”
“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.
Maybe even a father.
You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.
“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”
He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.
You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.
The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.
“Four months.”
You’d only been out of cryo for three…
He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.
You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.
You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.
It wasn’t his child.
You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…
You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.
There was nothing though.
He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.
“That don’t change a damn thing.”
Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365
#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv series#the ghoul fanfic#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#the ghoul fallout#x reader
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Fragile Things - Yandere!Childe x Reader
At least he’s regretful when a punishment goes too far…
cws: kidnapping, isolation related punishments, yandere, self harm, softer yandere, heavier content.
1k words
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“Baby, hey, look—look at me.” He was speaking firmly, his hands on your wrists, restraining you. Keeping you from clawing your skin any more than you already had.
You were absolutely inconsolable, babbling words even you couldn’t discern, sobbing, shaking. “No—no I-I—Ajax. A-Ajax.”
“That’s right. That’s right. Eyes on me. Oh baby. Too harsh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough—”
You only broke down further, each hiccuping sob dragging you deeper as you tried to curl in on yourself.
Ajax hadn’t just kidnapped you. He’d been extremely thorough in breaking you. So thorough, a more logical you would have realized he underestimated how much you could take.
You’d been isolated, for the most part. Trying to escape the cabin in the snowy wilderness was not a good idea. Partially because, well, snow. And partially because it was easy to track people in the snow.
When he—inevitably—did catch you, he was upset. You knew the risk of punishment when you made the choice, but what he did was different to what you expected.
Your wrists, ankles, and neck all ached badly. For over a week you were locked up and shackled. And not the kind of locked up you were before the attempt. No, there wasn’t a warm cabin, a fireplace, or Tartaglia’s sloppy attempts at keeping you happy. A fucking closet. No light, windows. Ajax didn’t even speak to you when he left you food.
It was so different to everything you’d ever known, growing up in the free rolling hills of Mondstadt. You already struggled in the confines of the cabin, but kept silent and still in such a small space?
A week of that, and now he decided you were good. That you’d probably learnt your lessons. But that morning, when he went to let you out, to welcome you back with a teasing ‘I hope you learnt your lesson’ and a patronizing hug, he found you… in a less than desirable state.
Shivering not from cold, throat raspy and raw, eyes trained on the ground. You didn’t even notice him at first. Not as he spoke, each shackle falling off with a click. Not as his mood shifted as the light from the hallway illuminated your skin.
You’d been clawing at it, to the point of bleeding, stretching your limited dexterity in order to anxiously and unconsciously hurt yourself. Like a caged bird plucking it’s own feathers from stress. You’d only been brought to reality when he picked you up, jerking away from him as tears sprung to your eyes again.
He said something you didn’t process as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a doe on new legs, vision gray around the edges.
You weren’t sure how it all went down. But somehow you two ended up on the couch, settled between his thighs, your back to his chest as you shaked and begged and tried to get away, only partially aware. “No no no no—Ajax please.”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I got you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated, letting you claw at his forearms instead of your own skin. “Breath, breath little dove. It’s okay, It's all over baby. I’m sorry, it was too much, wasn’t it? You’re too fragile for me to be mean like that.”
You continued your quick, flighty, panicked breaths as he gently tried to get you back to reality. Eventually, you’d slowed down, settling against his chest, eyes still wide and breaths still quick. Like a live rabbit in the hands of a trapper.
“You with me, baby?” He asked gently. As your chest struggled to rise and fall again, you gave a quick nod, not looking up at him. Your eyes were trained on some far off spot, pretending to be anywhere else other than that damn closet. You weren’t sure you even realized—truly realized—you’d left. “There we go. There. That’s better darling. See? Everything’s alright now.”
“E-everything's alright…” you repeated, nodding to yourself.
“Yeah. See? Not too bad. I’m sorry for your punishment, I got all caught up in my emotions. I should have known you wouldn’t do that well alone, without me.” He laid his cheek on the top of your head, voice taking on something fond. A content sigh sounded above you. “You’re so soft. I need to be careful not to break you. But you need to be careful too, baby.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment, before squeaking out a soft, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, no more escape attempts. Okay?” He said, and you nodded. He ran his fingers through your hair, having let go of your wrists when you weren’t paying attention. His blunt nails, worn from hard work, scratched gently at your scalp. “That’s right.”
