#but anyways he has the spiked collar ...... he has it

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

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You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

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[qtkoshi]

Maybe gn!Reader and Hobie adopt a kitten and the other three (Pavitr, Gwen, and Miles) come to see the kitten? Maybe a orange kitten gn!Reader wanted to name Spunk or Spike while Hobie gave them a spike collar? Would be cute lol

i luv ur brain anon

"you got....a kitten?"

- ok ok idk if this is what u meant, but u can feel free to run this with the bubblegum reader + hobie bc i think it fits alright :-) - also get a little deep with describing relationship,, but it’s necessary for the plot ! (...) - also!!! tysm for the requests; i am very excited to get into them, but will prob wait till tmrw to release bc it is my birthday today <3 much love to you all

──★ ˙ ̟ to the stars ！

general headcannons

alright first of all: hobie with a kitten? i’m in tears. 

i love the hc that hobie has a soft spot for cats and the fact that y’all got one together? bye.

NAPS WITH THE KITTEN JUST NESTLED BETWEEN BOTH OF YOU

this cat is gonna be SPOILED in attention i tell u rn

hobie isn’t as obvious ab it as u, but the amount of times u see him chilling with the cat just perched on his shoulder?? (why are u taking the baby swinging across the city hobie; wait a min now–)

how u got him

imagine this: ur walking past an alley and hear this small little meow; after further investigation you find this tuft of orange fur crying outside the dumpster and

now u gotta take it in what r u talking about!!

bringing him home immediately ; hobie's spidey senses prob picked up the cat's presence before you got in the door.

'baby what's that.' 'c'mon spiderman we got saving to do'

man can't even argue with you

hobie not naming the cat himself bc he doesn’t wanna enforce socio-constructed labels on an unsuspecting creature that can’t consent

u can tho.

and while you very much want to, you tell hobie you gotta think on it for a bit – it has to fit just right!! (tbh he rlly doesn’t mind the cat being nameless, but he’s kinda whipped and will kinda go with what u want if it helps give that pretty lil smile to him again)

spider-squad finding out ab him

the besties r wrapping up something with a fight and hobie’s all k gotta leave and check on the cat and the rest are like ????? 

pav absolutely floored bc how dare did u not mention this sooner hobie

'so you lot wanna come see him?' (inter-dimensional travel ensues) – also never gonna complain ab coming to hobie’s house they all think his place is dope

i’m sure we all know orange cats are fucking crazy and that does not exclude the little gremlin jumping off the walls of your flat rn

hobie ofc is smirking bc his son the cat is a little agent of chaos and he couldn’t be more proud 

you, on the other hand, are just a little tired trying to get the fucker to stay still for a second so u can put on the damn flea medicine

everybody loves him are u kidding (miles a little hesitant tho, he still has beef with the last spiderman-variant cat he met :/ ) 

“so whats its name?” miles was watching with wary eyes as the little ball of fur darted around. with a heavy (and definitely not dramatic) sigh, you walk over to the group “still haven’t picked. we just found him yesterday.”

luv the idea of hobie looking at u anytime ur in the room (stay with me now) — can’t help it u just grab all his attention, maybe stop being so lovely idk

speaking of your relationship: he has spent years battering against everything life throws at him that having your love in the palm of his hands? something to protect not in the way he does as a hero, but in the way to cherish as a person?? give the man a break, he deserves to admire you whenever he can.

anyways hobie’s looking at you before going ‘oh yea’, just grunts and pulls out this little collar with little spikes and their matching and oh my that is so cute

says he found it in some garbage, most def made the collar with some scraps like he did his own (gotta keep it cool yk)

you giddy and putting the collar on the little heathen and just all ‘omg wait a min’

promptly lifting the cat up and “THIS IS SPIKE.”

cue golf claps from the squad with some ooo’s and aah’s

more gen headcannons

remember when hobie and the cat were swinging around the city? yea he's taking that mf everywhere. puts him in his pocket like a little surprise

hobie loves to play fight with the cat

spike is the perfect mix; got hobie’s energy and your brightness it’s a win-win

i could write more but i'll stop here for now 🕸️

⊗

#hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderpunk #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse x reader #spiderpunk x reader #hobart brown x reader #hobie۫ ִ✮ #this was so cute hehe #thank you anon #!!!!!

[rustytrident]

time for the token pact mark hcs every obey me writing account has!!

kinda 18+ on asmo's section but not in the way u think.

mammon's pact mark came first, and you couldn't say you were surprised when it showed up on the palm of your dominant hand. circular, not too intricate, shining yellow; it wasn't exactly hard to miss but it wasn't too obvious, compared to the ones you would gather along the way. mammon still finds every chance to hold your hand, trace his sigil – hell, even high five you – so he can feel his power merged with your energy (his favourite is when you cup his face with that hand, but of course he won't admit it).

leviathan's showed up on your sternum – an interesting spot, you thought, but rolled with it either way. it was only when you felt envy for the first time after your pact that you realised it weighs down more on your chest than any other spot on your body. did you kinda feel like iron man, walking around with an orange circle in the middle of your chest? yeah. did you thank whoever decided the mark would show up there when levi cuddled his face into your sternum to feel your combined energy before he fell asleep? yeah <3.

