…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
Thoughts about brendon park and just a soft socially anxious girl who has a thing for him and is trying so hard when its just normal conversation and he then realises shes tryna hit
I feel like this can damn we’ll be how him and domestic discipline reader got together lol but if that’s not your thing this can be read separately
Someone he met through friends at a house party, who was cute, sure, adorable in an innocent way that was pretty sexy, but he thought she was just being friendly. Thought you just liked his company or something.
You’d ended up sitting next to eachother at a dinner party. Not like anyone made you, but he got there late as usual and that was the only seat open.
And you looked at him, blushed, smiled, and waved. “Hi”
“Hello.”
And then you didn’t say anything for a minute. Which was a bit odd.
“I’m Brendon” he attempted.
“Y/N. Sorry. Didn’t wanna like. Bother one of Joes friends.”
Ah, he realized. You were probably one of Marcy, his friends girlfriends, friends.
“No bother at all, sorry to steal this seat.”
“It was open, you didn’t steal it.” You promised.
After a little more probing from him becuase, sure, he always wanted what he couldn’t have, you finally got chatty.
And you seemed pretty attached to him. Pretty glued to his side and laughing at all his jokes.
Which is a feat. He’s not very funny. He’s kinda a dick, kinda dry. And yet…
You’re a little awkward, a little shy. Silenced seem to stretch on a little long. But you seemed eager. Sweet.
He thinks, this girl is just too nice.
You just don’t know how this could look. You’ve got no clue. You’re just being nice. You’ve just got one of those personalities.
As if he hadn’t seen just how quiet you weee before.
And then you puts your hand on his arm. And for some reason that’s when it hits him. It’s all been intentional. You’ve been trying hard. The laughter. The giggles. The big shy wide eyed looks up at him. The compliments.
This girls trying to hit.
And then your little nails graze his bicep.
And maybe he flexes a little under your touch.
“Oh wow!”
You ghasped like it’s a surprise.
Oh. You’re trying so hard.
Your “trying” is so funny to him. No innuendos. No propositions. Took till 9 o’clock to put a single gentle hand on him.
You were so shy and cute.
He wants to devour you. Ruin you and destroy you. Take you apart piece by piece. Fuck you wild.
But now he know’s he can really, really go for it with you. Flirt back, hard.
And so another 30 minutes go by and he can’t take it.
“You wanna come home with me, pretty girl?”
You nod happily and he chuckles, looping a finger under your chin.
“Nuh uh sweet girl. Gotta use your big girl words”
Brendon and readers son throwing a tantrum (directed at reader) and Brendon’s reaction? How he handles it?
Love your fics btw!!
Brendon wouldn’t call himself strict (you would, but he wouldn’t), he’d call himself a firm parent.
And there are certain lines he doesn’t tolerate with his kids. They don’t get to walk all over the two of you, but especially not you. You’re a great mom, they don’t get to break your heart like that.
When Brendon says “I will turn this car around right now”, he means it.
Money is no object to him. He doesn’t care what he paid for something. If the kids can’t act right, he’ll leave right then and there.
One time, when your son was being a little shit in Disney, he looked at you and your daughter and said he was leaving. Taking your son back to the hotel because he can’t behave himself. Left the two of you to enjoy your day. You don’t get nice things if you don’t act nice.
Sometimes when he talks to his toddler son it feels like the same shit you said to him at the start of your relationship. Karma he supposes. “We can talk about our feelings like a big boy, and go back in the zoo, or you can keep throwing a fit like a baby and we’ll leave.”
He gives him the opportunity to talk it out, he wants him to talk it out. Talking it out is a skill, he’ll be patient to teach him. But he’s not raising a man who thinks he can weaponize his bad moods against the women around him.