It continued for some amount of time. It was hard to tell, really. You were on the edge of freaking out but somehow also falling asleep. Everything ached, from your ribs to your wrists.
At some point, he grabbed them again. Gentler this time. He lifted one, holding it gently as his thumb rubbed at your self inflicted injuries.
You felt like a caged bird, bars too tight and owner too inexperienced to keep you from plucking your own feathers from stress.
He sighed above you, and you turned your head away so as to not look at him. “Poor thing.” The condescending words felt strangely genuine as he laid his cheek on the top of your head. “It’s okay, I’ll take the week off and we can fix this, okay baby?”
He quieted for a moment, and belatedly you realized he wanted a response. You made a small, hollow noise of acknowledgement, which came out raspy from your throat.
He sighed again, as if this was so hard on him. It was hard to find the energy to be angry though. So you just stayed silent as he dropped your wrist and dragged you closer to him. He was cold to the touch, but even his love was warmer than isolation.
~
Not quite sure how this one managed to be both softer and rougher than my usual works. Sorry it was so short! And yes, the next part of traitor readers will be coming… eventually. I’m having a touch of trouble formatting it which is getting in the way of be writing it. Side note, I’ve expanded my fandoms open for requests! HxH and to a lesser degree HSR!
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To start, contrary to popular belief, Louis was not a hopeless romantic. Louis could love, he wasn’t a sociopath either, but he didn’t know how someone could act like they had sense while going around fantasizing and daydreaming about every little interaction. Maybe if he was attracted to women he might’ve had something good to find, but instead he was stuck with idiots like the idiots doing keg stands after 1985 in the frat backyard, and if that was what university had to offer, then there wasn’t even pragmatic romance in his near future. He took another sip of his disgusting sparkling beer and judged, judgmentally, with the near certainty that they’d all get human papillomavirus. And then the virus would live in the mouth of the stand for the rest of the semester until some unlucky douchey freshman had to clean out the house before parents came up pick their bitchass trust fund sons to go get scammed by a travel agency for their fourth vacation to the Maldives for the fourth December in a row.
No, Louis was not a hopeless romantic. He didn’t have time for romance or hopelessness. He was in real classes so he had real assignments to finish. His mother only let him double in English and finance because their retainer did English and thought it was a great gateway to law school, so he couldn’t afford to fuck up and spend the entire summer and probably his entire life hearing his mother complain about how much of a mistake it was letting him go off to communist California instead of Tulane. Louis was never going to be stuck living at home for four more years at Tulane, but he should’ve gone to Howard. Howard would’ve had real southern men to take him home at the end of the night and blow his back out. His mom thought there were too many uppity rich light skins at Howard, which Louis figured she’d know about. If not Tulane, she sighed, then at least take advantage of his daddy’s legacy bid at Stanford. He went along with it and pretended like Stanford hadn’t been his top choice all along and like she was the one who guided him to the decision instead of years of his hard earned reverse psychology of pretending he wanted Howard or Duke the most just so that she’d find his excitement distasteful and push him towards the option least like them. Even if it was in communist California.
But this… Louis raised his eyebrows, judgmentally. Were they trying to inject beer into their veins? This was a white frat party—duh, it was Stanford, he reminded himself—so he’d braced himself for the inevitable shock of seeing cocaine, but even shooting up beer seemed a little too much. Such scenes were reprehensible for an upstanding African American such as himself. Booker T should’ve been preaching to the white masses instead. Uplift the race, not barrels of infested beer.
Where was Lily? Now that was an uppity light skin that Louis could speak freely to, and she was going to hear it.
“You have not smiled even once,” a deep voice murmured into his ear as a hard body pressed along him and arms wrapped around his abdomen.
In an instant, Louis knew three things. One, he had no idea who the fuck it was. Two, Louis was going to punch him in the balls. And three—his hands were undeniably, impossibly, twice the size of Louis’.