beelzebub's showed up on your tongue, and no matter how obvious the spot is you just couldn't find it the first few days?? like okay pact is here but here where?? then you yawned in front of a mirror by chance and almost gave yourself whiplash cause why was your tongue bleeding?? upon further inspection, you concluded it was just a pact mark! long, branching out like the roots of a tree, like lightning, from the back to the front of your tongue, it looked sick. now, did you start taking selfies with your tongue out because of a newfound bad boy look or was it because you wanted to show off your demon – that is up to the audience's interpretation.

asmodeus gave you a tramp stamp. a fucking tramp stamp. you don't even know whether to laugh or cry the first time you see it in all its pink glory, so you do neither. you call solomon. you ask him where his pact mark is. he answers "on my lower back, right above my ass". you hang up the phone. asmo later on explains that he's doing you a favour by getting you into 2000s fashion, and that you should be glad the pact mark showed up there, and not on the spot the beings he doesn't have romantic feelings for get it. you don't ask where that is, but you do start wearing more low rise clothes. asmo's home screen after that is him hugging your ass after he put you in his juicy sweatpants with the bedazzled JUICY on them, pact mark on full display.

satan's pact mark is on your temples – two small, spiked circle sigils, green as his sin's colour. he says you look hot when you get mad and they light up, and when you roll your eyes at him he reassures you that you look just as badass, too. the one time you watched back a video leviathan took of you failing to beat a boss for what felt the hundredth time on the newest game he bought, you understood what satan meant. if you're the type of person to cry while angry, your red eyes make the green marks show up even more – satan says during those moments you look like a siren, and you accept it with a bashful nod. it would be improper to deny a compliment from a demon lord, anyway.

belphegor's mark showed up on your nape. you're bummed out about not being able to see it when you'd like, but he says it's fine. really, who wouldn't be overjoyed about having purple, star-like freckles at the back of their neck, right? especially when your demon says they remind him of the sky in the human world, hence the design and detail that was put into it. sometimes, belphegor likes to fall asleep while spooning you and kissing the stars on your nape. will he admit it? nah. but you know, and he knows, and that's enough (he's usually asleep after the 11th star. yes, you counted).

lucifer gave you the longest mark you had, starting from the top of your neck, and dropping down between your collar bones. it looked like a very intricate dagger, with a carved blade, the tip of it resting at the spot where your ribcage starts. when you asked him about it, he told you that pride, the sin and the feeling both, demands of you to keep your head up. hold your head down, submit, show humility, and you miss it. and so, you kept your head up. it wasn't like lucifer carelessly handed out pacts and emotional bonds with the beings of any realm – and you couldn't say you disliked when his eyes trailed down to your neck before returning to your eyes again, with a softer look this time.

gonna close this by saying that the only pact mark placements I've seen are on mc's back, placed in a sigil wheel, or one atop the other in a line on their spine. still, if someone has said what I said before me, tell me so i can credit them!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #sing me a song // the song of our glory

[glitchtricks94]

TWST Guys Bringing You Home!: Heartslabyul Edition

Welcome to part one, I'm planning on writing all the dorms + Idia. Ortho will just be included with him, personally, since Ortho is too adorable to ever defile in any manner outside of being a cute little brother. Headcannons, headcannons, headcannons! Let's start this off with some cottoncandy fluff, shall we? Not gonna lie, I felt like a mom gushing about all her chaos children over tea writing this. I hope you enjoy these headcannons, and let me know your thoughts. I love interaction and would love to hold a conversation with you guys. Anyways, sit back, relax and have fun. -Glitchtricks Word count: 4k

Ace Trappola

Oh, this is such a delight to see. Little Ace is in love! Ace is super awkward and very defensive, and yet somehow little ol' you broke down all those walls of arrogance and faux confidence, such a special darling you are. So, how would he be if he decided to bring you home to meet his family?

Two words: Nervous. Wreck. Ace is a disaster before bringing you home to meet his brother and father; he's sweating, internally screaming, his anxiety is spiked, and you have to handle everything with your usual grace. Ace has some bad anxiety, which he confided that he coped with it by being all snarky with everyone, i.e. being a dick way too often. You didn't mind though, but you did gently encourage him to come to you if he felt too overwhelmed by everything, just in case he needed to vent. How sweet! There was a lot of texting back and forth, nights cuddling on your near dinosaur era furnishings of Ramshackle, and plenty of kisses on his temples, Ace had calmed down enough to not feel like an anchor was being dropped on his chest at the thought of bringing you home. He was ready to announce you as his to his family!

Oh dear, sweet Seven, he couldn't have predicted any of what happened... First, his brother decided to do the worst thing ever and brought up Ace's old view on dating and how his first girlfriend got ghosted. Ace wanted to die then and there, even being collared by Riddle was more tolerable than this hell... "Hey, (Y/N), you know my baby bro here had a gal before you, right?" "Oh? He did?" You said, your pretty eyes widening. "He's never mentioned her before..." "Dude, please, don't...!" Ace quietly pleaded, humiliation seeping in like a cold rain. "Yeah, he went out a few times with this one girl in middle school. She'd always go to amusement parks with him and stuff, topping it off with a Ferris wheel, but he ghosted her." Ace's brother continued, sipping on his tea. "And why's that?" You prodded, sipping your own tea as you shot a small glare at your boyfriend. You shared stories of your exes, but why didn't he? Did he not trust you? You didn't know whether you should feel hurt, or pissed. You chose to feel pissed. "Got bored, 'cording to him, she was just bland beyond her coffee tastes and liked a lot of stuff that just didn't click with him. She was pretty, but had as much depth as a piece of paper." The elder Trappola explained. "Her friends called him out for his shit, and he swore off dating, too much of a hassle in his opinion, so I'm surprised he decided to go out with you, much less bring you home." "I see." You hummed. Ace knew he was in the dog house and was now preparing to ask Sam if he sold flowers and romance stuff to try and make it up to you when you both got back to Night Raven.

