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catsfor2 · 1 year

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hit me, part 2.5 (bonus baby)

wc: 1.1k, unedited warnings: swearing/language a/n: im sooooo tired so im sorry if this stinks. but anyway. I hope you guys like it regardless. ALSO wanted to also remind everyone that my requests are wide open ;)!! tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown@starpix@nopealoupe@annamommyy@muthafuckingstargirl

-j

part 1

part 1.5

part 2

Another meek chime rings out from your bed, calling to you, forcing you to slam your textbook shut out of frustration.

You’d been studying for maybe four hours at this point. It was far past dark, the sky now an opaque charcoal. Your eyes are aching. Your back is sore. It was time to take a break.

You hop on your bed, body weight causing it to gently bounce you up and down a few times.

You click your phone on.

New message from (+14556768854)

Image from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

You hesitantly open it up, eyes squinting and head shunned like it might be something unsavory.

(+14556768854)

hey

can u tell me if this looks serious

IMG_5354 [Click to Download]

pls respond

y/n

Your heart lurches.

These texts were from Ellie.

Instantly on edge, and you frantically poke the image link to see it, tapping it repeatedly as if that would speed it up. It buffers, agonizingly, and you prepare yourself to see a grotesque and mangled amalgamation of colors in the next few seconds.

It finally loads.

You scan it quickly, studying and prodding the image with your eyes.

Your mouth flattens.

It’s…just a picture of her flexing.

Your thumbs type at an alarming speed.

that was not fuckijng funny

You throw your phone back at your mattress, deciding to ignore whatever nonsense Ellie will respond with.

It chimes immediately.

You regretfully pick it back up, still angry, and open to read what she says.

lol

“…Fucking stupid…” you mutter, already typing at your response.

im serious

thats not why i gave u my number

why then

You roll your eyes, memory already recalling a couple of days ago, where you very clearly and very obviously told her why.

for emergencies

or if u need me for something important idk

i dont wanna see your thirst traps

You knew that last part was a lie before you even typed it out. That picture she sent was not what you were expecting, but it still turned your insides to mush. It still had you a bit uneasy, nauseous even. Ellie had power over your body like that.

hmmm

i have an emergency

really bad one

You wait on her answer, skeptically, watching those three dots dance around in circles.

im hungry

You let out a sigh.

Then you click your phone off, throwing it elsewhere, and dejectedly gazing at the textbook sitting on your desk. Your professor would want you to, right?

Your phone interrupts you again, noisily snatching your attention with its sounds and jostling your focus from the book.

The sounds don’t stop.

Fuck, you think. Your phone is ringing.

You jerk to pick it up, fingers fumbling it, until finally you’re able to click ‘answer’ and bring it to your ear.

You’re quiet, hoping Ellie will speak first.

“Hi.” a voice says, and you quickly connect that it’s just Ellie’s, sleep riddled and raspy.

“…Hi.”

“So…what’d you think?”

Your eyebrows crease.

“Of what?”

“'Of what?' Of my fuckin’ progress, that’s what! Anthony has me eating, like, six whole chickens a week.” she boasts.

“Oh. I didn’t really…see?…I guess? I don’t know…”

“I mean—I’ve gained almost 30 this year.”

You remain confused. Is that a lot…?

Ellie must understand your silence for what it is and continues.

“Pounds, princess. Muscle. I’m getting fuckin’ huge.”

Oh.

“Okay—I got it now. Um…congrats, then.”

“What, that’s it? That’s all you got for me?”

“I—I don’t know!” you defend, voice coming out a bit louder and higher. “Your muscles look—like, big, all the time! I can’t tell the difference!”

She laughs loudly into the receiver, and you can’t help the smile you wear, hearing it so amplified in your ear.

“You need more pictures? I got more pictures.” she assures.

Simultaneous with her voice, you feel the sharp vibration and hear the dingy chime of your phone.

“Just took that one. You should look at it.” she adds, tone low but casual.

You deeply blush, feeling exposed despite being so alone in your bedroom.

“…Okay.” you agree, sliding the phone off your face to open it up.

A mirror reflection of Ellie’s back fills your screen, stretched and taut into a flexed pose. Her arms are out beside her head, clenched impossibly tight, in effort to completely portray her physique. Your eyes flick down, noticing in the image that she’s wearing only boxers.

She just took that picture?

The air in your room feels warmer, hotter than ever, so you strip down to a tank top and underwear. It feels wrong, almost. Talking to Ellie with this much skin showing. Her not knowing.

“Hello? You there?” Ellie loudly repeats over the speaker, audio fuzzy and weak.

You grasp your phone back up, stuttering out a response.

“Yeah—yes, here. I’m here.”

“'Kay. Your turn.”

You almost drop the device completely.

“My turn?”

“Fair’s only fair, right?”

“…Ellie…” you protest, skin burning with even the idea of her seeing you.

“C’mon, please? I took mine already, you can’t go back.”

You say nothing, whole body sweating, hoping and praying she’ll just forget about it.

“…I wanna see you.” she admits, voice warm and fuzzy through the speaker.

Your cheeks erupt red, a sense of burning flowing throughout your whole body at her words. You curl up, thighs squeezing at themselves, and try to answer.

“But—I’m…I’m in…pajamas.” you whisper, looking down at your bare legs and sheer top.

“You are? Even better.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“You really don’t have to. I’ll live, princess. I promise.”

Your body relaxes entirely, a breath of pure relief leaving your lips, as well as a forceful yawn. Ellie must’ve heard it through the phone.

“Aww—you tired? Should I hang up?”

“No! Don’t hang up! I want to keep talking! I was studying before so I’m a little—a little out of it but—”

“Nope. I’m hangin’ up. Princess needs her beauty sleep.”

“What—no, Ellie.” you argue, albeit lazily, as the energy you have left is truly running low.

“I’ll be here in the morning, won’t I? Good-niiiight—” she lulls, drawing out the last word.

“No! Don’t hang up! Ellie!”

On the other end of the phone, there’s only quiet.

An abyss of silence.

“…Ellie?” you try, voice small.

Nothing.

Your mouth purses, frustrated, as you listen to the absent noise through the speaker.

Still nothing.

You flip over, hostilely pulling the comforter over yourself and crashing your head into the pillow. You feel cold, but you know an extra blanket or some layers wouldn’t make you any warmer. Only she could.

Before you can shut your eyes, the chime sporadically rings out again, and you find yourself rapidly grasping the phone from your mattress.

Immediately you unlock it.

(+14556768854)

sweet dreams

dont let the bed bugs bute

fuck

bite *

call you tomorrow

Your eyelids finally shut, the weight of the day keeping them closed indefinitely. Your limbs go lax, succumbing to exhaustion.

You permit yourself to fall asleep, now knowing fully, that you will have the sweetest of dreams.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie fic #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #tlou #tlou part 2 #catsfor2

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theskit · 1 year

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Sticker AU

Important!!!

Direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!

If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.

Part 8

《Prev Next》

Once Tim, Bruce, and Damian had returned from patrol Saturday night, it hadn't taken long to catch on that they'd all had an encounter with a mysterious, sticker wielding stranger.

It still sent a small wave of humor through Tim to recall how Bruce had looked, walking through the cave with a sticker proclaiming how many 'goodies' his utility belt had before he'd used an anti-adhesive spray to remove it and the rest of the 'evidence' without risking its destruction.

Damian was still quite adamant that the sticker placed on his katana sheath belonged to him, regardless of if it went with the rest of them into an evidence folder or not.

Pooling their information hadn't resulted in much of a physical description. Tim himself hadn't seen them at all while 'young with blue eyes and dark, possibly-black hair' and 'a sensed presence approximately equivalent to a 12 year old Dick or 14 year old Tim' was not exactly a unique description. Also, he did not need yet another reminder that he was shorter than any other Robin of the same age, thank you, Bruce.

Bruce *had* managed to bring back two blood samples that, while proving a match to each other, were stubbornly refusing to match with much *else*. Including normal human DNA.

The samples somehow had an incredibly mangled DNA strand. Some of it seemed to be *missing* or appeared to be merged with something that the batcomputer outright refused to identify on the first scan. Or the second. The third spit out a partial match to *Lazarus Pit water*. At which point the samples, which had degraded at an exponentially fast rate, were no longer considered by the computer to be a viable DNA sample to analyze.

They couldn't even definitively say the person in question *had* a meta gene, regardless of the odds being in favor of it, (or extremely good stealth tech no one had ever even heard of before) what with the, the, swiss cheese *nonsense* of a DNA strand the analysis had spit out! If the sample on the sticker didn't pull the same results as the ground-collected sample, Tim would have bet money on it being corrupted with something to prevent identification on purpose.

As it was, if the person those blood samples belonged to was not an incredibly sick individual, given the DNA irregularities and the sheer speed of degradation, Tim would be very surprised.

Or they possibly had ties to the League of Assassins, with the partial Lazarus Pit match, though admittedly, the light-heartedness of the stickers made that an incredibly low chance.

This discovery had not proven helpful in getting Bruce to calm down about a young, possibly ill, possibly LoA-adjacent, probably-meta child running around Gotham in the middle of the night, stealing from and pranking every vigilante they came across. The fact that Damian was almost as fixated on finding the child as Bruce came as somewhat more of a surprise, considering. All he would say on the matter was that the level of stealth displayed was quite admirable and worth investing in. Like they needed *more* assassin-trained children running around.

Ugh.

Alfred had eventually been forced to banish both of them upstairs to rest, giving Tim a look that he was choosing not to interpret at the moment. Tim was fine, it hadn't even been *that* long since he'd last slept.

Besides, disregarding the dead-end of the blood samples, there was more than enough information yet to be sorted through.

On top of trying to comb through any possible camera footage in the areas around the incidents, the hotel the sample was found at provided marginally more information. If you counted finding out that a large ghost hunting convention had been scheduled for the long weekend and most of the hotels around the area were booked with *hundreds* of non-local participants to then check up on as a positive information gain. They couldn't even say the hotel the blood samples were found at was the hotel the person in question was staying in. They only knew for certain that it was where the communicator had stopped working.

Plus, the strange way the signal had wavered before cutting out, and the way some of the cameras he had been checking showed nothing but static, pointed to a possibly quite sophisticated piece of jammer technology. Which brought back up the stealth tech option and *more* investigations into where it could have been obtained and who could be producing advanced tech like that.

At least that made the stickers make marginally more sense if they were bought at or created for the convention, though he had already tried to do an online search for the stickers and come up empty handed.

Batman and Robin would be heading out later that evening to see if they could find any new leads or possibly encounter the sticker kid again while Tim continued to track and filter information in the cave.

Stretching a bit and taking a large swig from the not-exactly-Alfred-approved cup of coffee he'd smuggled in, Tim cracked his knuckles and got back to work.

Danny was perfecting his thousand-yard stare off into the distance as his parents corralled yet another poor sap into debating ghosts with them when Jazz swung by the booth to check in. "Hey, Danny. How's it going?"

Danny slowly turned his head to look at her with an expression of immense suffering as he slid a sticker over to her.

Taking a peek at what she'd been handed, Jazz snorted a laugh. "Fair's fair, little brother. Yesterday was my day at the booth, today's yours. Chin up! At least we'll be taking it down and packing it up tonight and tomorrow we can just wander around for the last bit of the convention before we leave."

Danny sighed, "Yeah, at least there's that," he responded glumly. Hopefully, tonight's vigilante adventure would make up for this...