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Finally Mercy!! It’s like I knew she was going to do it once the bomb dropped about Jackson and she was still there with him but seeing actually happen is wild and I had to go back like 10x. All I really have to say is hurt people hurt people and Bishop should’ve took the warning after the tv threat cuz maybe she wasn’t joking. Should’ve definitely left after the first assassination attempt. He thought he could still get in her head even after finding out her secret and well…she got in his chest. It’s crazy to think all that time she was allowing herself to go through all that as a punishment when she had it in her all along but it took Jayce finding out about Eva to make her remember why she did it. I can’t wait to see how Mercy continues to develop after this. And there’s still so many other situations to check in on still! Way to wrap up a story arch we’ve all be waiting for while still keeping us on the edge of our seats for a new one to begin! Your writing and directing is phenomenal. I’ve been here since Indya was pregnant with Hope and I always say this needs to be a show or a physical visual novel!
Side note: do you ever get nervous or anxious about publish big scenes that you’re unsure how it’ll be recieved? Or excited to publish scenes like this where you know it’ll blow the rrr doors open? This had to be hard to sit on for two weeks!
"He thought he could still get in her head even after finding out her secret and well…she got in his chest."
Say it again for the villians in the back!!!
Listen, she gave him 3 whole opportunities to do what he said he was going to do, which was take her home:
Maybe he was feeling himself a lil bit after putting the math together. Who knows, but what I do know, is that's exactly where he fucked up. He left her without a choice. At least, he left her FEELING like she didn't have a choice.
Anyway, THANK YOU for the kind words friend. Yes I was super nervous about this and didn't finish the dialogue until this morning tbh lol I also get excited because I absolutely LOVE the suspense and psychological shit that fucks with our perception of reality. Writing this arc has been super fun and we're STILL not done. I would say what makes me nervous is the subject matter. Anytime we get into heavy subjects I worry about triggering folks or losing folks. I try to be mindful of that but I also just write what comes to mind and hate to censor myself even when I think of wild shit.
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Each ttpd song and how it relates to the maurader era characters
1. Fortnite- Mary when she fell in love with someone who wasn’t worth her time
2. Tortured Poets Department- Remus singing about Sirius
3. My Boy Only Breaks his Favorite Toys- atyd Sirius about Remus after Remus the “Mr tell me a fucking secret”
4. Down Bad- regulus about James
5. So long London- Choices Lily after Regulus dies and James is a mess
6. But Daddy I love him- Sirius after he realized he loved Remus
7. Fresh out the Slammer- Lily after dumping James
8. Florida!!!- Sirius after getting out of Azkaban and being a mess
9. Guilty as sin- regulus after becoming death eater and remembering James
10. Who’s afraid of Little old me- Dorcas after Marlene got killed and she went on a murder spree
11. I can fix him (no really I can)- James hoping he can save Regulus
12. Loml- Remus after Sirius went to Azkaban
13. I can do it with a broken heart- Regulus pretending to be fine after joining the death eaters
14. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived- Lily about Snape after she finally realized he was shit
15. The Alchemy - James signing about Regukus
16. Clara Bow- regulus finding out about how his tragic life story has been repeating throughout history
17. The Black Dog- James singing about how Regulus is apparently fine after they end
18. Imgonnagetyouback- Remus is confused on whether he wants Sirius or to kill Sirius after The Prank
19. The Albatross- Regulus as a death eater when he sees James and knows he will destroy his life for him
20. Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus- when Sirius is sleeping with everyone except Remus
21. How did it end- James is confused how him and Regulus ended so abruptly
22. So highschool- regulus when James makes him feel like a teenager instead of someone with the weight of the world on his back
23. I hate it here- regulus compartmentalizing when he is with his family
24. thanK you aIMee- Lily singing about all the horrible people at Hogwarts that goaded her to being the best
25. I look through peoples windows- Remus after when everyone he loved died and he is looking for his family in strangers houses
26. The Prophecy- James after Regulus broke up with him and then it didn’t work out with Lily and he just wants love
27. Cassandra- Sirius singing about how terrible his family is
28. Peter- James singing to Regulus because he thought eventually he would come to the good side but he died instead
29. The Bolter- Mary in Hogwarts
30. Robin- Sirius singing about regulus
31. The Manuscript- when Regulus finally accepts that his family is not what a family should be
#marauders#harry potter#james loves regulus#jegulus#regulus black#james potter#regulus being regulus#regulus loves james#ttpd#taylor swift#sirius black coded song#atyd sirius#sirius loves remus#sirius being sirius#sirius x lupin#sirius#remus loves sirius#remus x sirius#sirius black#sirius orion black#sirius and regulus#james & peter & remus & sirius#james x regulus
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Jason Todd is a damn good example of how superheroes can’t be parents. I’m not saying heroes should be forbidden from having children, but the moment you do, you choose one or the other. You either cease to be a hero or you must fundamentally fail your child.