Well, at least pop likes you! Can't wait to have you as an in-law! During dinner, Ace's dad smiled and chatted all about his boys, saying how proud he was of Ace for bringing home such a sweetheart like you! You ended up forgetting the upsetting conversation from earlier given how jovial Mr. Trappola was, he was like that one cool uncle that was trusted with looking after the baby, or that one cool barbeque dad your friends might have. Card tricks were shared, food was eaten and conversation was exchanged, if at a little of your boyfriend's expense. Funny stories were shared, like that one time he accidentally hit his brother in the groin with a bat as a kid when he came home for the holidays, or that time Ace got pranked by his dad with a classic; pouring soap on his head while he was rinsing out his own lather. "My hair was never as silky as it was after that." Ace laughed, starting to loosen up as he threw his arm around your shoulder. You leaned over and pecked his cheek, making both your faces bloom red as you both grinned happily. Overall, you're basically already known as the best in-law ever even before Ace put a ring on it. He's already planning how to ask a few years down the line, though~!

Deuce Spade

Another cute boy, who's mildly awkward when in love. Oh, how sweet! He took a lot of time learning how to properly approach you. didn't he? Deuce is beaming with pride having you on his arm, smiling that cute little boy smile he shows off when he's excited. He loves holding your hand in his as you stroll about the rose gardens of Heartslabyul. You knew he was close to his mom, having ditched his old delinquent days after hearing her crying on the phone to his grandmother, and he often talked about you to her, sometimes while you were sitting right there! Oh, how your cheeks reddened hearing him spout compliments about you to his mother. Both you and Deuce were arranging to meet his mom and grandma, in fact Deuce wanted to introduce you as soon as possible! You're one of the most important people in his life, so he wanted to share you with his familial circle asap. So, how does this all go?

Oh, honey, grandma practically fell in love with you on first sight. You met Deuce's grandma and mom at the same time, the two sitting at the dining room table in Ms. Spade's home, sipping away on their tea. It was a little awkward with Ms. Spade, but granny practically pounced on you when Deuce said you were his significant other. She was just smiling up at you, going on about how much of a cutie you were the whole while. It was quite nice, talking over tea, Deuce smiling happily as he had an arm respectfully wrapped around your waist. Needless to say, mom relaxed a bit seeing how her mother was reacting alongside her baby boy.

Deuce didn't know why he didn't expect the baby pictures to be brought out... Baby books, baby books and more baby books. You were surprised by the sheer amount that Deuce's mother loved to do scrapbooking, it was like there was a mountain of baby books from when your sweet card soldier was growing up! There had to be about six books sitting on the coffee table. Everyone had gathered into the living room after tea, Ms. Spade excitedly flitting about the place like a child on sugar, gathering all these books to stack, Deuce slowly turning red seeing his old baby books being yanked out again. You sat next to Deuce, holding his hand with your fingers interlaced. "Here's when Deuce was two, he always played with his food, he was such a messy baby!" Ms. Spade gushed, showing off a picture of baby Deuce smiling up at the camera; baby food was smeared all over his smiling face, his hands caked in the stuff and the bowl on his little head, his pretty jade colored orbs shimmering with joy. "His little smile is infectious!" You chirped, smiling warmly at the picture of your darling boyfriend. Deuce buried his head in your hair, hiding from his embarrassment.

Deuce felt like melting into your embrace at this point. You made his night. After a fun dinner filled with embarrassing stories from when Deuce was young, warm hearty laughter and sweet gazes exchanged with your boyfriend, the two of you settled into bed, you sneaking out of the guest room grandma insisted you stay in to steal some kisses and snuggles. You settled into Deuce's arms as he kissed your rosy cheeks, tangling your legs with his under the covers. Looking into his eyes, you've never seen him look so happy since he got an 86 on his history exam. "I love you so much, baby." Deuce whispered sweetly, your heart fluttering in your chest. "I love you too, honey." You replied, your own voice laced with the sugar of your love for the jade eyed boy. "I wanna say thanks for coming with me to meet my mom and grandmother, it meant a lot to me." "Deucey, it's no trouble!" You chirped softly, smiling up at your lover. "I'm just happy they like me." "They love you, you fit perfectly into the family!" Deuce laughed, his shoulders shaking. "It's honestly a relief that you get along, I was scared things would go wrong. But, I guess I panicked for nothing." The navy haired first year continued, turning to gaze at you with so, so much love. "You're perfect after all." Deuce was gonna be the death of you, he was always so sweet. You could mark this day as a sweet, sweet success: Your boyfriend was happy, grandma loves you, mom thinks you're perfect for her son, and everything felt like utter bliss. So, without saying another word, you sealed your night with Deuce with a kiss...~

Cater Diamond

Cater being in love honestly isn't surprising; being in love is such brand booster! Cute Magicam couples? Yes please! Being real though, Cater's honestly a major handful for you, because under that cheery "Caycay is gonna slayslay" vibe that the 3rd year carries, he's honestly a complete wreck and is terrified that you'll get tired of his anticks. Shocking how he and Azul aren't besties in that regard. However, he had no need to fear! The marvelous S/O was here to save the day: Cuddles, kisses, spicy ramen and at home spa treatments were being rapid fired from your heart to claim Cater's love and destroy his anxiety! So, with the day saved, you and your lovely boyfriend could be free to talk about a tough topic; when are you gonna meet his family? Cater ended up laughing at your question and told you to start packing your bag, he's going to talk Crowley into letting you have a weekend getaway! Even if he disliked his sisters!