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort @bjurnberg @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @bianca-hooks123 @addie-lover-of-stories @pickleking8 @iconicanemone @sarina-elais @mur-ururu @sailor-goddess @dragonfirefeather @nutcase8691 @ravenpainter @liandrin @jaguarthecat @russetfur1128 @purefrickingspite @oakskull @idfk-man10 @vythika96 @molasses-being-slow @satisfactionbroughtmeback @serasvictoria02 @tkiesai @breesperez139 @dhampir-princess @redhoneysugarorange @gildedphoenix @iglowinggemma28 @f4nd0m-fun @therandomartmaker @mandyne-1001

#dpxdc #theskit writes #Stickers AU #danny makes his own stickers :3 #and now danny is running around gotham like a gremlin #with a pocket full of homemade stickers #whatever will he do with them? 😈

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yuwigqi · 1 month

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Whenever people do "Batman Interacts with League" fics literally no one ever includes Hawkwoman. Maria Canals-Barrera deserves better than this. She has an Alma.

Can you imagine? SHE'S ALREADY A BIRD!!!

Jason does that "You Let me Die Bruce" to like get out of doing dishes or something, and Shayera rolls her eyes and says "Only once?" Jason double-takes and asks her how many times, and she pauses and is like "...how old is God again?" and Jason drops a dish on the floor.

Cass wants to spar with her and is absolutely baffled when Shayera throttles her. "I used the Absorbascon. I copied your ability. Thanks, it's really cool." Cass never stops pouting I was supposed to be special dammit

You think the Speed Force is nonsense? Nth Metal is absolutely bonkers. Tim asks how Shayera predicted Joker's attack and she just shrugs "I went back in time after it hit the first time." Tim blue screens. "How???" "Nth Metal." Tim asks how Bane's hit bounced off her Mace. "The metal absorbed the kinetic energy." "Why is Harley not acting insane??" "Oh yeah I used empathy to calm her intrusive thoughts." Tim asks to study it and she declares he can if he beats her in combat. Dammit.

Duke brags about seeing Shrimp colors. "Yeah but can you see cosmic colors?" "B-but I can see through the multiverse!" "Kid. The multiverse still exists in reality. I can see beyond that. Sorry, brat."

Steph: I'm gonna fight god. Shayera: nods. Hell yeah. He's kind of a dick. Let's go Steph: ..... Shayera: You'll need a space suit

Damian talks about his father, the Demon's head. Shayera looks at him in disbelief. "Ra's al Ghul is not a demon." "And how would you know Hol" "Uh, I know the rest of the angels who were thrown out of Heaven. We go to axe throwing every third Friday night." ...."Can you take me next time."

Y'all are missing so much potential

#Batman #Batfam #Hawkgirl #Hawkwoman #Shayera Hol #Red Hood #Jason Todd #Cassandra Cain #Black Bat #Orphan #Tim Drake #Red Robin #The Drake #Damian Wayne #Robin #Signal #Duke Thomas #Stephanie Brown #Spoiler

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jc96 · 1 month

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[this story is currently in its early development stage.]

The world is divided into two—the “normal humans” and the “powered humans”; people with mutations and abilities that put them above the rest.

It is unknown how the powered humans came to be but it started, one day, when a baby was born with gills on his neck—Case Zero. As the boy grew, so did his mutations—his hands and feet became webbed and it became clear how the boy was born to be in the water.

The next one was a girl—Case One, who was born with wings on her back, which only grew larger as she grew older. Soon, her wings grew so large it dragged on the floor. In a matter of years, her ability to fly and speed became even greater than planes and jets. A girl born to be in the skies.

What started with a baby every few months soon became a baby every month, to a baby every other week to a baby every week.

Today, 1 powered baby is born every 100,000 babies.

With the increasing number of powered humans, the governments of the world decided to implement the Powered Registration Act which aims to, as with normal human beings, register and regulate the powered humans. In line with the Act, the governments of the world created the PHSO - Powered Humans Statistics Office, the governing body solely for the powered humans, led by powered humans for powered humans.

With the emergence of the powered humans, a new occupation is created-heroes.

Registered and regulated by the government, heroes are employed by the PHSO to maintain order and peace while working together with the non-powered force.

Of course, when there are heroes, there are villains—powered and non-powered alike who do not agree with what they call “hero worship” given to heroes.

A never ending cycle of fights between good and evil, peace and chaos which span decades. Nothing new.

Of course, all of these do not concern you. You are not a hero nor are you a villain.

You are a barista with your own café in Sinagtala City.

[rating: 17+ for depictions of blood, non-detailed descriptions of violence, alcohol and cigarette use, off-screen character death(s), and others. this is subject to change as the story progresses]

You are a barista. Sure, your cafe may be a bit odd, compared to others but it is a cafe, nonetheless. Your pride and joy.

You’re the most ordinary citizen in Sinagtala City. Sure, you have secrets you’d do anything to keep, but who doesn’t?

This is a story following your daily life as you entertain customers, buy ingredients and stock your cafe.

...Sure.

— customize your mc! customize your name, pronouns and appearance!

— name your cafe!

— note: this story is set in the philippines and the mc is canonically filipino. as such, customization options are limited to those that are common in filipinos.

— romance 1 out of 3 love interests! are you going for the classic, best friends-to-lovers route? or maybe you'd prefer the enigmatic regular customer? how about the no-nonsense police captain?

— ₜᴿʸ ₜᴼ ᴹₐᴵₙᵀₐᴵₙ ʸᴼᵤᴿ "ₙᴼᵣᴹₐᴸ" ₗᴵᶠᴱ

The Best Friend

Miguel Rivera [28 years old, he/him][ro]

— your best friend since childhood, Miguel is a constant presence in your life, the one person who has been with you through everything; from childhood quarrels with bullies to the death of your mother. Miguel was the first person to come in during your opening day and has been your #1 supporter from day 1.

— going by the hero name “Torch,” Miguel has the ability to control and produce fire, able to use it for short-distance flight, shoot fireballs as well as turn his whole body aflame for a short period of time.

— tall, at 188cm, with a muscular build (but not bodybuilder muscles) from years of training. Brown (kayumanggi) skin, black, wavy hair that reaches his ears and light brown eyes. All of Miguel’s clothes are made from a special thread created from his hair to ensure their resistance to his fire.

The Regular

Kahel [26 years old, they/them][ro]

— a regular customer, Kahel is one of your first customers. They’ve been coming to your cafe for the past 5 years almost daily, with no fail. Through the years, the two of you have formed a friendship. Despite your years of knowing them, you know almost nothing about Kahel’s past and what they actually do for work (they told you they’re a ‘writer’). You don’t know Kahel’s abilities, only that they have physical mutations.

— average height, at 170cm, with a thin build. Pale skin with long, straight hair they keep to their lower back and tied into a braid. Kahel often changes the color of their hair, so often, you don’t know their real hair color. Their eyes are a light gray, and their ears are pointed, like an elf’s ears.

The Captain

Cristina Solomon [34 years old, she/her][ro]

— the captain of the Sinagtala Police Force, Cristina is tasked in ensuring the peace and safety of the inhabitants of Sinagtala City. The youngest to ever hold the position of captain, Cristina holds deep confidence in her abilities and in the pride her colleagues have of her. In her 2 years since becoming captain, the number of crimes have decreased even further, to the point that other cities have called on her expertise and guidance.

— Cristina has the ability to produce shields and force fields which are able to withstand even a direct hit from a bomb. Cristina possesses amazing control of her abilities, even using them for maneuvering. Although powerful, the more shields she produces, the weaker they get until they’re barely stronger than a glass panel.

— tall height, at 178cm, with a thin but muscled build because of her training as a police officer. Brown (kayumanggi) skin and short, straight, dark brown hair she keeps in a bob, stopping just above her jaw. Cristina has dark, almost black, brown eyes and a beauty mark under her left eye.

The Part-timer

Lib Santos [20 years old, they/them]

— a college student who works part time for you. they’re very happy to work for your cafe because it’s the only one they applied to that’s able to accommodate their schedule. They’re able to attract small objects to themself, an ability they use in working.

— short, at 150cm, with a round build. Brown (kayumanggi) skin with freckles on their face. Round glasses hide their dark brown eyes. Their hair is short, a pixie cut, and dyed a light blue.

The Mayor

Penelope Pascual [45 years old, she/her]

— Sinagtala City’s mayor. Unlike past mayors that were personally chosen by Sinag, Penelope was voted for by the public. A well-known figure in the city, it was only a matter of time before Penelope was voted mayor. Penelope is able to control and manipulate air. She mainly uses it to allow herself flight while patrolling the city.

— tall, at 175cm, with a curvy build. Tan skin accentuated by her light brown eyes and long, straight dark brown hair usually tied in its tight bun.

hello! jean here, bringing you a new story. of coffee beans, heroes and villains is an interactive fiction in it's early development stage. the story will be released in chapters and will be completely free from start to finish.

#interactive fiction #twine game #interactive novel #ocbhav-if #twine #twine if #twine interactive fiction #twine wip

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xxoolii · 6 months

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hope you are well

Can you do something with Hiccup Haddock

argh i'm such a hiccup whore, i mean who isn't?

I would absolutely love to do that for you!!

MDNI, im serious, i literally don't like you babe

warnings: jealousy(the green-eyed monster), praise, degrading, 18+ content, cream pie, not edited in the slightest, the idea is kinda over used but idc, angry sex

author notes: reposts are greatly appreciated! also finished exams so im able to write now, very excited to get into this!!

what you want?

uh oh, you had undoubtedly done it this time. at first, it had seemed like a totally innocent idea, but it had gotten out of hand, it wasn't your fault that the skirt you were wearing rode up every time you bent down in front of hiccup. there was something in his eye. Every time you bent down, a look that you almost couldn't place, it was almost primal, in the kind of way a hunter would look at its prey.

you loved it. you wanted more of it, and then a thought came to your mind. you gave him a polite smile, making your way in slow strides. Over to Snot lout, you crouch down next to him, and place your hand on his thigh. "wow your so smart I never noticed" him being totally oblivious, didn't understand the false nature of your compliment. But hiccup did, he knew that it was to riel him up and make him jealous. he stood up abruptly rushing towards you and snatching your hand off his thigh, yanking you away yelling some nonsense about you feeling sick and needing to go home.

he drags you out the door, throwing you over his shoulder as he makes his way to your house, the walk wasn't far and you were kicking and complaining the entire time, as if you hadn't caused this, as if this wasn't your desired reaction. he reached the threshold of your house and barged through the door making his way to your shared bedroom. you continue to wriggle, grabbing onto beams and doorways as he makes his way through the house. a futile effort on your behalf . he reaches his final destination, and gently throws you on the bed.

he looks at you with a predatory look in his eyes "What was that about huh?" he says this as he makes his way across the bed, hand snaking its way up your thigh. you decide in that moment that your going to play dumb, you've already committed to this act so you may as go all in. "what act?" you ask dumbly. he grabs your thigh roughly, other hand grabbing your chin and pulling you towards him. "you know exactly what i mean. or would you rather i just teach you a lesson?" he smirks knowingly at you, he wasn't dumb he knew you'd done it all for attention.

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

and thats how you gotten here. your arms and legs ached as you felt him roughly pounding into you, moans echoing throughout the whole house. he was unrelenting and he was taking all of his frustrations out on you. his hands gripped tighter on your hips, pulling you to meet his thrusts.

your arms give out due to the speed and force he's fucking you with, your face meets the mattress, moans lost in the fabric. he's not slowing down, his groans and small moans show just how lost in your pussy he is. he spews out sweet praise, contrasting it with the perfect amount of degrading.