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
bf!Dick Grayson who calls you at least three times a day for no real reason, just to hear how your day's going, and gets genuinely disappointed if you don't pick up.
bf!Dick Grayson who flirts with everyone out of pure habit, but the second you walk into a room, his attention doesn't leave you, and everyone notices except him.
bf!Dick Grayson who will do a backflip off a rooftop without blinking, but gets nervous laughing and awkward the first time you tell him you love him.
bf!Dick Grayson who remembers literally everyone's birthday, coffee order, and worst day ever, and somehow makes you feel like you're still the one he thinks about most.
bf!Dick Grayson who jokes his way through every hard conversation, until you gently call him out on it, and then he actually opens up, quiet and unguarded.
bf!Dick Grayson who will absolutely get into a petty prank war with you and escalate it for two straight weeks like it's a matter of personal honor.
bf!Dick Grayson who carries a low-grade guilt about the family he grew up watching fall apart, and works twice as hard to make sure you never feel like an afterthought.
bf!Dick Grayson who shows up to your work events, your family dinners, your friends' game nights, genuinely wanting to be there, not just tagging along.
bf!Dick Grayson who gets unexpectedly serious and protective the second Jason, Tim, or Damian so much as raise their voice near you, no jokes, no hesitation.
bf!Dick Grayson who texts Bruce updates about you sometimes, not because he's asked to, but because some habits of wanting approval never really go away.
bf!Dick Grayson who will hum off-key on purpose just to make you laugh when you're stressed, then act completely offended when you tell him it worked.
bf!Dick Grayson who never lets a fight go unresolved past bedtime, would rather stay up until 4am talking it out than sleep angry, even once.
bf!Dick Grayson who has an easy, magnetic charm with literally everyone, but reserves a specific, softer version of himself, quieter, more honest, just for you.
bf!Dick Grayson who still calls Alfred for advice about you sometimes, and will absolutely not tell you what Alfred said, just that "he approves."
Asking him if he still loves you while he's balls deep in a post-orgasm bliss and he just groans and goes "christ, I bought a ring last week" and that's how you find out he was planning to propose 👍
In the show, Sansa Stark has a ginger head of hair, just like her mother. You think that this means she is the Stark child most like Catelyn, with the most of her blood running through her veins.
Until the sun hits her sweet eldest son. Those dark curls light up, and he’s got a halo of that fiery auburn hue that his mother braids around her own head. Robb Stark is his mother’s boy. Through and through. Born by her side, and took his last breath to the sound of her desperate screams.
katniss: everyone’s so focused on protecting peeta because they too know how pure hearted he is and believe that he—a boy they’ve never even met before—deserves to survive over them and their friends of literal decades
finnick, to literally everyone else: okay if peeta dies she’s gonna kill all of us and then herself, so hands in, protect bread boy on three-
i think if hollanov decide to have more than one kid at least one of them will be a goalie. and you know that kid is going first in whichever draft they end up in because they practiced on shane fucking hollander and ilya fucking rozanov (because if your dads were casually the two best centres in the nhl and two of the most successful hockey players on the planet, then you defend that net like your life depends on it)
everyone else in that years draft thinks this hollander-rozanov child got picked first out of nepotism (because who the fuck is that desperate to pick a goalie first overall in the draft?) until one day that team’s starting goalie is injured and all of a sudden your scoring chances have gone to hell because you’re trying to get the puck past cerberus, the three headed dog that guards the gates of hell
watching grace & rocky & adrian hang out inside the biodome must be the eridian equivalent of when you go to the aquarium and see the trainers chilling in the sea lion exhibit
cw: mdni(18+), yearning, oral(f!receiving), dry humping, premature ejaculation, spitting, hair pulling, praise, sub!dunk if you squint, gentle manhandling, blood(dunk has a bloody mouth!), cumming in armor, pussy pronouns, squirting, (2.5kw)
synopsis: You reward your sweet knight for yet another victory.
a/n: this was roughly edited, so i'm sorry for any mistakes! a little something for my lovely @captainfern !!! happy late birthday love!💚 i cackled like a maniac when i saw u post wanting more dunk knowing i had this in my drafts. muehehe!!
"Kneel, ser."