Already he was regretting life... Cater's sisters immediately burst out to greet their baby brother after his mom called, and the first thing they do? Tell you that your shirt is super not cute and Cater should go buy you another one. "It's what a good boyfriend would do!" The eldest sister said, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah! It's what our boyfriends did!" His other sister chimed in. Cater was here less than five seconds and already he felt like blowing a gasket... "But this is my favorite shirt. That I bought myself." You said, crossing your arms over your chest. "You don't get to tell me what to wear, so shush." "Way to stand up for yourself, honey bunny~!" Cater chirped, smiling at you as he led you inside with an arm around your waist. The ginger boy swore he fell even harder than when he first started dating you in that moment.

Cater was internally screaming at how his sisters acted and just wanted to go home. Oh, and mom didn't really like you, so there's that. The room was a bit tense as you sat and shared tea and some lightly burned pastries made by Cater's sisters. Cater himself was suffering the overly sweet baked goods and planned to just spend the after noon there. "So, how did you and my son meet?" Mrs. Diamond asked, eying you with a sharpened gaze. "Oh, I met him at Night Raven. My friend had gotten into a predicament and I ran into him while he was painting his dorm's roses!" You explained, a warm smile coming to your face as your boyfriend started to blush softly. "He was so cute and charming, still is, honestly." "Awww, babes, stop!" Cater giggled, nuzzling your cheek against his, making you laugh in turn. "I see." His mother huffed. The rest of the time was awkward to say the least.

You could tell your boyfriend could finally breathe after you left the house. Dad wasn't around that day, bit too busy with his banking job, so you didn't get to meet him; not that you really cared, Cater's sisters ruined a good chunk of the afternoon and made your poor honey work himself to the bone! Cater dropped the cheap, fake smile on his face when you both made it out of the house, his anger flaring up as he started muttering various rants under his breath. "Caycay, do you wanna get some lunch? There's a nice ramen place we could go to." You gently suggested, wanting to make your sweetheart feel better and ease his stresses. "It's that reaaally nice one you saw on Magicam the other day. The one that Vil praised" "That...That sounds wonderful honey bunny." Cater sighed, looking at you with a tired grin. Without much thought, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, making his heart flutter. So over lunch, you both came to terms that the fam might not dig on you, but that didn't matter to you or Cater. You had each other, and that's what mattered most to you two lovebirds.

Trey Clover

You have such a good man on your hands, even if he's a touch shy with his affections. When you first broached the topic of meeting his family, Trey was taken aback. He adored you to no end, and he could see a future with you, even if it'd be long distance for a few years, why hadn't he thought of showing you off to his family? "Of course I'll introduce you, darling." He said with a warm smile, leaning down to press a peck on your cheek, "How about we visit this upcoming weekend? I'm sure Riddle can hold it together long enough."

It was a really sweet reception when you showed up. Trey's parents were told about you ahead of time by their eldest, given how he's the responsible boy he is, so you were greeted by a small banner and a custom cupcake in your favorite flavors. The banner that was hung read "welcome home!" in bold, glittering rainbow letters; it tickled you pink! You felt at home already when Trey walked you up to the bakery, and the feeling intensified when his little siblings ran over, cheering over their big brother being home and asking if you were the person mom and dad talked about on the phone with Trey. Already you loved Trey's family, they were adorable in your eyes! "I hope you're ready for the insanity that's my family." Trey playfully remarked, pulling laughter from everyone around him. You hugged your boyfriend with a smile on your face. "I look forward to every minute we stay here."

Trey loved baking alongside you, but you and his family? Talk about heaven! Trey had to help out in the family business still, given his parents ran a bakery that had opened for lunch, so alongside the sweet smells of cake, the occasional smell of crisping pepperonis and melting cheese filled your senses. You found it odd at first, but your boyfriend's father swiftly explained that a demand for some more dinner and lunch friendly goods should be offered and they complied, if only a touch. You were surprised by how willing Trey's parents were when offering your help to ease the rush, helping your darling make and top some sugar cookies with oversized chocolate chips. You ended up swiping kisses from your boyfriend while his mom worked the front of house and his dad prepared the pizzas to be sent out. It seemed the more homely setting brought out the more affectionate side of your lover; small coos of adoration left his lips, tiny kisses peppered your cheeks, and skin to skin contact was through the roof as he guided you by taking your hands into his. It was all so romantic and sweet.