"your so pretty like this" "Wish I could have you like this all day honey" "You're doing so so good for me baby, just a little longer im almost there" Sweet pet names and sweet nothings running through your veins as he fucks you better than he ever has. once he gets closer his sweet praise switches to taunts and degradation. "aww poor baby cant take it anymore?" "isnt this what you wanted, pathetic whore"

his thrusts speed up, showing how close he is. you orgasm not too far behind you, the burning pleasure almost too much to bear. your moans and his groans make a beautiful symphony as you both grow closer, the way he strokes against your velvet walls drives you crazy. your body could only ever feel like this for him. white flashes over your eyes as you reach your release. squirting all over him. the sweet feeling of your pussy clamping on him sends him over the edge as he groans and presses his hips flush against yours releasing his seed deep inside you.

he pulls away, his cock covered in a mix of both of your juices. he flips you onto your back momentarily in awe of the way his cum rolls out of your clenching hole. then he speaks.

"hope your little game was worth it honey"

_________________________________

and thats it for today ladies, gents and non-binary pals! this is a little low effort because i started it during exams but im glad to finally be getting it done now!

#smut #xxoolii #new to this #hiccup x reader smut #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #httyd smut #x reader #hiccup how to train your dragon

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just-jordie-things · 1 month

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as usual @delzinrowe has my brain rotting at an exceptional rate

so let's talk about gojo and how he cannot drive

for the record, if gojo satoru wanted to drive, he could pick it up at anytime. he's gojo satoru after all, there's nothing he can't do, he's a god among humans.

but a god doesn't really need to learn how to drive.

as a youngster he always had people there to do that for him. at the mere snap of his fingers he had a ride to the candy shop. he likes to think he wasn't that much of a brat... but if his sweet tooth was particularly achey that day he might've gotten a bit of an attitude.

and as an adult, driving just wasn't a skill he deemed worthy of picking up. he could teleport anywhere he pleased without breaking a sweat. why waste his time with traffic and a stuffy car? besides, he loved to show off, and teleportation was just one of his many tricks.

so if you asked him, gojo satoru would tell you that he didn't need to learn to drive, he had much faster ways to get around.

that was, until (y/n) was giving him her address and the time of evening at which would be the best time to pick her up for their date, and satoru finds himself so blinded in his moment of gooey infatuation, that he agrees to her terms without thinking twice. it's not until she's walked back towards her classroom that his best friend and fellow colleague spawns next to him and points out his fatal flaw.

"and how exactly do you plan to pick her up, romeo?" geto suguru half purrs half sneers out the little comment, and it's obvious that gojo freezes up in that moment.

"suguru, can i borrow your c-"

"absolutely not"

and that's how he finds himself in this position. staring at the brand new sleek black car in his driveway with his hands on his hips and the shiny new keys to match clutched in his hand. he's been staring it down for a good ten minutes now, much to his kids' annoyance and impatience.

"well are you gonna drive it or not?" the spiky haired boy next to him huffs.

"don't rush me, brat" gojo huffs back with the same level of childish frustration.

"i'm sure you'll do fine," the boy's sweetheart of a sister counterpart chirps up. "you have a license, don't you? it'll be like riding a bicycle"

gojo's face twists into a sour wince, and now megumi and tsumiki are both staring up at him with wide apprehensive eyes.

"you don't have a license?" megumi barks out before his guardian could dish out some half-assed lie. "isn't it illegal to drive without-!?"

a large hand is slapped over the boy's mouth before he could finish berating the man, and gojo's baring his teeth in that grin that the kids know means he's up to bullshit.

"nonsense!" the white haired sorcerer practically cheers. "of course i have a license! i'm a phenomenal driver. i'm a phenomenal everything,"

megumi and tsumiki share a side eye that suggests they believe otherwise. gojo rolls his eyes and finally struts over to the driver's side door. those kids always believed the worst in him.

without another word, he plops in, sticks the key in the ignition, and tries not to startle as the car purrs to life and all the lights come flickering on.

he realizes in this moment that he's never even sat in the driver's seat of a real car.

but he's driven go karts with suguru and shoko many times, in high school- and even just last week when he begged them to.

the car groans at him when he tries to force a shift into reverse. it groans again when his foot taps the gas before settling on the break, and finally he' can move the's putting the car in reverse.

with a grin he glances out the window where the fushiguro siblings are still standing at the edge of the lawn, watching the whole ordeal with silent concern. he gives them a thumbs up before tapping the gas again.

his head is jerked forward as the car speeds backwards faster than expected, the needle on the speedometer flying towards the 10 before shooting back down when he slams on the left pedal again. it screeches to a halt before it could even enter the road, surely leaving a short streak of black on the otherwise clean driveway.

gojo winces, and dares a peek out the window. he's not surprised to find his kids with their hands clamped over their mouths. he gives them another, more sheepish, thumbs up.

well, maybe this was a bad idea, he starts to wonder as he checks the street behind him. there was little to no traffic right now, which made for the perfect time for a driver with only five minutes of a youtube tutorial for knowledge on the rules of the road to enter the roadway. and besides, nothing was going to keep him from going on this date.

so he puts the car in park before rolling down the window and leaning out to holler at the kids.

"keep the door locked and call uncle suguru if there's an emergency!"

"okay! have fun!" tsumiki's ever so present optimism is in full bloom as she smiles and waves at her guardian.

"he's not our uncle" megumi mutters with a roll of his eyes.

they stand on the lawn and watch as gojo slowly backs out of the driveway, hitting the brake every two seconds and jolting the car the whole way out. he's crooked in the street, and it takes him a second longer than the average driver to put it in drive and get going. even then, the kids stand and watch a few minutes longer as gojo intermittently taps the brake and gas, rolling forward only a few feet a minute.

"do you think he's gonna get arrested?" tsumiki asks her brother once he's turned off their street, still on his tap and go method.

"who knows," megumi replies. "but he's definitely losing the car"

"yeah, definitely"

by the time gojo actually pulls up to (y/n's) address- the car crooked in your empty driveway, he's certain that he's mastered driving with the past ten minutes of experience, and surely she'll be impressed.

obviously, he misses the way she tilts her head at his parking job, but she quickly shakes it off as she joins him in the car, too eager for their first proper date to question the angle of his car in her driveway.

he has to gush over how pretty she'd done herself up for the night for a good five minutes before they get moving, and that's when his true colors begin to shine.

forgetting that he wasn't properly pulled into the drive, he backs over the curb after a rush of gassing and braking in reverse. (y/n) may have delayed in buckling her seatbelt, but she's just as soon scrambling to grab the belt and snap it into place, clutching onto it as discreetly as possible.

when he sends a proud grin her way, she can't help but force a gentle smile back at him. he might still be tapping the brake an unnecessary amount of times as he cruises down the road, but she doesn't have it in her to question his ability- or lack thereof.

however, at the end of the night when he drops her off and they solidify their plans for a second date, she insists that she picks him up next time <3

___

a/n: he's literally just a girl !!! xoxo ~ jordie

207 notes · View notes

merakiui · 1 year

Note

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•♡♡•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~Hello!

•I'd love to have a bouquet of flowers from the Miscellaneous Menu, custard donuts from the Midnight Menu for my mighty Vils, and the Leech twins (separately please) and Fem Reader!•

♡Thank you~♡ ~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•♡♡•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

yandere!vil schoenheit, jade leech, floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, baby-trapping/forced pregnancy, intoxication for vil’s part, brainwashing for jade’s part, stockholm syndrome & brief mentions of violence for floyd’s part note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴠɪʟ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴇɴʜᴇɪᴛ

The film screening for Vil’s new movie had been good—so good that you couldn’t deny the champagne that was opened and offered hours after midnight in celebration of a year’s worth of hard work. Vil makes it a rule to only drink in moderation during a celebration, as too much of anything, whether alcoholic or not, can ruin the beautiful physique he has worked so hard to cultivate over years of dedicated efforts. His glass isn’t even half-empty; if anything, he’s taking the smallest of sips while he watches you chat with the production members across the room.

You’ve been his makeup artist for three years now. By his standards, that’s plenty of time to have formed a worthwhile bond. Vil often wondered if you see in him the same beauty everyone sees: untouchable, refined, and worthy of envy and admiration alike. Though the nature of your job has you meeting all sorts of celebrities, you’ve remained humble over the course of your profession. Perhaps you see him as a regular person rather than the striking silhouette he casts. Maybe his fame and fortune mean nothing to you because you’re your own version of successful.

Sometimes Vil dislikes the fame that weighs heavy on his shoulders like a velvet cape soaked through with rainfall. He tries not to let his status dictate his life, but he can’t deny that it largely influences how he chooses to act. If he were to help you out of this room, he’s certain the paparazzi would never let him live it down. They’d think the two of you were a couple. They’d think he was sleeping around with his makeup artist. All manner of tales will be spun for the tabloids. Not that such meaningless stories will put his career in the ground. He stands on a pedestal so high that no amount of filthy gossip could ever knock him off.

And perhaps he ought to let them think those things, if only to be able to claim for a short time that you are his.

No one questions it when he offers to accompany you back to the hotel (for safety reasons, of course). After all, he’s known to care immensely for his team. You hang off of him like a luxury handbag, your arm hooked around his while you stumble out of the car. Vil nods to his driver, who rolls off and out of sight without another word. You’re muttering drunken nonsense as the both of you ride the elevator up to your room, and Vil has to dig through your purse to find the keycard.

Once the both of you are inside and he’s shrugged his trench coat, sunglasses, scarf, and hat off, you’re peering at him with an intensity that has him smiling. So perhaps you really do see more in him when you’re intoxicated. Had he known such valuable information sooner, he would have had you under him many months ago.

Time seems to slow and speed up all at once when the lustful spark catches and ignites, and you lean in to press your lips to his. It’s a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss and you smell terribly of liquor, but the inside of your mouth is warm and wet and tinged with faint, fizzy notes of strawberry champagne. Vil could liken you to this exact flavor: sweetly effervescent. It’s an addictive taste he’s only just had the pleasure of partaking in, having been forced to admire you from the sidelines, dutifully playing the role of the flawless star while your skillful hands helped him shine.

Those same hands are making quick work of his clothes, hastily undressing him as he guides you towards the bedroom. It’s moderately sized; certainly nowhere near as luxurious as the suite he’s staying in, but it will do. You fall back onto the plush mattress with a tiny gasp, and you watch through unfocused eyes as he unbuckles his belt, holding your smoldering gaze the entire time.

“I’ve often pictured this very moment,” he tells you, smiling to himself like the admission is a vile secret. And perhaps it is, for he’s thought of having you in the filthiest of ways. “To think you were just within my reach and yet always so...untouchable.”

Graceful fingers aid in freeing you from your sparkling dress, framing your body in all the right ways. It’s an expensive thing, as is all of the finery he’s just shucked, and he drapes it over the nearby chair before falling into your embrace, his lips connecting with yours. And for the first time in forever, Vil feels as though he’s just plucked a rare star from the sky, cradling it in his capable palms as if it’s particularly fragile.

“I love you...” you whisper, and his heart soars and sinks in one beat, for the name you utter is not his.

He stares at you, gripping your hips so tightly his manicured fingernails leave crescents in your pretty skin. His emotionless expression may have startled you if you were sober, but instead you just tug him into another kiss. Vil wonders if he should carve his name into your skin—if he should ruin it so that no one but he could possibly see beauty in you. But then he catches sight of his reflection in the wide mirror, and it occurs to him that he ought to show you who he really is.

Your back is pressed against his chest, and you watch your reflection through blurry eyes. Vil’s fingers are pumping in and out of your pussy, slick with your fluids, and you’re coming undone against him, grabbing at his wrist to brace yourself. His other hand grips your chin, forcing you to watch as the mirror shows you everything he’s doing to you, every touch and kiss. Every bite and lick. You cum with a shaky whine, your head lolling against his shoulder, and Vil tuts at you.