Because that’s the basis of being a parent—choosing your child. Day in and day out, no matter what. There is no bigger picture, no greater good. Between a bus full of people and your kid, your kid has to count on you to be the one person in the world who would let the bus fall. A hero can’t do that. A hero shouldn’t do that.
Jason Todd so desperately wanted Bruce, his father, the one person he needed to let the bus fall. But Bruce had chosen “hero” two decades ago, and there was no room for Jason Todd, son. So Jason Todd, Robin died a martyr with no one left to carry the cause. An unfortunate casualty. He came back as the only thing left, the only version of Jason Todd that a clown didn’t beat to death in warehouse in Ethiopia. Jason Todd, son. And there was no father. He kept reaching and reaching and there should have been something to meet him. But Bruce Wayne was a hero. And Jason Todd was a son.
#sorry I’m tired and weirdly emotional about children of superheroes#because that’s the thing#you shouldn’t let the bus drop#morally you shouldn’t#it’s hard to look at a hero doing the right thing and go ‘you chose wrong’#because that wasn’t the choice they fucked up on#it was a thousand choices before this moment#it was one choice in the middle#i love the robins#i love superheroes with children#but fundamentally someone has been failed in that situation#and unless you’ve been in the running for the flash mantel at least once#it’s probably your kid#dc#batman#bruce wayne#jason todd#dc comics#superheroes#clark kent#i think we all know why he’s tagged#justice league
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I just think the fandom’s nastier responses to the bg3 men is wildly interesting
like. you have three men who are coming out of highly unhealthy relationships.
One of them gets super sexualized and infantilized at the exact same time. literally people put him in the bdsm harness while simultaneously misinterpreting elven cultural norms to say he’s mentally no more mature than a teenager despite having been a whole-ass local judge who died because he gave out corrupt rulings and got his ass jumped because of them.
the other gets treated like he’s an incel because he catches feelings quickly, despite being wildly respectful when you turn him down. Half the issues were due to a bug, the other is that this man is so starved for validation because his goddess - whom has paid special interest to him since he was a toddler - kept him constantly feeling lesser-than because despite calling him her Chosen, she gives him none of the power we see Chosens be given by other gods. Not to mention she sends her other ex - his mentor and friend - to tell him to off himself to earn her forgiveness. For some reason his attempts to gain god-like power are received worse than the borm-sexy-yesterday-vampire despite both of them having the goal of being safe from manipulation and control. I assume because the vampire gets a sex scene when you let him destroy his soul for power and the wizard does not.