It had to be a bittersweet departure after your little weekend of fun was over, but everyone loved you. You had your bags packed back up with Trey, the luggage sitting in the foyer as you ate a delightful breakfast, feeling right at home as you sat next to your beloved. Trey was holding your hand under the table as you two dug into the fluffy blueberry pancakes his mom and dad had made for everyone, one of his little brothers quickly getting your attention. "(Y/N)?" The little boy called out quietly. "Yes, little one?" You asked, your voice a soft coo. The 3rd year glanced over at you as you interacted with his baby brother, watching carefully. "Will you come back with our big brother again soon?" "Well, that depends on both me and your big brother, dear. I'd love to, though!" You replied, flashing a smile to the little guy, who hugged you. "I'm gonna miss you..." He whined. "Me two!" Trey's sister piped up. "Me thwee!" The youngest chimed in, Trey and his parents chuckling at your interactions. "You have quite the partner here, Trey." His father spoke, looking at his son in pride. "You really do, sweetie, you better try and hold onto them!" Trey's mother spoke, smiling warmly. "They're a keeper!" "I know." Trey replied, looking at you now hugging his younger siblings, warmth bubbling in his chest. "I plan to treat them right." Overall, you had a new home in the Clover family, and your boyfriend's thinking of ways to properly propose to you after the trip. Never hurts to plan it out!

Riddle Rosehearts

Oh god, oh no, this one hurts. This will never ever end well if he picks the S/O... You knew Riddle had some problems he was trying to work through, you understood, truly! And Riddle was eternally grateful for your presence and influence in his life, you had to be the best thing to ever happen to him! You were his angel sent from the stars. Which is why he dreaded introducing you to his mother. He knew his father would've been okay, and he honestly has zero issues showing you off to him! If he was actually at home that is...He was currently abroad when Riddle accidentally let it slip that he was dating. So, in came the demands to meet you to make sure you were good enough for her baby, and the news that you two were going to his house for dinner.

You both had pits in your stomachs when you showed up to the Rosehearts household... You were greeted by the intimidating visage of Riddle's mother, who was standing in the yard with her arms folded tightly over her chest, her eyes boring into you. "Hello, mother." Riddled greeted, closing himself off to your presence and tensing up, his shoulders stiff; a telltale sign that he was stressed. You had to bite back the urge to coo and coddle him like you normally did when he was upset. "Riddle." His mother hummed looking at you with disdain. "Why is your...companion here dressed like that?" She asked sharply, making you feel embarrassed. You had asked Rook of all people to style you, but it appears it's simply not up to par with the impossible standard's Mrs. Rosehearts held. "We had asked one of our fellow classmates to dress them in the finest clothes they had available." Riddle spoke. Riddle's mother tsked. "I thought that I raised you better than this, they look terribly tacky, and I thought you would've had better tastes. Come. Dinner is waiting now." Riddle clenched his fists, feeling sorrow well up in his chest as he looked at you apologetically. You rushed forward, hugging Riddle from behind and kissing his cheek to reassure him. It was still quite the sting hearing his mother act so harsh, though.

Dinner wasn't much better either... You made sure to study proper etiquette with Riddle before you came here, but none of that seemed to matter as you choked down the bland food. Seriously, who doesn't bother to season meet and just serve nothing but tomatoes, onions and iceberg lettuce for a salad...? You tried your best, but Mrs. Rosehearts just eyed you in disgust, biting her tongue but looking at Riddle with a disappointed gaze. Riddle himself couldn't tell if sorrow or anger was bubbling up in his chest. You explained you were from another world when she asked where you were from and she looked at you like you just spat on her when you told her you were magicless; despite her already knowing that. She made Riddle tell her about you after making him nearly break down in tears over the phone last night. "Pathetic! I raised my son better than this, and yet you're barely passing, have no magic, and carry no knowledge of anything worthwhile! You're nothing but a waste of his time and my own!" The harpy of a woman shrieked. Oh, that was it, he picked his side of the fence...

Riddle felt a cord finally snap as all of his years of strict, lonely suffering drove him forward. "Why can't you just be happy that I finally found someone, mother?" Riddle hissed, catching the attention of his present parent. "Because, your selection was terrible! I could pick you a much better partner." Mrs. Rosehearts said, you feeling like you could start crying. "No! I-I don't want anyone else, much less an arrangement where I'll feel nothing for the other party!" Riddle barked angrily, slamming his fist on the table as he stood up. "I want who I fell in love with! I want my rose! I want to stay with (Y/N)!" "When will you see that you're worth more than them?!" "They've been nothing short of an angel to me, fixing the damage you caused!" Riddle yelled, his face bright red from anger. "They're worth far more than me from where I stand!" "Then you can just take that garbage and get them out of this house, you and I will start studying to find you a suitable-" "If they leave, I'm leaving with them, in fact, that's a wonderful idea!" Riddle bellowed, you looking up at him and rising from your seat. Rushing to his side, you tugged him out of the house as Riddle's mother screamed at you two from the kitchen and out the door, Riddle yelling that she won't take you away; he's had so much stripped from him, he refuses to lose you. This entire situation was a disaster, but you knew your precious prince loved you so dearly. Once you two made it back to his dorm, Riddle looked exhausted. You asked him what you could do to ease his struggles after he changed into his pajamas. "My rose, tonight, I just want to forget everything, rules and all..." Riddle whined, looking at you with tired slate grey orbs. "I just want to hold you in my arms and wake up to your face..." "Of course, my love." You cooed softly, kissing his cheeks as you both crawled under the covers of his bed, Riddle curling into your form instantly. Under the warmth of the duvet, everything felt right; you were his and he was yours, and no tyrant was ever going to rip you apart. Riddle had proven his iron clad love belonged to you and you alone.