“Surely you’re not already tired,” he whispers, warm breath tickling your ear. “Keep your eyes fixed on the mirror, darling. It can’t possibly shape me as that fool you seem so intent on loving.”

You mumble something, but it’s lost on him when he slides his fingers out and lifts you up, lowering you onto his cock inch by inch. You suck in a breath, crying out in slurred delight, and Vil exhales a low, blissful breath as he slots himself completely inside. As expected, it’s a perfect, snug fit. Perhaps you were molded to be his from the very moment you were brought into this world. Perhaps this night has been strung up in the stars for years and now it’s finally happening. Vil knows it’s not wise to hope for miracles, but for once he can appreciate fate because he’s worked hard enough to earn this.

The mirror reflects a salacious portrait, with you speared on Vil’s cock. His hand presses against your belly, petting it fondly. You’re moving your hips without much rhythm, lazily working yourself towards orgasm, and he’s content to let you do all of the work while his other hand traces slow circles against your clit.

Vil rests his chin on your shoulder, and it occurs to him that you might not remember this precious moment. The flame of lust will have been extinguished come morning and he will wake from this wondrous dream, empty and unloved.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you think he’s someone else, for the gift he will impart takes nine months to come to fruition, and by then there will be no one else in your life. No one else but Vil. Only Vil.

Vil wraps his arms around you, caging you against him, and thrusts up deeply, hitting that special, spongy spot inside you that has your entire body shuddering through another orgasm. His hand grasps your chin, moving your face towards his for a kiss of tongue and teeth. He swallows your moans, groaning against your lips when he cums, and your pussy tightens around him so deliciously.

“You might not think so right now,” he whispers into your mouth, tracing patterns along your waist, “but you will be a wonderful mother to our child.”

The mirror will reflect this promise as the months pass, unable to tell a single lie. Sworn to truth, but never to secrecy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

In the months leading up to your wedding day, Jade has done well to present the concept of family in a domestic light. He chooses to watch films and TV shows that depict happy families with smiling children. He’s gathered books on parenting and child care, leafing through them when he knows you’re watching. He’s compiled safe, healthy recipes for baby formulas and meals for pregnant mothers, leaving them out on the kitchen table along with magazines marked with circles and symbols around all the necessities. “An honest mistake,” he called his meticulous carelessness when you questioned it. He’s just curious about how land dwellers raise their children. In the sea, it’s much different. You can’t blame him because Jade Leech is, by the very definition of the word, a creature consumed by curiosity.

He had broached the subject over dinner while fully knowing where you stood. Yet, when he had casually mentioned how his coworkers boast wallet photos of their bright, beautiful children or how he’s met expecting mothers while grocery shopping and they’ve voiced their excitement to him, you find yourself hesitating. For the longest time you were against children. The concept of raising a human being felt daunting and frightening—like a particularly impossible mountain you just couldn’t dream of scaling—and Jade had respected that. But hearing those stories and seeing films with parents holding their newborns, cradling them as if they’re the entire world, and occasionally stealing quick glances through the catalogues Jade’s kept has you considering the idea.

Considering. Not agreeing. It lurks in a shadowed corner of your mind. You never give it much thought unless Jade’s prompted it with his inquisitive nature, or he makes a show of slipping a condom on each time the two of you fuck, making precisely sure you’re observing him so that you know he’s wearing protection—so you’re reminded that, if you really wanted it, he could do away with the condom and give you a child. Sometimes the primal part of you considers asking for it raw, but the sensible part of you is grateful for his conscientiousness.

You can only stay strong for so long, though.

Like your husband, your wedding is perfectly organized. Your families get along well, with the Leeches having taken transformation potions to attend the ceremony. Floyd is all over you during the reception, twirling you on the dance floor while Jade engages in friendly chatter with his and your parents. You overhear them mention pregnancy; you know it’s not a random conversation topic. You know Jade has smoothly eased them into that discussion. Floyd’s pace is dizzying; he’s nearly yanking you into an arrhythmic waltz and you struggle to keep up with both him and the conversation you’re eavesdropping on. It might be the wine and the congratulatory encouragements from family and friends that twist your senses, but in that moment you think a child wouldn’t be a terrible addition to your life.

The ski village is as lively as it is quaint. Winter honeymoons are unheard of in the Coral Sea. The ice makes it difficult to navigate frigid waters, and so for that reason many merfolk prefer warmer climates for their romantic trysts. “Spring and summer are the best seasons for mating,” Jade conveniently adds, as if that line was absolutely necessary. His hand splays across your stomach while he sits beside you in the café, a pleasant smile brightening his handsome features. You peer at the wedding band on his finger. The two of you are bound for life, connected like stars in the sky.

We could connect in other ways, a tiny voice mutters in the back of your mind.

The cabin you’re staying at is situated within a forest of pines blanketed by heavy snowfall. There’s something intimate about spending your honeymoon in isolation, where it’s just you and Jade tucked away in a sliver of the world. Perhaps you’re living in a dream, for when you shut your phone off after browsing articles written by mothers-to-be to welcome Jade into bed you finally ask a question that’s been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now.

“Can we...” You avert your eyes, suddenly embarrassed. “Can we make a baby?”

Jade’s hand interlaces with yours. His fingers curl under your chin, guiding you to his mismatched eyes. This dream must be particularly vivid because the tender fondness he wears surely isn’t a mask for victory. Right?

“Of course we can,” he whispers, lithe fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “We can make as many as you’d like.”

Jade adores all positions, but this time he has you folded into missionary while he takes an annoyingly lengthy time prepping you, his head buried between your thighs while his slender fingers tease your clit with fleeting touches. He’s making a show of his win; you’re sure of it. And this time, rather than a condom, you watch him squirt lube into his hand to run up the thick length of his cock. He smirks as he looms over you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he slides in. You lace your arms around his neck and hook your legs around his waist to feel him deeper, all the while moaning so sweetly.

“How precious,” he coos, aiming a particularly rough thrust at your cervix. You throw your head back, digging your nails into his back. “You fall apart so easily, my dear.”

Even if baby fever hadn’t overwhelmed you, the sewing needles Jade’s packed are sharp enough to poke through the complimentary condoms. You’re already shackled to him by way of wedding vows; a child is just the final piece in Jade’s perfect puzzle.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ꜰʟᴏʏᴅ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

Floyd is in a foul mood. You can tell because every inch of him is all taut, rippled muscle, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder how it hasn’t shattered yet. His hands curl around the steering wheel as if it’s a person's neck, knuckles blanching with the sheer pressure of his grip. You sit beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in your lap, while he speeds down the dark, desolate road, illuminated only by the new headlights on his sports car. He had to get them fixed after a certain...accident, which Jade had been so kind to fund (otherwise Floyd would have let them stay broken).

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, running your thumb over the top of your hand.

“S’not Shrimpy’s fault.”

And you know it’s not. He’d brought you out of the house to attend an underground gathering after his father had pestered him to go because, according to Floyd, he had to “put himself in the lamprey pit” if he was to smoothly take his father’s place as head of the family business in the coming years. The consolation had been that you would be coming along for the ride, which meant Floyd would be in a considerably brighter disposition with you at his side. But then some filthy remarks had been thrown your way a few hours in and it had set Floyd off, who nearly tore through the offender in his wrathful fury.

“Do your hands hurt? I’ll bandage them when we get home.”

Floyd doesn’t answer; his eyes remain glued to the lonesome street ahead. You’re not sure how much farther he drives before he’s pulling over, slamming his foot upon the brake so that the car comes screeching to a halt. The forest closes in on his side, branches nearly touching the hood of the car with how close he’s aligned it in the space between road and forest. You stare at him, well-accustomed to his mercurial temperament, while he puts the car in park.

Floyd turns to you, his features soft in the moonlight. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

You’re past the point of fright. How can you possibly shrink away from him when he’s only ever been good to you in the months following your kidnapping? Perhaps you’ve learned to live with him, razored edges and all, or perhaps you’re just happy to know that he’d never turn his frustrations on you.

“I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared you’d hurt yourself.”

“Those small fry bastards couldn’t hurt me even if they wanted to.” His face contorts into a scowl. “Really pissed me off, though, sayin’ those gross things about my shrimpy...”

“I... I can make it up to you...to make you feel better.”

I’ll cook him his favorite, you think, hoping there are enough ingredients at home.

Floyd stares at you, half of his face shadowed by the trees that tower over the windshield. And then a wide, toothy grin spreads on his lips.

“Aah? Shrimpy’s gonna make me feel better?”

He tilts his head curiously, leaning in until you’re practically breathing him in. You realize now that his idea of “feeling better” differs greatly from yours, but you go along with it anyway, too shaken from the past hour to truly think of much other than how close to death you’d come—how close you’d seen Floyd get to that edge, baring his teeth out of the animalistic instinct to protect.

He’s fond of you; that much is very obvious. Perhaps he’s owed a reward for his undying devotion.

The passenger seat is slid as far back as it can possibly go, with Floyd leaning into the cushiony leather to admire how you sit awkwardly in his lap, his cock nestled deep inside slick, gummy walls. You exhale a series of shaky breaths as you adjust to his size, all while he watches with rapt adoration, his hands cradling your breasts. He’s draped his suit jacket over your bare shoulders—he said something about making you smell more like him—and slid the flowing, ruffled fabric of your mermaid dress to the side to rip your panties from your skin.

Despite how long you’ve been in his care, this is the second time he’s fucked you. The first was against the counter in the kitchen, when you’d been preparing a lazy breakfast in one of his oversized shirts, and he’d slid his leaking cock between your thighs, caging you in against the counter with strong, sturdy arms. If you wanted to be technical about it, this is the first time he’s inside you—truly fucking you, connecting as one—but you doubt the distinction matters much.

“Been thinkin’ lately,” Floyd mumbles absentmindedly as he toys with your puffy nipples, pinching and pulling just to watch your lip quiver with barely subdued whines. You roll your hips experimentally, gasping through shuddered breaths. He’s big, filling you entirely, but despite his size he handles you so gently. “Shrimpy’d look awfully cute with lotsa baby shrimpys.”

Your lust-lidded eyes meet his. “A...” You swallow your moans and attempt to sound composed despite his teasing thrusts, his hips meeting your ass halfway each time. Wet squelching fills the car, and the scent of sex mixed with Floyd’s sandalwood cologne blankets the cramped space that confines you. “A baby is a little...”

“It’d show all those bastards that you’re mine,” he says, grinding his thumb into your clit. You sigh blissfully, bracing yourself against his broad chest. He laughs, high and nasally, as if this topic is particularly silly and not at all life-changing, and adds in a casually delighted tone, “C’mon, Shrimpy. Lemme fill ya up nice and good. I wanna see how big you’ll get. You think I could give you three in one go?”

He laughs again, this time with more determination, and seizes your hips to guide you at his preferred pace: fast and sloppy. You collapse against him, digging your nails into his shoulders, and any protests you might have had are quickly snuffed with a series of sinful wails. Your rationality melts away when he thrusts up and hits a spongy spot within you. You curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, and reach your climax with a pleasured sob. Floyd’s nearing his end, his groans filling your ears like the sweetest song, and he slams your hips down to keep you pinned on his cock when he empties his spend deep inside.

His lips press against the crinkle in your eye, tongue slipping out to gather your tears. “Let’s go two more rounds! One for each baby shrimpy, ‘kay?”

You don’t have the heart to refuse him.

2K notes · View notes

hurtmyfavsthanks · 2 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 24: “I’m doing this because I care about you,”

Content warning: none

Villain knew the exact moment Hero snapped back into consciousness. Not because they were watching them, nor because of some particularly developed sense of hearing. No, Villain knew the exact moment Hero woke up because of the hacking, painful cough that tore through them the moment they opened their eyes.