Dunk's breath hitched. Audibly. Louder than it had any right to be in the silence of your chambers.
You couldn't help but smile, fluttering your lashes as your thighs slowly parted, coaxing dunk into obeying your command. Waiting had no place here and now, not after the lastingness of the joust had already delayed your wishes. Such a dull affair, if not for having the pleasure of watching your sweet knight compete, all dirty and bloody.
He was in the same state now as he walked closer, his blue eyes wide, captivated by the way your skirts hitched just so as you moved, pupils dilated, the adrenaline from the fight still thrumming through his veins, woven in with the simmering yearning for you, for this moment.
"My princess," he breathed, chest heaving under his breastplate, grimy hands twitching, as if wanting to touch but not allowing himself to just yet. "Have I pleased you?"
And oh, those words made your cunt flutter. So, so earnest, your sweet knight. So ready to seek your favor, even after having proven himself so valiantly on the field, bringing honor and renown to your house and your name, to you.
"Yes, ser," you affirmed, smile softening as you watched Dunk kneel between your parted thighs, broad shoulders keeping them spread. "You have pleased me greatly. I enjoyed watching you joust."
"Yeah?" Dunk's voice dipped, barely above a whisper, baby blues never leaving your face, memorizing every twitch and movement, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the face of the woman who acclaimed him so readily.
"Yeah," you parroted, one of your hands lifting to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the dirt caked onto his skin, but you gave it no mind. You couldn't care less, not when Dunk's lashes fluttered, and a sound akin to a wounded animal punched out of his chest, breath brushing your wrist.
He leaned into your touch like a man starved, pressing his gauntlet-clad palm onto yours to keep you there. Watching him rub his cheek against your skin, nuzzling you with almost childlike eagerness, made warmth spread in your chest and throughout your body like simmering fire.
It was easy to bring Dunk's face closer and press a soft kiss to his mouth, making another one of those delicious, aborted sounds fall from his bloody lips. You wanted the proof of his strength, the proof of his endurance onto you. Seeing the red smeared across your skin, he shook his head, his other hand reaching out to brush the crimson away, but you stopped him gently, shaking your head.
"No, ser," you said. "Let me have proof of your valiance, for you have suffered and bled for me today," a pause, as you guided his hand onto your skirts, right where the hem brushed your stocking-covered ankle. "And I wish to reward you."
A ragged breath left him as soon as his fingers brushed against your clothed skin, trembling, not from inhibition, but desperation. Pure, unadulterated need to hike up your skirts and dive tongue first into your pussy like an animal without an owner. And Gods, he wanted to.
Has been thinking about it since he set foot onto the jousting field. Even when he knew he had to focus on not being unhorsed, or tilting his spear right, or holding his shield up to block sword and mace alike. All he could think about was how good your cunt would smell, would taste once he was allowed to be between your legs again, once he deserved to feast at the altar of your sweetness, if the gods granted him victory. and they did, and yet—
"Are you sure, my—"
"Lift my skirts, Ser Duncan," you interrupted, thumb brushing his cheek anew, ceasing his delay. You knew what he wanted and understood why he was hesitating, even though you two had been in this same predicament plenty of times before.
After every prevailed joust, you offered Duncan what he craved: a place between your thighs and unrestricted passage to your pussy. When he first asked for it, still green in his sexual desires, face almost as red as a freshly plucked strawberry, you were more than delighted to offer yourself over to him. After all, you had been waiting to get the knight into your bed since your father had assigned him to guard your every move. All those nights where you ordered him to stay vigilant as a sentinel at your door while you pleasured yourself loud enough for him to hear truly worked wonders. A siren song to an unassuming sailor.
"Claim your prize, ser," you persisted, letting the pad of your thumb skim his bloody bottom lip, tugging it lightly, enough to bare his teeth to you, the sight of his crimson canines making the ache between your thighs mount. "You've kept me waiting long enough," you chided, eyes sharpening enough to watch the way his own widened, as if the mere thought of displeasing you brought a sense of urgency, weaving into the marrow of his bones and kicking his senses into obeying every single one of your whims.