#twisted wonderland x reader #heartslabyul #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #heartslaybul x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #trey clover #riddle rosehearts #twst headcanons

[youresodarkbabe]

down on all fours (90s au rockstar a. turner x reader)

smut.

warnings: overstimulation, praise, degradation (yes, both of them), aly has dacryphilia <3, dom!al, spit :)

word count: 2.1k

everyone thank @psychedelicrocker for telling me to write this instead of f1 alex again, also it's not v obviously 90s au whoopsies

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

alex was fucked.

he had been trying to write one simple song for hours now, and nothing seemed to stick. either a lyric would be too complex for the tune or he'd dumb it down too much. there really was no in between.

in his defense, though, he was freshly free from the harsh confines of a world tour and had lost all semblance of sanity.

he kept pacing around his office until he realized something. through all of the fans and drugs and groupies, he remembered one thing that was a constant.

you.

you met alex at the new jersey show he did with his band and he was intrigued, to say the least. he brought you backstage and had his way with you, sure, but he wanted more. he needed it, or rather, you.

he got you tickets to their next show and told you to come if you could, and you did. you thoroughly enjoyed the show, just as much as you enjoyed the way he destroyed your cunt before it and the way he fucked you til you cried after. the cycle repeated, they'd finish a show, he'd give you tickets to the next one.

the boys hadn't really tried forming connections with the girls they took back to their hotel rooms because to them, it was just a one time thing, they were high and their girl of the night would be starstruck and it was a fun way to unwind post-show. alex had the same mindset for years. until you. you ruined him completely. as much as he adored tearing you apart with his cock, he obsessed over the way you'd laugh breathlessly after a good fuck. he knew he was gone the moment you kissed him, the way your lips felt against his— soft, gentle, caring— it changed him.

the feelings alex had towards you could be described in many ways. an obsession, a need, a want, a love.

he couldn't care less. as long as he had you.

he crumpled up the messy, inked sheet of paper in his hand and tosses it into the trash and runs over to his untouched suitcase and digs through it until he finds the note you gave him at the last show he'd perform before moving to the european leg of the tour. the note had your phone number along with your address and the words 'don't forget me' written with a heart.

he realizes that you only lived a few minutes down the road. he decides to take the risk and punches your number into his landline and holds the receiver up to his ear. you take your time to pick up, but he let it go, it was half past two anyways.

"um, hello?" your voice called out, almost instantly making the hairs on the back of his neck stand and his cock harden.

"hey, doll. been missin' you. been missin' your cunt, to be real specific. come over, i need my muse back." his voice is as sharp as it had always been, hearing it sending you into a frenzy. you were well and truly speechless, and he knew.

"i'll see you here, bunny."

you were still half asleep but the familiar warmth of alex's voice woke you up and you instantly got on your feet and began running around your room, scrambling around for anything to make yourself look more presentable for alex.

you quickly try fixing the mess that your hair was and apply a quick swipe of the red lipstick of yours that alex adored so much.

you threw on the first things you could find and decided you'd rather walk to his instead of driving, because all the thoughts you were thinking would not lead to a safe drive.

you showed up wearing his band's shirt and a leather jacket with spikes around the neck that almost resembled a collar.

he has to take a second to take all of you in.

he pulls you in by your waist and shuts the door behind you and gives your lips a quick peck.

"i've missed you, doll." he murmurs against your lips, "you always were my favourite from the lot."

he kisses you again, deeper this time, less sweetness and more desperation. teeth clashed, his slight stubble scratching your face, adding to the stimulation and making you hum into the kiss.

alex slips his hands from your waist to your ass, cupping the flesh and massaging it, also pushing your hips into his waist and grinding his cock into you. he pulls away, breathless.

"you know the drill. everythin' off, except that jacket. i expect you on all fours by the time i get to my room."

you open your mouth to retort but decide against it and tiptoe past him and run up to his bedroom. you get undressed and forget to put the jacket back on.

alex, still downstairs, fixed himself a drink and almost finished half of it before he was upstairs. his cock throbbing at the sight.

you were on all fours on his cozy, pristine bed, your back arched so perfectly.

"where's the jacket, doll?"

"'m sorry, al, i forgot."

alex discards his clothes slowly, leaving himself in his boxers. he crawls onto the bed and kneels in between your legs, his hands running up and down your back, pressing it into more of an arch.

"it's alright, angel," he presses a kiss to your soaked pussy from behind, "next time, hm?"

you grind against his face, trying to tell him what you need without irritating him. you hear him swear at himself before his tongue delves into your core, lapping at anything he can get. his fingers come to your front and play with your clit as he devours your dripping cunt. you feel that knot in your stomach threatening to snap as he pulls away, whining at him stopping so suddenly.

"al, please, i'm good, i need you, please—"

you moan excessively loudly when he pushes two fingers into your cunt with no prior warning, feeling your eyes rolling back into your head as his fingers thrust in and out of you, curling and hitting every spot you needed him to get to.

"what did i tell you about doubting me, sweet girl?", he asks sweetly as he spreads his fingers as far apart as he can, watching your hole gape as you scream out his name.

"never doubt you, al, never ever doubting you," you trail off as he continues his relentless movements.

alex suddenly stops all his movements, taking his hands away from you, licking his fingers clean.

"taste as good as you did the first time, doll, fuck, you're takin' me back."

alex's mind flickered back to tour, how despite you both considering your interactions as a rockstar and one of his groupies, there was something different. it wasn't just sex, at least, not to him. he constantly fantasized about taking you out, buying you anything you ever wanted and more, treating you the way you deserved.

but he wasn't sure if he deserved you at all.

he saw himself as a pathetic excuse of a man who thrives on the validation of strangers and crumbles with the slightest criticism, but that also led to him imagining how you'd comfort him in these moments of devastation.

but that wasn't important to him now, he couldn't care less.