By the time Villain had bookmarked their place and moved into their living room, Hero was gasping for air. They were clutching at their chest, blankets thrown haphazardly around their waist, tears dripping down their face as they struggled to breathe.

They looked horrible. Red faced and clammy, shaking with a constant chill despite the thick blanket Villain had thrown over them. Villain could practically see the fever wafting off of them. If there were a picture in the dictionary for the word ‘sick’, Hero’s face would be plastered there as a prime example.

It took Hero a moment to lift their gaze. When they did, their eyes widened in shock. “You—where, what–” Their eyes flicked across their surroundings at breakneck speeds, before returning to Villain with a confused glare. “Am I on your couch?!”

“It’s a sofa, but yes.”

They stared in disbelief. “Why?”

“I thought that bringing you to bed would be a tad too forward. Was I wrong?” Villain asked, voice a purr. They grinned at the way the redness on Hero’s cheeks darkened.

Hero scowled, “You're wrong for thinking I want to be on your stupid couch,” they grumbled, working to untangle themselves from the blankets. With an amount of effort Villain couldn’t help but notice, Hero lifted themselves onto unsteady legs, one hand still resting on the sofa’s arm.

They took a step. The jangling of a chain accompanied the movement.

Hero looked down, finally noticing the cuff connected to their left ankle. The other end was locked snugly around the sofa’s leg.

Hero turned to face Villain. They didn’t even look angry, simply annoyed. “Are you kidnapping me again?” they sighed.

Villain grinned. Ignoring the distrusting glare Hero sent their way, they snapped their fingers. Their abilities responded eagerly, and their once empty palm was filled.

A simple medicine cap appeared in Villain’s hand, filled to the brim with a thick, purple liquid.

Hero looked up at them like they'd grown a second head. “You brought me here to take medicine?”

“I brought you here because you dropped from the sky in a dead faint mid battle, before I so much as touched you,” There was an edge to Villain’s voice. They swallowed it, forcing their smile to remain in place. “I certainly wasn’t going to waltz up to your agency, carrying you like a princess. So I decided to take you home with me.”

Villain didn’t miss the way Hero’s eyes widened at their words. Or how their stare was filled with confusion like they had no memory of the day’s events.

Hero turned away. “It’s barely a cold. I didn’t need help.”

Didn’t need help. Yes, because someone ready to fall over in public, their allies nowhere in sight, in the middle of a fight with a villain, didn’t need help. It was ridiculous, the typical, endlessly stubborn non-logic they knew Hero for. It was usually something Villain found amusing. But looking at Hero now, the shadows under the eyes, the gauntness to their face that a simple cold could not explain, Villain felt only anger.

They couldn’t stop thinking about Hero falling. Their eyes rolling into the back of their skull, whatever retort they’d been about to make dissolving into a nonsensical slur. How they’d just dropped, falling like a bird shot from the sky.

Villain would never admit to the scream that’d torn from their lips at the sight. They didn’t want to consider how close of a call it’d been. If Villain had been just a little slower to act…

Villain pushed the thought from their mind, instead pushing the cap into Hero’s hands. Hero held it like Villain had just presented them with a dead rat.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Hero sighed, “You’re doing this because you like bothering me.”

“Those two sentiments aren’t mutually exclusive,” Villain grinned. “And there’s no fun in defeating you when a cold is doing the work for me.”

Hero glared for a long moment. Finally they sighed, defeated. They lifted the cup to their lips, throwing their head back and swallowing the medicine as if it were a shot of bourbon. They returned the cup to Villain’s outstretched hand without question. “Done. Can I leave now?”

Villain took the cap back graciously, sending it back to their bathroom with a wave of their hand. “And what made you think you’d be leaving so soon?”

“But I thought–,” a sudden cough interrupted them, hacking and thick with flem. Villain almost winced at the noise. “-- I took the stupid medicine, what else do you even want?!”

They wanted Hero to avoid keeling over in their foolish goal of saving every pathetic little life in the city. “Plenty. Your downfall, the keys to the city…,” they said instead. “But that’s besides the point. You won’t be doing any more heroics for the remainder of the day. I suspect you'll be dead to the world within the hour.”

Hero's eyes bulged. “D-did you drug me?!” Their voice squeaked with indignation.

“If you consider Nyquil a drug, then yes.”

“Oh,” and just like that, their anger faded. “Then I’ll be fine, a little cough medicine isn’t going to knock me out.”

“Have you had Nyquil before?” Villain asked. ”Darling, it’s infamous, and you already look dead on your feet. I wouldn’t bet on your chances”

Hero crossed their arms, pouting like a stubborn toddler. “I’ll be fine. I'm not even tired,” Villain noted that they also sounded like a stubborn toddler. They decided not to mention either fact.

Villain sighed, hands moving to rest on their hips. “Your abuse of the word ‘fine’ aside, I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Hero countered, scowling. And then they sniffed, entirely ruining the impact of the expression.“You let me go, and I don’t kick your ass.”

Villain ignored them. “Stay for an hour. If you’re still awake by then, I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t have time to just sit around!” Hero groaned, pulled at the chain on their leg. The cuff was made of a soft, comfortable material, but it was sturdy. It stayed firm despite their tugging, which only encouraged them to tug harder. “I’m supposed to be on duty!”

“You’re also actively being kidnapped, as you put it. Most hostages don’t get to negotiate the terms of their stay. Be thankful.”

Hero glared, expression more of a pout than anything else. Red faced and ruffled hair, they looked as intimidating as a kitten.

Villain grinned. “But fine, if you’re so insistent on leaving, I can negotiate. Stay for forty five minutes.”

“Hell no. Twenty five.”

“Absolutely not. Thirty, and I get to pick the movie.”

Hero raised an eyebrow. “The movie?”

“Well, I’m not going to just sit here waiting for you to pass out.” Villain huffed.

Hero glared for a long moment, arms crossed. Villain could see them considering their options, stubborn pride battling against bone-deep exhaustion.

They saw the moment Hero’s exhaustion won out. They sighed, shoulders slumping, and they flopped back into their seat. “Fine. Thirty minutes and I’m out of here.”

Grinning, Villain sat themselves besides Hero, making a show of getting comfortable. They spread the blanket across both of them. Hero huffed, but didn’t move.

“I hope I get you sick.” Hero sniffled.

“I’m not exactly human, my dear; your little bug won’t touch me. Feel free to continue to hope however.”

The pair sat in near silence for a moment, the only sound the occasional hacking cough. After several minutes of consideration, Villain settled on a film. A simple, vapid romantic comedy. Utterly unremarkable and dull. The perfect film to fall asleep to.

They turned to their nemesis, finger hovering over the play button. “Any complaints?”

Hero shrugged. “Whatever. It's not like I'll be watching.”

“Because you'll be asleep, I know.”

“Because I'll be leaving.”

“Certainly. Whatever you say…” Villain’s voice dripped with condescension. Hero only huffed.

Villain flicked the movie on and snuggled into the blanket.

The film was just as unimpressive as Villain had hoped. It was just interesting enough to be vaguely entertaining, but it was clearly a film designed to be background noise. Which was perfect, of course.

Villain wasn’t paying the film any mind. What they were truly focused on was Hero. They’d tucked themselves underneath the blankets, half-curled into the covers. Their arms were crossed over their chest, expression set as if their very honor depended on them staying awake.

Hero was fighting a battle against exhaustion, and it was obvious they were losing. Within the first ten minutes, they’d already begun snuggling into the covers, pulling the material close to their trembling frame. Their eyes were barely open by the fifteen minute park. They were still sitting upright, but their head would tip forward every few minutes, eyes falling shut. They’d always jerk themselves back to wakefulness moments later. Villain didn’t miss the way they’d glance over to Villain each time it happened, expression embarrassed. Villain carefully did not meet their gaze.

Villain resisted a smile when Hero finally leaned back fully, resting their head against the sofa.

By the half hour mark, Hero had gone entirely slack. Their mouth was slightly ajar, quiet, congested snores the only noise they made. They were out like a light, just like Villain had predicted.

Slowly, carefully, Villain leaned towards them. “Time’s up darling,” Villain whispered into Hero's ear, tone thick with amusement. “Should I let you go? You seem rather comfortable.”

“Hnnn…”Hero only grumbled in response, words unintelligible. They shifted in place, and Villain froze and Hero flopped over, falling to lean heavily against their side. They tucked themselves into Villain, nose pushing itself into the crook of Villain’s neck.

They hummed sleepily, content, before falling still again.

“Oh,” Villain didn’t dare move. They could feel heat coming off Hero in waves, fever leaving their skin clammy against Villain’s. Their breath ticked against Villain’s neck. Neither feeling was particularly unpleasant.

They tried to move away, carefully shifting Hero’s body to rest against the sofa’s arm. But then Hero gave a half-conscious whine, fingers blindly gripping at Villain’s shirt. Even in their sleep they were stubborn as ever.

Villain sighed, accepting their impromptu downgrade to Hero’s cushion. They made a mental note to continue their ‘kidnapping’ for the remainder of the week.

#oh this is barely whump once more #sickfic #sick whumpee #stubborn whumpee #hero whumpee #villain caretaker #whump #whumblr #hero x villain #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 24 #illness whump #my stuff

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emjayewrites · 3 months

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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton Fanfic)(2/?)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @nikki01234 @yeea-nah @sirlew44 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @marzzrambles @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @mitruscity @burberryfilms @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @pharaohanubis0 @certifiedlesbianbaddie

A/N: A few things is changed in order to help with the flow of the story (i.e. having haute couture week happening during the week of June 19th, etc.) Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 2: Rorie's World

Rorie was swift with delivering Penni, and perhaps even the world, what they wanted. Lewis hovered close by as she sifted through her Instagram account, selectively archiving photos with their son's face before switching it over to a public account.

Lewis couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he looked at his wife, admiring the way her curves seemed to fit perfectly in all the right places: slender waist and widened hips that rounded out to a pert ass, all of which had become gifts after giving birth to their child, along with her full breasts that he loved to hold in his hands.

He couldn't help but feel proud and a little smug knowing that she was quite the catch; he knew she would cause quite a stir once the world got to know her.

Despite his initial concerns, Rorie's demeanor had noticeably changed. At first, it was subtle - her shoulders relaxed, her posture improved - but then as more followers and comments flooded her feed, a small smile began to appear at the corner of her mouth. It was a glimpse of that wild, unpredictable side that had initially attracted him to her all those years ago, the spark that made her a force to be reckoned with.

When they first met at a bar in New York City, she was a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense data analyst on Wall Street who had him wrapped around her finger by the end of the night. Lewis understood and admired her directness because he could relate on many levels, but he also discovered a softer side to Rorie when she talked about her interests and dreams.

Lately, however, ever since becoming a mother and throwing herself into their joint charitable foundation, Mission 44, her focus had shifted. She had become consumed by their son's well-being, pouring all her energy into nurturing him.

Don't get him wrong, Lewis adored the way Rorie doted on their son, Lyric. Seeing her gently cradle their child, singing lullabies in her melodious voice, was a sight that melted his heart every time. But he couldn't shake the lingering desire for her to rekindle the fire within herself - to dive back into her passions of music and fashion that once captivated her every thought.

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, but he couldn't deny how amazing she was. He wanted to keep her all to himself, yet he also knew that her sense for both fashion and music needed to be shared with the world. Despite the unconventional approach, Lewis felt a sense of excitement brewing inside him for it all.

There was one thing that could not be doubted: Aurora Isis Phillips-Hamilton was that girl, and she needed her praises and recognition as soon as possible.

"Done," she said with a long exhale and placing her phone on the kitchen island. Running a hand through her braids, she looked like the epitome of stress as she began to pace back and forth across the hardwood floors.