He moved.
Not fast enough to startle, but with the conviction of a man who stopped reigning in his heart's desire and started taking.
His broad, armored palms brushed against your ankles, bunching up your skirts and lifting the flurry of flowy fabric, letting the cold steel chill your clothed skin. He hoisted it up, up, until he gathered it at your waist, allowing him to have a good look at—
"Princess—," he gasped, fingers tightening into your skirts, moments from tearing the material to shreds as feelings overwhelmed him, feeling more beast than man in the face of such a pretty picture.
You were bare.
No small clothes to cover your dignity, your pussy spread open and dripping, your hole throbbing around nothing, clenching shamelessly, as if urging him closer. Calling to his cock or his fingers or his mouth to heel. And Gods, Dunk wanted nothing more than to answer.
The view was obscene. His broad shoulders and the hulk of his body kept you splayed open. Thighs on each side of him allowed him to see every inch of the sweet reward he was given.
"Pretty?"
Your voice snapped him out of his reverie, barely able to drag his gaze away from the gorgeous spread of your cunt, blinking as his eyes met yours, feeling a ruddy flush creep up his neck as he saw the pleased curl of your lips as you watched him. He swallowed, nodding, so, so earnest, his armor shifting and clanking with the movement, making you let out a small laugh.
"A—always, my princess," Dunk whispered, not being able to keep steady any longer, steel-clad fingers curling into the lace band of your stockings and pulling, dragging the material down your thighs, using the grip to bring you closer to the edge of the bed along with it. "So bloody pretty," he praised, dipping his face until it was level with your mound and breathing you in, lashes fluttering at the tangy musk of your cunt.
His tongue darted out to taste without preamble, not being able to hold back, the scent of you intoxicating beyond measure, calling to him like a siren song. Steel fingers dimpled the fat of your thighs as he brought you even closer, pressing your cunt against his face, muffling a deep, guttural groan into the heated, slick flesh, moving his head from side to side, unashamed, nuzzling into your pussy, face mushed into you, spreading your juices onto his nose, cheeks, and chin.
It made you moan, hands seeking the top of his head, fingers tangling into his dirty hair, tugging him even deeper against your heat, hips twitching, already meaning to grind against his face. "Oh, my sweet knight," you lilted, breathy and airy as you felt the tip of his nose nudge your throbbing clit, the movement of his head granting you delicious friction. "Always so eager, so good for me."
The words had the desired effect, feeling as another groan muted against your heat, Dunk's tongue laving broad, firm strokes along your wet folds, spreading you open, lapping at every inch of your cunt like a dog would water. It felt divine. It always did.
Dunk might not be versed in many things, but wielding a sword and eating pussy were two that he could boast about until the end of his days and would never fail to ring true.
"Taste s' good, my princess, my lady," he moaned against you, head swiveling incessantly between your thighs, clumsy and eager and so, so good, creating a flurry of depraved, loud wet noises that made you flush.
Your fingers tightened into his hair and pulled, tugging, eliciting more debauched sounds from him, before appeasing the slight sting you knew you caused, petting at his dirty strands as you cooed. "Yeah? Does it taste better than your victory, ser?"
Perhaps it was a wicked, ungrateful question. But the way Dunk nodded not even a moment after, baby blues half lidded as he looked up at you, tongue still licking between your folds, already pussy drunk and lax with pleasure, was more worth it than every gold coin in the seven kingdoms.
"Won jus' to taste you, princess," he babbled, mouth drenched with a mixture of blood and your slick, the view making you moan as your eyes drifted down, seeing streaks of crimson along your cunt and inner thighs, from where Dunk's blood marked you. Gods, you couldn't help but throb and clench around nothing at the sight. Having your sweet knight's spilled blood onto your skin, smeared onto your pussy, pleasure mixed with honor. The honor he fought so hard for today in the joust. "Jus' to have her again."