"you ready?", he asks, finally freeing his cock, pumping it slightly while watching his pre-cum spill onto your ass and then aligning it with your aching pussy, running his tip through your folds.

"mm, yes, please, fuck—"

alex slides into you before you can finish speaking, your words turning into a choked moan. alex doesn't even hesitate and begins thrusting as fast as he can, jaw hanging open as your cunt squeezes him. his writer's block disappears, everything does. you're all he saw at that point and he didn't mind it at all.

you almost scream his name as he fucks into you with no hesitation, going as fast as he can.

"just as good as i remembered baby, god," alex groans as he runs his hands up your sides, grabbing onto your hair and tugging it so he has your back pressed against his chest. you actually scream this time, the stinging feeling of his cock stretching your cunt and the pure euphoria of the act being almost too much to handle. you throw your head back to rest on his shoulder as he keeps fucking into you, one of his hands slipping to your clit, playing with it as he littered your neck with kisses.

"takin' me like a champ, doll, so so good. perfect lil toy, aren't you? fuckin' soaked too."

his fervent thrusts get slower and sloppier as you squeeze around him. "fuck, al, 'm gonna cum, please," you beg mindlessly as he brings his other hand up to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly as he nips at a spot under your ear.

"hm, not yet."

you whine in response, your moans getting louder and louder by the second.

"good girl, keep waiting for me, perfect lil slut," alex mutters as he slows down slightly, leaving small kisses of appreciation on your cheek as tears well in your eyes. he notices this and you can feel him twitch inside you as you tighten around him once more, unable to hold back any longer.

you scream out his name as your back arches against his chest, one of your hands flying to grasp at the back of his hair, pulling as you shake and moan until your voice is completely hoarse.

alex stills after you stop shaking and gives you a few seconds to compose yourself.

"you enjoy that? filthy fuckin' whore."

he pulls out of you roughly and flips you onto your back, almost instantly pushing his cock back into your sore cunt.

tears stream down your face as he bottoms out, you're desperate for him to stop and give your ruined pussy a break but at the same time, you can't stop yourself from wrapping your legs around his waist and trying to get him even closer. you dig your nails into alex's back as he pounds into you relentlessly, the sting of your nails scratching along his back making him hiss and go even faster.

alex's hands push your legs even further apart and he lifts them up onto his shoulders, his eyes fixated on the way he could see the outline of his cock filling you up.

"fuck, doll, you're gonna let me fill you up, aren't you? you gonna take it for me, baby?"

alex moves your hair out of your face as you nod pathetically, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. he dips his head down to take your nipple into his mouth and slows his thrusts to synchronize with tongue swirling around it, humming softly. he pulls off and latches onto your neck, his teeth clamping down slightly as he picks up his pace again, making you see stars as he fucks his cum as deep into you as possible.

alex collapses onto your chest, breathing heavily. he waits for a while before pulling out and looking at your ruined cunt, smiling as he sees the mixture of your cum and his seeping out of you.

"perfect, bunny, so gorgeous."

two of his fingers circle your aching hole once more and he pushes them into you until they only part of them he can see are his knuckles. he scissors his fingers and spits directly into you, pulling his fingers back out only to scoop up everything and push it back into you, he keeps playing with you like this until he's satisfied enough. he pulls his fingers out and taps on your lips with them and you open your mouth, sucking on them until they're clean.

"good girl, you did so well for me tonight."

he presses a gentle kiss to the space between your tits and moves upwards, leaving a kiss on your collarbone, your jaw, your cheek and finally kissing your lips.

kissing you feels liberating to him, it doesn't feel forced or purely driven by his need to fuck you. but there is something wrong.

"we can't keep doing this."

alex rested his chin on your chest and looked up at you as he spoke.

"we need to do this the right way, doll. i wanna take you out, do all that shit. let me have you, princess, please."

you open your mouth to respond but your voice barely comes out which makes you him laugh as you hide your face in his shoulder. he soothingly rubs your stomach as the laughter dies out and the silence takes over the room, alex doesn't feel awkward the way he normally would and his heart only feels lighter as he sees you nod with that smile he'd grown to adore.

"can't fuckin' wait."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

this one's been in the drafts for ages im ngl

#cookie cooks #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #youresodarkbabe #sias era smut #smut

[shapeshiftinterest]

little prince bowser (NOT junior) trying to get baby luigi to stop crying

afterwards he gives the royal bandana to luigi cuz ‘he’ll probably cry again anyway‘ and he has like, a million spares

bowser forgets about it but luigi keeps it in his pocket even as a grown up

they meet up during a fight against another villain, maybe bowser gets a scratch

luigi patches it up with the bandana (now handkerchief size to bowser) and bowser sees his insignia in the corner

bowuigi valentines event prompt mix:

day 1: height/ size difference

day 6: secret admirer

thought it’d be cute for luigi to have a crush on a bigger, older kid

the secret admirer part is cuz bowser forgot and it’s not like luigi can openly talk about liking bowser as he grew up while keeping his bandana

tried to make bowser look different from junior by giving him a collar and upper arm cuffs instead of just the wrist ones, like he’s getting older and transitioning out of the bandana to his adult look minus the spikes

prince bowser: i’m just letting you use it so you’ll shut up. got it, greenie? now blow

baby luigi: /honk!/

#art mine #2023 art mine #digital art #shapeshiftinterest #games #mario #bowser #luigi #bowuigi #alternate universe #bowuigi valentines event #theme event #LGBTQA