Lewis watched her silently for a moment before calling out to her in a soft voice. "Baby..." Rorie was lost in thought and didn't respond. He tried again, using the nickname he gave her when they first started dating, "Aurora Borealis."

Rorie's head whipped over to him and she scowled. "Don't start with your shit, Carl," she snapped, using his middle name in return.

Lewis chuckled, knowing that nickname always got under her skin. "My bad, but I had to get your attention somehow." He raised his hands in mock surrender and took on a more serious tone. "Tell me what's worrying you. If you worried about them accepting you or not, let me—"

"It's not that," Rorie replied with an annoyed eye roll. She couldn't care less about public acceptance; all she wanted was to navigate this new situation successfully. Being in the public eye would disrupt her routine, which mostly revolved around being a mother to Lyric and supporting her husband. "I just don't know how to handle all of this."

Lewis could see the defeat and uncertainty in Rorie's eyes, and it broke his heart. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her protectively, placing a reassuring kiss on her temple. "Just be yourself, Rorie." She scoffed at his words. "No, seriously. Be the amazing woman you are. You're already incredible as a mum and leading Mission 44, but I want to see you on magazine covers and runways..."

"...headlining concerts and winning awards," Rorie finished for him with a teasing smirk, having heard this mantra from him countless times over the past five years.

"Yes, exactly," affirmed Lewis as he held her tighter. "The world needs to know your brilliance. Do you know how guilty I feel for keeping you cooped up in this penthouse, not sharing your genius with the world?"

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving noise. "Funny how you're saying this now, but just wait until all these thirsty ass men flood my DMs."

A menacing glare crossed Lewis' face, a vein popping on his neck at the mere thought of some random man hopping in her DMs. "Don't play with me, Rorie, y'know I kill a nigga over you."

She studied him closely, incredulity written all over her face. He was a bit taller than her 5'4 frame, but she still couldn't imagine him as a killer. "Whatever you say, Pookie."

Her choice of endearment made him roll his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile at her playfulness. It was yet another thing he loved about her; she always knew how to make him laugh even in the most serious situations. But his smile quickly faded as the weight of their conversation settled on him once again. He knew Rorie was struggling with the idea of being in the public eye, and it hurt him to see her doubt herself.

"Listen, Rorie," he began, looking into her eyes with sincerity. "I know this is all new to you and it can be overwhelming. But I promise you, I will be by your side every step of the way."

Rorie's expression softened at his words, feeling grateful for his unwavering support. She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest as he continued.

"You are strong and talented and beautiful," Lewis said, placing a kiss on top of her head. "You have nothing to be afraid of."

Lewis always had a way of making her feel better whenever she was feeling down. They had been through so much together over the years and their bond only grew stronger each day.

Just then, Lyric's cries could be heard from down the hall. Rorie quickly pulled away from Lewis' embrace and headed towards their son's room. As she rocked Lyric back and forth, Rorie thought about the past five years. Despite the ups and downs of their relationship, she never imagined a life without Lewis by her side.

Almost two weeks later.....

Rorie broke the internet...figuratively, of course.

In the span of one week, she amassed a following of over four million and attracted support from a swarm of people. Famous individuals, media conglomerates, and fashion brands all wanted a piece of her, flooding her DMs with invitations to events, photo shoots, interviews, you name it.

Rorie was grateful for the opportunities that were coming her way, but it was also overwhelming. Despite being physically distant in Montreal, Lewis continued to support her and be her biggest advocate. With Penni’s help, Rorie had assembled a small yet highly effective management team consisting of Yael Quint, a specialist in brand and image consulting; Ro Morgan, a skilled hairstylist; and Fanny Maurer, an expert makeup artist. Together, they were gearing up to face their first challenge: the highly-anticipated Paris Fashion Week.

Amidst all the chaos, Lyric remained her top priority.Lewis had been away competing in the Canadian Grand Prix and he checked on her and Lyric through daily FaceTime calls. On the third day of Lewis' absence, he called late in the evening before he had to head off to qualifying session for the upcoming race.

"Hey beautiful," he said as soon as Rorie answered his call.

"Hey handsome," she replied with a smile.

"How are my two favorite people doing?" Lewis asked.

"We're good," Rorie said, gently swaying back and forth, holding Lyric in her arms. Her son had finally fallen into a peaceful slumber, sucking his thumb as he dozed off after throwing a fit.

"Has he been giving you a hard time?" Lewis joked.

Rorie chuckled, "Just a little. But it's nothing I can't handle."

"I know you can," Lewis said with pride in his voice. "I wish I could be there to help."

"I wish you were here too," Rorie admitted, feeling a pang of loneliness.

"Just a few more days and I'll be back," Lewis reassured her. "But hey, enough about me. How's everything going at your end?"

Rorie sighed, "It's been hectic but exciting. We have some big plans lined up for Paris Fashion Week."

"That's amazing! I'm so proud of you, baby," Lewis exclaimed. "To be honest, I was trying to have you join me at Pharrell's show, but I see you doing big things by yourself. I see you don't need me anymore, huh?"

She kissed her teeth at his teasing tone and pouty face. "Boy, bye. You know that's not true."

"Mmmhmm," he continued with a raised eyebrow and a hint of disbelief in his tone. "You say that now." After clearing his throat, his expression softened as he spoke again."For real, I am proud of you. What shows are you going to?"

"Mugler, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Balenciaga," she listed off quickly, eliciting a cheesy grin from Lewis.

"Some of your favorites," he acknowledged and she nodded in agreement. "Don't forget Rick Owens too; I'm planning to take you with me to one of his showrooms so we can see him and his wife in action."

"I can't wait," she said, a grin spreading across her face.

"Me neither," Lewis said with a smile that reached his eyes. "Just make sure to save some energy for Mummy/Daddy time when I get back."

His words were blunt, but there was also suggestive twinkle in his eye.

Rorie let out a soft gasp and scolded him, placing a hand over their sleeping son's ear. "Lewis, you can't say those things around him," she chided. "He's literally sleeping on my chest right now."

But Lewis couldn't resist teasing her, leering at her slightly exposed breasts with a smirk. "Shit, that's where I'm trying to be at the moment," he joked. "Plus, he's knocked out. He doesn't even know what's going on."

Lyric was indeed in a deep sleep, snoring softly. But Rorie couldn't let it slide.

"It's the principle," she shrugged off nonchalantly. "You can't be saying that."

Undeterred, Lewis continued with his flirtatious banter. "I mean, what do you want me to do? Lie? You look sexy as fuck right now, and I'm just a squirrel trying to get a n—"

"That's enough, Sir," interrupted Rorie with a glare, only fueling her husband's teasing.

His eyes darkened at her words and a groan escaped his lips. "Baby, you know I like being called that."

"Oh my goodness, I'm gonna hang up," threatened Rorie, her finger hovering over the end button. "I can't believe your so horny on main."

Lewis laughed at Rorie's threat, his dimples deepening as he playfully pouted. "Come on, babe. Don't hang up on me," he pleaded in a mock-whiny tone. "I miss you and I can't help it if my mind is always on you."

Rorie rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Even after years of marriage, Lewis never failed to make her feel desired.

"Fine," she relented, pretending to give in with a sigh. "But keep it PG-rated, okay? Our son's still here."

"You got it," Lewis said, sending her a wink through the screen before sitting up straighter in his seat. "So what else is going on? Have there been any discussions about collaborations or endorsements?"

"Endorsing who?" Rorie nervously giggled. "Let's just focus on Paris Fashion Week for now, we can worry about endorsements later. I have no idea about any of that."

"I don't know," Lewis said, "maybe Dior, Swarovski? Or even Tommy Hilfiger?"

"If you want me to join in on a campaign with you, just ask," she mumbled, partly in jest.

"Alright," Lewis replied, way too calmly for her liking. "Join me on a Tommy Hilfiger campaign."

Rorie couldn't believe her ears. She had always dreamt of working with a major fashion brand like Tommy Hilfiger, and now her husband was suggesting it as a possibility.

"Be so fucking for real right now. Are you serious?" she asked, her eyes widening in excitement.

"I'm so for real," Lewis confirmed with a nod. "Tommy's been looking for a new face to represent their brand. I'll mention you to him and see if he's interested."

Rorie's heart raced with anticipation. This would be insane and the fact that she could be doing it alongside her husband only made it more special.

"Thank you so much, Lewis," Rorie gushed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"You don't have to thank me," Lewis said with a smile, his love for her shining through his words. "I'll do anything to see you succeed."

Rorie felt overwhelmed with emotion as she leaned closer towards the screen, wishing she could wrap him in a tight hug.

Just then, they heard a soft whimper from their son and both turned their attention towards him. Rorie gently rocked him back and forth until he settled down again.

"I miss you guys so much," Lewis said wistfully, his eyes lingering on his family before turning back to Rorie's face on the screen.

"We miss you too," Rorie replied softly, feeling a surge of longing for her husband.

"This distance sucks dick," Lewis murmured before quickly shaking his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you meant," Rorie assured him with a small smile. They both knew how hard long distance relationships were, but they were determined to make it work until they could be together again. "You have two days then we're together in Paris. Two days will go by so fast, Pookie."

"I know," he said with a hint of sadness,"but I can't help missing you guys." He glanced at the time on his phone. "I have to go to the track now, but I'll text you later. I love you."

"Love you too," Rorie replied before blowing him a kiss. Lewis caught it and placed it against his heart before ending their call.

Two days later, Rorie arrived in the romantic City of Love with Lewis by her side. She had been to Paris countless times before with him, friends, and even family, but she knew this trip would be different. It was her first time attending Paris Fashion Week and the city was bustling with people. The next few days would be a whirlwind of fashion shows, meetings with designers, and indulgent dinners at some of the city's most charming restaurants.

Rorie clung to Lewis like a lifeline, knowing she would need all the support she could get to survive it all. As they made their way to their hotel, she silently hoped that no one would discover she was there with her husband until she was ready to reveal it herself. With their son safely back home in Monaco with Nina, the couple finally had some time alone - and he intended to make every moment count.

It had been nearly two weeks since he last felt her touch, and there was only so much pleasure a man can get with his right hand. His mind was filled with fantasies of bending her in every position imaginable on any surface available and he wouldn't be surprised if she ended up pregnant by the end of their time in Paris.

The Mandarin Oriental Hotel sat majestically at the heart of Paris and was the perfect backdrop of a luxurious ambiance. The faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive perfume lingered as the couple headed inside the lobby.

They checked into their suite with sweeping views of the city's iconic landmarks. As soon as they entered the room, Lewis pinned Rorie against the door and claimed her lips in a passionate kiss.

"I've been waiting for this moment for so long," he said breathlessly after breaking the kiss.

Rorie smiled against his lips. "Me too."

Lewis and Rorie shed their clothes one by one, revealing their naked bodies to each other. He effortlessly lifted her up and carried her to the bed, where he worshiped every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue. Lewis knelt before her, his tongue lapping up her essence as his fingers explored her depths. With expert precision, his mouth found her clit and Rorie couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” His rough voice sent shivers through her as she eagerly nodded. "Use your words," he commanded.

"Yes..." she whimpered, arching her back.

"Good girl," he growled before diving back in with even more passion. "You taste so damn delicious."

“Mmmhmm,” was her reply and Lewis let out a hearty chuckle, which reverberated against her flesh.

His dick throbbed and pre-cum dripped from the tip as he stared eagerly at her. Using his saliva as lubrication, he slid easily into her waiting heat. Lewis spread her legs wide, pushing them up until her ankles were by her ears. Their harmonized moans filled the room as he took her with unbridled fervor. The sound of their bodies coming together and Rorie's melodic cries bounced off the walls. She tightened around him with each thrust, milking him for all he could give. Lewis' balls smacked against her rhythmically as he went deeper inside of her.