You couldn't help the grind of your hips at his words, feeling the telltale sign of your peak beginning to build at the base of your spine, moans spilling freely from your lips, the sloppier Dunk got, slobbering all over your cunt, tongue flicking against your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently, cheeks hollowing.
"Ser—," you gasped, broken and wanton, fingers tugging harder at his hair as your hips humped forward, greedy and twitching against the suction. "My good ser," the praise fell from your lips like a benediction, washing over Dunk in waves, body warming up from the inside like a flame kindling.
He did not even realize his own hips ground forward, armor clinking louder as the fervor mounted, his clothed cock brushing against the bed frame as his mouth feasted on your cunt, hard as steel and leaking in his breeches and armor. But he did not care, not when you felt this heavenly, when the taste of you cloyed the back of his throat and invaded every sense. He pulled back just enough to see how the blood smeared all over your pussy and inner thighs, his eyes glazed over with heat. Dunk loved the sight. Loved that it was his blood. His pain. His proof of victory.
His tongue rolled around his mouth for a moment before he spat onto your pussy, letting saliva and blood drip down your folds obscenely, making his breath hitch noisily into his throat. It made you moan. His cock twitched in his breeches, hips grounding even harder against the bed, the depravity of it all making all the blood rush to his face, blush bleeding down to his throat.
"She's so wet f' me, my princess," he groaned, the sound ripped from his chest as he watched the crimson drip further. "So pretty."
The sight was enough for him to dive right in with renowned fervor, steel fingers gripping your thighs and pulling you harder against his face, aiding you to hump your hips against his mouth, drenching him in your juices.
It was too much. You have been wet since the joust. Since you watched him barrelling into men left and right, knocking them down effortlessly, his size and broadness eclipsing any other knight on the field. The throbbing of your pussy never ceased as he fought so valiantly, only making you press your thighs together beneath your skirts and keeping in soft moans of wonder as you watched your sweet knight make his way to victory.
"Duncan," you moaned, broken and high, feeling the thread about to snap, only getting a muffled moan in response to his name being spoken by you, fingers tugging at his hair, needing something to tether yourself to before shattering. "My sweet Duncan, don't stop—"
"I got you, my princess," was muffled into your folds, his efforts doubling, feeling the way your thighs shook, his scalp stinging at the relentless way you held onto him, but he did not mind. He wanted you to use him. Wanted you to always use him to feel good. "Let me have it," he pleaded, tongue lapping at your throbbing clit, moving his head from side to side, the stimulation making a full-body shake run through you. "Please, princess, please—"
You were powerless to his pleading, to the way he looked between your thighs, eyes glazed, shining with so much devotion, your slick smeared all over the bottom of his face. Gods, it was a sight that'll keep you awake and wound up for nights to come.
It unraveled you now, peak unfurling in the bottom of your tummy, gushing into Dunk's mouth, crying out his name again and again as he continued to lap at the juices flowing against his chin, cheek, and on his tongue, moaning like it was the nectar of the gods. "Thank you," your sweet knight whimpered, panting into your pussy, his hips rutting faster and faster against the bed as he lapped up all of your slick. "Thank you, princess, thank you, thank—"
The words broke off into a long, punched-out moan, a full-body tremor bowing his hulking frame forward as he followed suit, cumming in his breeches, dirtying the inside of his armor. His forehead pressed to the top of your mound, tongue lolling out to softly lick the remnants of what he couldn't prior, cleaning you, sated and boneless between your thighs.
Your chest heaved with soft pants, watching him, gaze so achingly tender it could drizzle honey in its wake. The fingers that tugged at his hair gentled, petting soothingly, scraping at his scalp in slow, deliberate motions, making Dunk hum in delight against you, leaning into your touch like a flower towards sunlight.
"Thank you, my sweet ser," you whispered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his damp hairline, wanting him to know how grateful you are for him, getting a small, bashful smile in return as he turned towards your mouth, baby blues mirroring every feeling that resided inside your heart, making your chest ache.
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