The fairytale prince route, despite typically being very popular, is being called boring and dull and while, yes, he has less drama than some of the others, is still compelling and has high stakes for that character. He’s sold his soul but he thinks the price is worth it and he’s made his peace with the personal cost because he’s helping people. The only real difference between this character and others who are willing to sell their souls for the good of their lands is that this time around, he’s Black
#bg3#baldur’s gate 3#fandom critical#I guess?#like Wyll’s shit seems to genuinely be people are racist and not realizing or caring to realize#he’s a delight! he wants to dance with you! he’s a sweetheart going by the fairytale chivalric code#meanwhile he’s literally made a deal with a devil to make the princely thing happen#it’s good! he’s the vanilla ice cream route and it’s very lovely#literally his route is so similar to Alistair in the choices to give up your life for the world#I love astarion and he is in fact very sexy#and he likes sex when he has the final say in whether it’s happening#but that damn tombstone has some people acting creepy as fuck#yes it’s sad how young he was but he was also a whole adult man when he died#and Gale… you can argue very easily he was groomed#and even if he wasn’t - this man has isolated himself for a /year/ trying not to hurt anyone#yeah he’s gonna get attached to the first people he gets to hang with#he’s hurt when you turn him down but he’s not a dick#then he becomes your ride-or-die#he’s a sweetheart#Halsin has his own shit going but he seems to a companion solely because people thirsted so hard#but he’s also worked through his shit and is decently mentally stable#not letting ppl reblog this because I don’t need people acting a fool on my post
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What I find so interesting is that the abyss, those five years that Shen Qingqiu was dead, etc, are all heartbreaking because Luo Binghe had no one. He was alone or isolated, he had lost or been betrayed. It would sorta break some of the story to have him have someone to talk to at those points- and for us to hear their convo- but I want to know what he’d say. How he’d react or explain what happened or what he’s feeling. I want to crack his skull open and peer inside. Our glimpse at how he views himself was brief, but gut wrenching all the same and I want MOREEEE
#svsss#luo binghe#mxtx svsss#shen yuan#text post#bingqiu#shen qingqiu#mxtx#bingyuan#scum villain self saving system#scumbag self saving system#angsty#because it’s Luo Binghe#I mean cmon you mean you heard ‘I hate… I hate myself!!!’ and that whole thing#and DIDNT want to know more????#sqq ily but you fucked that kid up SO BAD#like it wasn’t your choice but HOLY SHIT
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I feel like much has been made about the fact that, if left unattended, Michael will put Adam on the pedestal God previously occupied and try to love him the same way, which makes things Worse for both of them. And not about Lucifer doing the same thing to Sam.
#they are similar situations but also. Different.#Michael’s trying to deal with his abandonment issues because that’s what God *left* him with#but for Lucifer. this is about rejection.#similar flavor but not the same#this is about him Making A Choice to love god first. and then being told his choice was wrong. that the way he loved was wrong.#and that it was so wrong that god would rather lock him up in hell and never lay eyes on him again than just let him be#WHICH! HUH! YEAH THAT MAYBE FUCKED HIM UP A BIT!#what I’m saying is that when this comes around again but with Sam this time. it’s not like Lucifer has learned a different love language.#he’s the same. he got locked up. he was in stasis. he did not grow. this is all he knows.#and the last time he told someone he chose to love them above everything else that got him burned.#so. Sam.#(oh god wait no it’s worse. Sam *has* thrown Lucifer in hell. and it wasn’t for *choosing* Sam but. wasn’t it. what’s the apocalypse if not#the worlds longest bloodiest courtship. Sam’s intentions ≠ how Lucifer received the message.)#what Lucifer wants is. somewhere to put that love. and he is primed for it & him to be thrown out.#I’m not sure where I’m going with this honestly but I think it would do him some good if he got to lay Sam down and worship him for a bit#and have that be allowed. welcomed even. but also. reciprocated. the reciprocation is key.#that’s key for midam & samifer. learning that love is something that is meant to be returned.#spn#lucifer spn#sam winchester#samifer#lucifer/sam winchester
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i so desperately wanted to beat cazador up with my bard’s lute but karlach slam dunked him into the void mid-evil monologue 👉👈