Rorie screamed in ecstasy, holding him tightly and dragging her nails down his back. He loved how she looked when she scrunched up her face in pleasure, how she called out his name like a sweet tune.

"Daddy! Yes...oh my God! Fuck me! Yes!"

Rorie couldn't believe how amazing Lewis felt inside of her, as if he was made to fit perfectly between her thighs.

Her moans grew louder, urging him on even more. She could feel his cock throbbing inside of her, signaling that he was close.

"Come for me, baby," Lewis groaned in her ear. "I want to feel you come around me."

With a final thrust, Rorie screamed out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She clenched tightly around him as he spilled himself inside of her with a primal roar.

They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies tangled together as they rode out their climax. Lewis nuzzled his face into her neck, peppering kisses along her skin.

"I love you," he whispered against her skin.

"I love you too," Rorie replied, running her fingers through his hair.

Rorie's heart raced in her chest as she made her way through the crowded streets of Paris. Everywhere she turned, there were flashing lights and shouting voices, all vying for a glimpse of her.

"RORIE! OVER HERE!" The paparazzi called out as she arrived at the Mugler show during Paris Fashion Week.

With her head held up high, she gracefully walked down the red carpet, pausing every so often to strike a pose for the photographers. The chaos and excitement fueled her adrenaline, making her feel alive with every step she took. She could feel all eyes on her, and for a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the attention.

Yael's words from earlier echoed in her mind. Inhale, exhale, smile.

Rorie took a deep breath and focused on keeping a serene expression on her face as cameras continued to flash around her.

She couldn't help but think about how far she had come from being the unknown wife of Lewis Hamilton to being invited to attend one of the biggest fashion shows in one of the most iconic cities in the world. It was surreal but also incredibly fulfilling.

She greeted a few attendees as she entered the venue, making her way to her assigned front-row seat. She engaged in light conversation with the people around her, actively avoiding the paparazzi lurking on the sidelines.

The lights soon dimmed and the runway lit up with a spotlight and the models walked down the runway with fierce confidence, showcasing pieces from Mugler's latest collection. Rorie couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and inspiration as she watched each outfit pass by. As one of Mugler's biggest fans, Rorie felt honored to be sitting in the front row and experiencing the show firsthand.

Once the final model made her way down the runway, Rorie clapped along with the rest of the audience as the head designer appeared on stage for the final bow. The collection was breathtaking, with bold silhouettes and intricate details that captured the essence of Mugler perfectly.

After the show, Rorie joined the other attendees at the after-party. She mingled with fellow models and fashion industry insiders, exchanging compliments and light banter.

Rorie turned to see Yael approaching her with a glass of champagne in hand. Despite her cool and composed demeanor, she couldn't help but feel excited at the thought of potential opportunities coming her way.

"So, how did it feel to be sitting front row at Mugler?" Yael asked with a knowing grin.

"It was incredible. I still can't believe I'm here," Rorie replied, taking a sip of her champagne.

"Well, believe it because you deserve it," Yael said earnestly. "Everyone is freaking out. My emails are going batshit crazy with people trying to work with you."

Rorie's eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The possibility of working with big names in the industry was something she had only dreamed about before.

"No fuckin' way?!" she exclaimed, grinning widely. "Who?"

Yael smirked, clearly enjoying Rorie's reaction. She leaned in closer and whispered, "Lancome wants you to do a makeup campaign."

Rorie's mouth dropped open in shock. Lancome was one of the biggest beauty companies in the world and being approached by them was like winning the lottery.

"Are you serious?!" Rorie exclaimed excitedly.

"I never joke about business matters," Yael replied with a sly smile. "I've already set up meetings for next week with Lancome. You're going to kill it."

Rorie couldn't contain her excitement as she hugged Yael tightly.

"Thank you so much for everything," Rorie said sincerely.

Yael patted her back before pulling away and and raising her glass of champagne to clink it against Rorie's.

"Don't thank me yet," Yael said playfully. "This is just the beginning, Rorie."

With a loud pop, the cork of the Dom Perignon bottle flew into the air as bubbly liquid sprayed onto the floor, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles and Lewis to let out a curse under his breath.

"Shit," he said once the bubbles had settled and he managed to pour some into a glass. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

He handed her a glass and poured one for himself before raising it in a toast. He usually refrained from drinking, but this was a special occasion - his wife was making waves in the fashion world and she was currently in talks with Lancome for a partnership on a campaign.

When he heard this news, he immediately ordered a private dinner in their suite to celebrate. Lewis had ordered all of Rorie's favorite dishes from the hotel's restaurant and as they sat together at the beautifully set table, Rorie couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. She looked over at her husband, who was smiling at her lovingly.

"I can't believe all of this is happening," she said, taking a sip from her chute.

"I can," Lewis replied confidently. "You deserve it, baby."

Rorie smiled, feeling proud and grateful to have such a supportive partner by her side.

"And I have a feeling there's more good news to come," he added with a mischievous grin.

"What do you mean?" Rorie inquired, her eyebrow raising with curiosity.

Lewis let out a light chuckle before reaching underneath the table and retrieving a small velvet box. Sliding it across the table towards Rorie, she gasped in surprise.

"What is this?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Open it and see," Lewis replied with a grin.

Rorie eagerly lifted the lid of the box to reveal a stunning pair of diamond earrings. "Oh my goodness, Lewis! These are...they're incredible!" Rorie exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Lewis reached across the table to take her hand in his. "I wanted to give these to you as a congratulatory gift for your achievements today. And also as a belated anniversary present."

Rorie's face lit up with joy as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a loving embrace.

She whispered into Lewis' ear in a seductive tone, "You're definitely getting some pussy tonight."

His breath caught in his throat and his arousal was immediate. "Damn, baby, is it like that?"

"It's exactly like that," she confirmed with a wink as they pulled away from each other.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to give Lyric a sibling," Lewis teased.

"And what if I am?"

Lewis' eyes blazed with desire as he abruptly stood up and pulled her from the table.

"Baby, we haven't finished dinner yet!" Rorie protested in surprise as he led her off the terrace and back to their bedroom.

"We can eat later," he replied, starting to strip off his clothes. "Take that shit off, Mrs. Hamilton, a baby can't make themselves."

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #private landing #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #sir lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black! oc #formula one x oc #formula one!black reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #lewis hamilton #fake instagram #fake twitter #social media au

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

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The real AI fight

Tonight (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Last week's spectacular OpenAI soap-opera hijacked the attention of millions of normal, productive people and nonsensually crammed them full of the fine details of the debate between "Effective Altruism" (doomers) and "Effective Accelerationism" (AKA e/acc), a genuinely absurd debate that was allegedly at the center of the drama.

Very broadly speaking: the Effective Altruists are doomers, who believe that Large Language Models (AKA "spicy autocomplete") will someday become so advanced that it could wake up and annihilate or enslave the human race. To prevent this, we need to employ "AI Safety" – measures that will turn superintelligence into a servant or a partner, nor an adversary.

Contrast this with the Effective Accelerationists, who also believe that LLMs will someday become superintelligences with the potential to annihilate or enslave humanity – but they nevertheless advocate for faster AI development, with fewer "safety" measures, in order to produce an "upward spiral" in the "techno-capital machine."

Once-and-future OpenAI CEO Altman is said to be an accelerationists who was forced out of the company by the Altruists, who were subsequently bested, ousted, and replaced by Larry fucking Summers. This, we're told, is the ideological battle over AI: should cautiously progress our LLMs into superintelligences with safety in mind, or go full speed ahead and trust to market forces to tame and harness the superintelligences to come?

This "AI debate" is pretty stupid, proceeding as it does from the foregone conclusion that adding compute power and data to the next-word-predictor program will eventually create a conscious being, which will then inevitably become a superbeing. This is a proposition akin to the idea that if we keep breeding faster and faster horses, we'll get a locomotive:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

As Molly White writes, this isn't much of a debate. The "two sides" of this debate are as similar as Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Yes, they're arrayed against each other in battle, so furious with each other that they're tearing their hair out. But for people who don't take any of this mystical nonsense about spontaneous consciousness arising from applied statistics seriously, these two sides are nearly indistinguishable, sharing as they do this extremely weird belief. The fact that they've split into warring factions on its particulars is less important than their unified belief in the certain coming of the paperclip-maximizing apocalypse:

https://newsletter.mollywhite.net/p/effective-obfuscation

White points out that there's another, much more distinct side in this AI debate – as different and distant from Dee and Dum as a Beamish Boy and a Jabberwork. This is the side of AI Ethics – the side that worries about "today’s issues of ghost labor, algorithmic bias, and erosion of the rights of artists and others." As White says, shifting the debate to existential risk from a future, hypothetical superintelligence "is incredibly convenient for the powerful individuals and companies who stand to profit from AI."

After all, both sides plan to make money selling AI tools to corporations, whose track record in deploying algorithmic "decision support" systems and other AI-based automation is pretty poor – like the claims-evaluation engine that Cigna uses to deny insurance claims:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-pxdx-medical-health-insurance-rejection-claims

On a graph that plots the various positions on AI, the two groups of weirdos who disagree about how to create the inevitable superintelligence are effectively standing on the same spot, and the people who worry about the actual way that AI harms actual people right now are about a million miles away from that spot.

There's that old programmer joke, "There are 10 kinds of people, those who understand binary and those who don't." But of course, that joke could just as well be, "There are 10 kinds of people, those who understand ternary, those who understand binary, and those who don't understand either":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/11/the-ten-types-of-people/

What's more, the joke could be, "there are 10 kinds of people, those who understand hexadecenary, those who understand pentadecenary, those who understand tetradecenary [und so weiter] those who understand ternary, those who understand binary, and those who don't." That is to say, a "polarized" debate often has people who hold positions so far from the ones everyone is talking about that those belligerents' concerns are basically indistinguishable from one another.

The act of identifying these distant positions is a radical opening up of possibilities. Take the indigenous philosopher chief Red Jacket's response to the Christian missionaries who sought permission to proselytize to Red Jacket's people:

https://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5790/

Red Jacket's whole rebuttal is a superb dunk, but it gets especially interesting where he points to the sectarian differences among Christians as evidence against the missionary's claim to having a single true faith, and in favor of the idea that his own people's traditional faith could be co-equal among Christian doctrines.

The split that White identifies isn't a split about whether AI tools can be useful. Plenty of us AI skeptics are happy to stipulate that there are good uses for AI. For example, I'm 100% in favor of the Human Rights Data Analysis Group using an LLM to classify and extract information from the Innocence Project New Orleans' wrongful conviction case files:

https://hrdag.org/tech-notes/large-language-models-IPNO.html

Automating "extracting officer information from documents – specifically, the officer's name and the role the officer played in the wrongful conviction" was a key step to freeing innocent people from prison, and an LLM allowed HRDAG – a tiny, cash-strapped, excellent nonprofit – to make a giant leap forward in a vital project. I'm a donor to HRDAG and you should donate to them too:

https://hrdag.networkforgood.com/

Good data-analysis is key to addressing many of our thorniest, most pressing problems. As Ben Goldacre recounts in his inaugural Oxford lecture, it is both possible and desirable to build ethical, privacy-preserving systems for analyzing the most sensitive personal data (NHS patient records) that yield scores of solid, ground-breaking medical and scientific insights:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-eaV8SWdjQ

The difference between this kind of work – HRDAG's exoneration work and Goldacre's medical research – and the approach that OpenAI and its competitors take boils down to how they treat humans. The former treats all humans as worthy of respect and consideration. The latter treats humans as instruments – for profit in the short term, and for creating a hypothetical superintelligence in the (very) long term.

As Terry Pratchett's Granny Weatherwax reminds us, this is the root of all sin: "sin is when you treat people like things":

https://brer-powerofbabel.blogspot.com/2009/02/granny-weatherwax-on-sin-favorite.html

So much of the criticism of AI misses this distinction – instead, this criticism starts by accepting the self-serving marketing claim of the "AI safety" crowd – that their software is on the verge of becoming self-aware, and is thus valuable, a good investment, and a good product to purchase. This is Lee Vinsel's "Criti-Hype": "taking press releases from startups and covering them with hellscapes":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Criti-hype and AI were made for each other. Emily M Bender is a tireless cataloger of criti-hypeists, like the newspaper reporters who breathlessly repeat " completely unsubstantiated claims (marketing)…sourced to Altman":

https://dair-community.social/@emilymbender/111464030855880383

Bender, like White, is at pains to point out that the real debate isn't doomers vs accelerationists. That's just "billionaires throwing money at the hope of bringing about the speculative fiction stories they grew up reading – and philosophers and others feeling important by dressing these same silly ideas up in fancy words":

https://dair-community.social/@emilymbender/111464024432217299

All of this is just a distraction from real and important scientific questions about how (and whether) to make automation tools that steer clear of Granny Weatherwax's sin of "treating people like things." Bender – a computational linguist – isn't a reactionary who hates automation for its own sake. On Mystery AI Hype Theater 3000 – the excellent podcast she co-hosts with Alex Hanna – there is a machine-generated transcript:

https://www.buzzsprout.com/2126417

There is a serious, meaty debate to be had about the costs and possibilities of different forms of automation. But the superintelligence true-believers and their criti-hyping critics keep dragging us away from these important questions and into fanciful and pointless discussions of whether and how to appease the godlike computers we will create when we disassemble the solar system and turn it into computronium.

The question of machine intelligence isn't intrinsically unserious. As a materialist, I believe that whatever makes me "me" is the result of the physics and chemistry of processes inside and around my body. My disbelief in the existence of a soul means that I'm prepared to think that it might be possible for something made by humans to replicate something like whatever process makes me "me."

Ironically, the AI doomers and accelerationists claim that they, too, are materialists – and that's why they're so consumed with the idea of machine superintelligence. But it's precisely because I'm a materialist that I understand these hypotheticals about self-aware software are less important and less urgent than the material lives of people today.

It's because I'm a materialist that my primary concerns about AI are things like the climate impact of AI data-centers and the human impact of biased, opaque, incompetent and unfit algorithmic systems – not science fiction-inspired, self-induced panics over the human race being enslaved by our robot overlords.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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turbulentscrawl · 5 months

Text

Hot as Sin pt.2

Featuring Luchino, Ithaqua, Fool's Gold, and Aesop. More to come later ;)

These are NSFW, so minors please dni with this post. Also, these get a lil kinkier than the last part I did, so please make sure to check the warnings at the start of each before reading entirely!

Luchino (survivor)

Warnings: breeding kink, scratching and biting, Luchino calls reader “pet”

Luchino’s desk creaked with the snapping of hips, screeching occasionally as it shifted minutely across the hardwood. Paperwork was strewn wildly about the floor, and what was left beneath your body was quickly becoming soiled by a mixture of sweat and cum. Growling, Luchino hauled your raised leg further onto the desk, and clamped his sharp hands on your ass cheeks.

“I told you to hold still,” he said darkly. But it was awfully hard to do that when he was fucking you with such force. Your whole body shuttered with each stroke, even your labored breaths interrupted, choked. The one leg you were allowed to stand on was bruising, pinned between Luchino’s hard body and the edge of his desk. Angry red lines on your legs, back, and ass, left from his dark claws, swelled with tiny pindrops of blood.

“Luchino, I--” you choked out. When you started to form words beyond his name, one of his hands delivered a rough slap to your ass. In the split second it took you to yelp, Luchino shifted himself to press against your back and nibbled your earlobe with sharpened teeth.

“My name, your safe word, and thank you are the only things you’re allowed to say, pet,” he said between rhythmic breaths. “The only other sounds out of your pretty lips should be nonsensical pleasures. Now—” He groaned long, deep, and pushed his hips flush against you. “Thank me for filling you up again.”

You shivered at the spreading warmth in your core, whispering thanks into the air. Luchino rested against you for just a few moments and then sunk his teeth into your shoulder. You yelped again, and he pressed you into the desk with his body weight, already rutting into you again and growling from what you could only assume was overstimulation. He slapped your ass again, always a sign of his displeasure, and you leap into words because you already knew what he wanted.

“Th-thank you, Luchino,” you said, louder and louder. “Thank you for filling me up with your hot cum, thank you for breeding me.”

“Good pet,” Luchino sighed, releasing you from his teeth. His long togue laves over the wound left behind, and one of his hands starts to sink down the length of your body. “Let’s have you match me on the next one, hmm?”

Ithaqua

Warnings: slight degradation, semi-public sex

“You take me like a fucking whore, you know?” Ithaqua giggled into your ear. His body hovered over your like a tight cage, pinning you to the warm hedgemaze grasses and keeping your knees pressed to your shoulders. His stilts and mask were tossed aside somewhere, along with most of your clothes. He was clawing grooves into the soil near your head. “I hardly have to do any work, you could suck me back in all on your own. You need me so badly, hmm?”

He stopped running his mouth long enough to press his chapped lips against yours, moaning in time with a series of more rapid pumps into you. He licked his lips when he pulled away, like he was savoring your taste. His black eyes zeroed in on yours the second you started to respond, nothing short of obsession in his gaze.

“I d-do, I need you, I need you, I need you,” you cried, clutching his sleeves like a lifeline. Ithaqua’s head lolled further back with each repetition of the phrase, eyes slowly rolling back and a wide grin spreading across his face. He was practically glowing from the affirmations. “I love you, Ithaqua!”

“Fuck, oh fuuuuck, that’s right you do,” he gasped. He shifted with a speed you couldn’t comprehend, swiping your hands and pinning them to the grass at full arm’s length, stretching his lean body over you like a cat. His thrusts lost some depth from the position, but he made up for it with greater speed. His lips grazed your cheek as he continued to speak into your skin, first to you but then devolving into undirected rambling, “I love you too, dearest. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you, my good little slut, I’ll fuck you nice and stupid. You love this, don’t you? You love me, love it when I fill you up. You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you, I’ll make sure of that. You’ll never need to look at anyone else. You don’t need anyone else but me.”

You shivered from his voice in your ear, his unrelenting thrusts into your core, all of it sending your body into flush and shivers. Ithaqua was all around you, in you, he made sure there was nothing else to consider but himself and the pleasures he provided.

One of his hands abandoned yours, sliding down to pinch your face with clawed fingers. His grin fell against your mouth, an odd kiss. “I can see it in your face. You’re about to come, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting, darling, let me see you in ecstasy!”

Fool’s Gold

Warnings: public sex, size difference, dirty talk

Such a jealous bastard he was, this warped version of Norton.

Most of the other survivors had already been cleared out of the duo match already, securing your loss, but somehow you still survived. It was touch-and-go for a while, between Joseph’s attacks in his camera world and “Fool’s Gold”’s tenacity outside it. The two Hunters had been on your tail for a while, cutting in one each other’s attempts to catch you, but it was Norton who got to you first. Instead of dragging you to the chair, though, he’d brought you in front of one of Joseph’s cameras, where the image of you taking Hunter cock was now immortalized by the camera world’s projection.

You didn’t have to worry about death by internal bleeding, at least, as his dick was among the few parts of his body that was still flesh. It was, however, just as massive as the rest of him. Norton held you effortlessly by your hips, leaving you folded like a lawn chair in his rocky grip, legs dangling and flailing while he fucked himself with you like an overgrown toy.

“Nor-hughh, Norton,” you cried back at him, careful to use his human name and not the moniker he hated. “S-someone will s-see!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind. Would you rather I just throw you in a chair?” He chuckled above you, voice like hot coals, pace unrelenting. He laughed harder when you shook your head desperately. “Good. I want them to watch me use you like a cock sleeve. See me claim you.” He turned on unsteady feet, pointing your vision towards Joseph’s photograph display. In the image, Norton’s cock has halfway split you open and he’s grinning with that ever-persistent wickedness. A stream of smoke is leaving his mouth while your face is contorted in shock and pleasure. There’s a bulge forming on your lower gut. “Bet the sick fuck is in there, admiring your tight hole like he has a chance. But it’s my cock stretching it open.” Norton’s words tumbled into gravely, cough-broken laughter. His grip on you tightened and suddenly he was fucking you faster, harder. “I’m gonna make you scream, too, so everyone who’s left can hear it. The ones stuck in the chairs over there will know—everyone in both manors is gonna know you’re mine.”

You were quickly devolving into the sounds he wanted, stuck, mid-air, being wrecked by his powerful thrusts. Beneath you, his shoes caught stray drips of your saliva and slick.

“That’s right,” he growled. “Just like that. I’m only getting started, babe.”

Aesop

Warnings: consensual drugging implied (this is not safe even if consensual, don’t try it irl folks), restraints, toys

Everything is warm, no, hot, hot, and swimming like a desert mirage.

“Can you still hear me?” Aesop’s voice calls with a brassy echo. “If you understand me, say ‘yes’.” Trying to speak sends a surge of heat up through your sternum, so what comes out was only a garbled whimper. Aesop steps around his worktable, where you’re tied down in all your naked glory, and comes into shimmering view. His favorite mask is still on, but his eyes have the squint of a gentle smile to them. “I see. I’m going to check your vitals, please try not to squirm too much.” He holds your wrist, presses something ice-cold to your elbow, your chest, your ribs. The freeze contrasts the lava in your veins. A nitrile-gloved hand pinches one of your hardened nipples and draws a sluggish yelp from your throat.

“Good, you’re fine. And you don’t seem to dislike it,” Aesop muses while he massages you. “Since you’re not able to speak reliably, I’m going to stick to what we agreed on beforehand, alright? Nothing more.” He leans down and presses a masked kiss to your forehead before stepping out of sight again. There’s wobbly sounds of metal clanking, and items being set on the table down near your hips. You manage to lift your heavy head just enough to see Aesop grab the metal bar locking your knees apart and push it up, exposing you further to him. His other hand rubs the underside of your thigh soothingly. “You’re already dripping, you know. I think we can skip most of the prep.”

He picks something up from the side, pops a cap. His eyes catch your effort to watch him, and he holds up a thick dildo for you to see, his hands slicking it with lube. “Let’s start with this one, yes?” Even in your daze, you’re certain he’s smirking under his mask. The head of the toy slides against you, and you’re suddenly, acutely aware of the great need pulsing in your body. You were hot before, but now you’re on fire, shivering, gasping, desperate for Aesop to go from rubbing to moremoremore.

And you get your wish. Aesop pushes the thick toy into you all at once and hits the perfect spot. You quiver against the table, babbling praise as full-body shutters rattle your restraints. The room spins more and more as you come, and Aesop’s calm, muffled voice wrapping around you like a blanket. One of his hands rests against your lower stomach, thumb stroking your pelvic bones. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to be soothing or teasing.

“That was beautiful,” Aesop says, sounding breathless. Wet squelches also reach your ears, followed by more shocks of pleasure. He’s still fucking the toy into you. “But we’ve got an hour still, give or take. So please show me that again, as many times as you can.”

#idv x reader #identity v #aesop carl x reader #ithaqua x reader #fools gold x reader #luchino diruse x reader #idv professor #idv embalmer #idv night watch #idv fool's gold #spicy content #turbulentscrawl

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