#bg3 spoilers#as combat goes it wasn’t the worst fight#but it was 2am i left gale and his fireballs at camp and shadowheart kept pooping her armor about the wolves#desperate times call for cheesin measures#sorry cazador if you’re gonna hide at the edge to avoid my daylight spells#i simply can’t miss such a comedic opportunity#i will say i did that on the second attempt and reloded because i thought losing his corpse might fuck up the end choice#but it did not#and then i tried to fight for real for another hour or two and couldn’t get further than killing a couple bats#bg3#cazador fight#astarion#astarion spoilers#died enough times to run through most of astarion’s confrontation dialogue though#holy shit#if you say anything cazador makes fun of him for needing someone to speak for him#and from then til the start of the fight he’s so hurt and scared#like cazador is calling him a weak stupid little boy and completely rips through any confidence he had#tr-tr-tr-trauma response#an awful glimpse at how powerless astarion truly felt#we all joke about astarion being a sad little wet cat but the UNSPEAKABLE trauma he endured and inflicted unwillingly for CENTURIES#but if you say nothing he delivers one of the best ‘fuck you’ lines ever#and jesus christ the ending#obviously i chose the good one#but it hurt so bad anyway
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yeah cause on one hand Shiv being a mother would kill her and staying with Tom is a very bad idea but on another hand it is what people do, they stay in bad marriages and raise their kids awfully and it wouldn’t be unrealistic for them to fall into that trap and on this other hand i found on the cruise ship if Shiv had an abortion then maybe she and Tom could reconcile but on Logan’s dead cold paw they should never ever be near each other again and also maybe Shiv should have that baby on her own because does she not want to be a mother or is she just afraid that she is her mother and anyway uh love is real but also it is not enough
#I’m so compelled by Shiv and motherhood#it wasn’t like an active choice to not be a mother imo#like I love women who see babies and are like ‘oh god. no way not for me.’#but idk if Shiv doesn’t want to be a mum or just believes she’d fuck it up so bad#like does she not like children or does she just not want people being reminded that she’s a woman#is she being asked to give up something she wants because it would remind people of what she is biologically of her unforgivable weakness#shiv do you not want a baby or do you just not want a baby as much as you want to keep your dignity#like oof. I love women not wanting to be mothers. but there’s something so dark and sad#about the narrative of a woman who wants to be a mother but not be seen as a woman. would shiv have taken the option of being a father#if that was a possibility#anyway AHHHHHHHHHHHHH#succession#shiv roy#tom wambsgans#tomshiv
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#been really struggling lately because idk I guess now that I’m in therapy#I’m thinking extra about all the things that have made me this specific fucked up#and it really just boils down to feeling unwanted#I wasn’t supposed to be born my grandma told my mom to abort me#I spent my entire childhood hearing my mom say that she’s not parent material but I insisted on being born#like putting the responsibility on me even tho it was her choice???#and then they idk just didn’t take care of me good#like I had to have my teeth taken out at 17 because they were literally rotting out of my head and like coming out in chunks into#my food while I was eating#and when I finally got to the emergency dentist I had to pay for it#and I’m broke but I don’t want this job I just started I’m so scared#but we need money#I just feel like I can’t do it anymore I just want someone to take care of me#I want my life to mean something to someone#I can’t type what she said somewhat recently because I alresdy cried about it yesterday#but idk I just feel like dog shit and I can’t reach out to any of my friends because they’re all busy rn#but it’s been really really bad lately I won’t lie I don’t feel like I can keep going anymore
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That is funny. All Jedi are actually slaves. They don't have a right to own property, they can't marry whoever they want and they obey the Council. They are even recruited like slaves, taken from their families without any choice.I don't know how Ahsoka even can leave the Order when a jedi needs to be watched closesly and not build up ties with the rest of the people or he/she may fall to the Dark Side.
This may be an unpopular opinion, but as they are written as an overall institution in canon, I honestly think that force-sensitive humans and beings in the galaxy of Star Wars would generally be better off if they never got involved with the Jedi Order at all. Like, it’s tragic to realize that the most consistently happy, secure, and well-adjusted point in Anakin Skywalker’s horrendous life was when he was living on Tattoine in physical slavery with his mother. Then, afterwards, that happiness was far too brief and fleeting for the next 34 years of his life. Sure, part of it is his own fault for committing all those crimes he knew were wrong out of anger and fear of the unknown, but not all of it is. The fact that his agency was constantly compromised to ever be able to find healthy support or feel safe doing any better by all of these deeply abusive, arrogant, corrupt, hypocritical, manipulative, oppressive, self-involved, and willfully negligent authority figures within these two space soldier cults for their own ends certainly wasn’t his fault, but he did have his own selfish and vindictive motivations, too.
If we’re going by Luke Skywalker’s new Jedi Order, particularly in Legends (Disney canon keeps screwing up his character), I don’t think it would necessarily be too bad as an optional day camp or law-enforcement job for training with the force and helping out the galaxy on the side. As long as they are old enough and well-adjusted enough to be handling weapons, they get to have a fair choice in the matter of being a Jedi or leaving any time they want, I don’t think the Jedi Order has to be unhealthy.
However, for the most part, I think most of the force-sensitive characters we meet in the canon series do so much better in their lives without ever getting involved in either the Jedi Order or the Sith at all. They often end up becoming deeply dysfunctional adults who develop serious behavioral/impulse control issues, dangerous ends justify the means type morality, poor critical thinking skills, and poor self-awareness because they have been groomed to have little to no self-confidence in their own moral integrity and personal agency, and rarely break out of it.
It’s not just Anakin and the other fallen Jedi who grow up to be deeply problematic tragic living disasters with those toxic mindsets in the series either. Look at Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. They are supposed to be the “ideal” Jedi of their time, but they’re still pretty awful and broken people as adults, anyway. They can never can take true personal accountability for fucking up. They are always in the right, the “blameless victims,” or the “noble failures” who were taken advantage of because they were too nice in their minds. However, we repeatedly see them deliberately betraying, controlling, deceiving, endangering, harming, manipulating, murdering, neglecting, and/or oppressing anyone who either acts a potential threat to or can be of use to “greater good” of their cause or desire to fit in for security without much concern for the potential consequences of their actions and decisions or remorse for the individuals they are sacrificing for their cause.
Even their moments of self-awareness suck because they still can’t admit that they followed a fucked up system that cost them a lot of people because they became too afraid to do the right things under pressures of corrupt authority, facing the unknown, and war. Anakin dies with more self-acceptance and self-awareness than either Obi-Wan and Yoda do throughout the entire series in the last 15 minutes of ROTJ, and he became one of the main villains of Star Wars.
#star wars anon#let’s be honest though they are better than Sith most characters in SW would probably be better if they never encountered the Jedi order too#at least as they are written in canon SW in both the present and past#like I could see Luke Skywalker’s new Jedi Order in legends that is a healthy system that allows for freedom of choice working out#and that was supposed to be Luke’s legacy after the OT movies for the new Jedi order which Disney has been ruining#but for the most part as they are written in CANON the Jedi order are only ‘good’ because they are the lesser of two evil military cults#the Jedi institution generally sucks as a whole in canon and aside from Luke skywalker most of them cause more problems than they solve#it’s sad when you realize that Anakin would have probably turned out a far better person if he had never recruited him as a Jedi at all#I mean the galaxy would still be fucked because of the Jedi Council the Republic Senate the Sith and Palpatine anyway#and Anakin’s life would still suck because Tatooine wasn’t the Republic’s interest#but at least he would still have his mom and have a better chance of growing up to be a good and well-adjusted adult#at least he would be happy if he never encountered the Jedi in canon#luke skywalker#anakin skywalker#darth vader#obi wan kenobi critical#Yoda critical#Jedi order critical#no their entire order didn’t deserve to be mass murdered in response#but those enabling and/or enforcing the system of the Jedi are generally portrayed as the lesser of two evils next to the Sith
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sometimes you’re sitting eating toast and then you get the deepest, strongest wave of despair over the things that happened to your people at the hands of colonizers and because of that you will never know your own personal history or genealogy in the way that many other people do and you already feel like an outsider to your ethnicity in a lot of ways
#fresa is experiencing generational despair#being latine is like this#because the colonizers fucked up latin america in ways that did damage on such a global scale#and because of that now i have no real ties to my own culture because of the choices of people made long before me#and sometimes i feel awful that that was taken from me#i’m mexican american bc my family came from mexico but it was so many generations ago it doesn’t ‘count’ to a lot of latines#i’m latino but i had a specific upbringing with an american regional group of latines that’s way different than latin america#I can’t speak spanish because i wasn’t taught properly#Im indigenous in the way that many latines are and yet i can’t connect to my own ancestral cultures#It’s Exhausting Sometimes
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