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt5

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Am I happy with this chapter? I think so??? I think I was trying to get it to go somewhere it didn't want to go before but I'm happy with how it ends now. I don't know if the words I'm saying make sense I'm so tired lmao

This chapter was inspired by A Lover's Folly (the chapter Fear of Losing It, specifically) by @tripleyeeet! Please go give it a read it's so fucking good

Warnings: angst, blood, murder, canon-typical violence, swearing, hints to a panic attack, Macbeth reference

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“A mystical and dangerous people, we travel the land, never settling in one place. We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters - your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure.” You look at Astarion from the corner of your eye. Despite his cool, confident demeanor, you can see how tense he is. He’s staring at the man before you like a steak on a silver platter. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I’m no witchdoctor or cut-throat.”

“So what monster are you hunting?”

Astarion pipes in, a devious smirk playing on his lips. You’re shocked the self-proclaimed monster hunter does not take notice of his fangs or the punctures on his neck. Though, Astarion’s are far less prominent than yours - you feel fortunate to have a high collar. “Something terrifying, no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops?” He paused, a teasing lilt in his voice as he adds, “Kobold?”

Gandrel chuckles. “Nothing so dramatic. Actually, this quarry is a bit unusual. My people got word of a missing person, stolen in the night by a vampire. It’s unlikely they’re still alive, but with any luck we’ll find the kidnapper.”

You swallow, but the hunter doesn’t seem to notice. Astarion can hear the spike in your heart rate. “That’s not much to go on.”

“You’re right about that. We do know the victim’s name, though there’s not much work can be done with that save wander around shouting for them.” He tells you the name, and your heart drops. You make a good effort not to show it. Your face is still neutral as before, your body stiffly in position, but with a glance Astarion can see the way your eyes are distant. They flicker over Gandrel’s face, assessing the threat he possesses. You’re trying to work up a plan, an escape route, anything - but fear clouds your thoughts. Astarion can smell the anxiety wafting off you, even through the hunter’s stench.

This shouldn’t be as big of a problem as your mind makes it to be. You could lie, tell him you weren’t stolen, tell him you ran away. Perhaps he would take money for his silence. But what if he chose to take you back anyway? What if she is providing a much higher reward than anything you can offer? You can’t go back. You can’t.

Astarion clears his throat and steps forward. “And if you find them? Where will you be taking them, exactly?”

“With any luck? I’d be taking them back to Berdusk.”

Berdusk. Being able to place a name to the city of your tormentor somehow made it worse. You knew where she resided now - you could simply take a detour from Baldur’s Gate and kill her. But, that would mean going back. Walking within reach of her clutches. You could almost feel her hot breath against your neck. Her nails digging into your skin. You can’t go back to that.

“Are you alright?” Your mind is forced back into your body when the Gur directs his question at you. You search your mind for an excuse, but fall hopelessly short.

Astarion steps in where you falter. “Ah, yes, you remember then, darling?” He speaks, then, to the Gur. “I believe we heard that name along our travels. A mere whisper on the wind.”

The hunter lights up. “Really? Any information you have would be invaluable to my mission.”

He taps his chin, frowning in fake thought. “It’s a bit foggy - we must have crossed paths weeks ago by now. If only I could remember…” He looks at the Gur from the corner of his eye, smirking. “Perhaps I can be enticed to recall just where they went.”

The man sighs. He reaches for his coin purse. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s reaching for a weapon. He knows who you are. He’s going to kill you. He knows what Astarion is. He’s going to kill you both.

When your mind catches up, the man is on the ground. You kneel over him. Two hands hold your dagger within his eye, hilt-deep. The other stares blankly up at you, mouth gaped around a silent scream. Droplets of blood marr your face, mere specks of warmth and wet.

“Shit.”

Astarion grabs your shoulder, but your mind is still consumed by fear and paranoia. You whirl around, bloody blade bared at the vampire. Your grip is all wrong - you’re terrified. He steps back, hands raised. Your eyes flicker across his face over and over again, but you don’t see him. In his place is a stranger. Someone ready to steal you, haul you back to Berdusk, back to your master.

“As much as I love the offer, now isn’t the time,” he quips. He kneels down slowly, getting to eye-level. His whole face is dark. The reference to sex is completely masked by his seriousness. “You’re safe. You’re not going back - not if I can help it.”

Your hands shake. Drops of blood fall off the knife, landing in the dirt without a sound. His blood. This man’s blood.

Gods, what have you done?

You drop the knife like it burns you to hold it. It clatters to the ground with a dull thud. You didn’t notice before the blood staining your fingers, but you do now. It’s all you can notice. Well, that, and the body beside you.

“I-I killed him,” you stammer out, barely a whisper. Astarion says nothing. He realizes the irony in your guilt just as much as you. “I didn’t even think- I didn’t… Gods.”

Your thoughts are consumed by the red stains. You have to get them off. You have to rid yourself of this ever-growing weight in your stomach. But you don’t have much to wipe it off on. Your clothes? Then you’d have to wash the blood out. (Though, little flecks stick to your collar and sleeves already.) The ground? Rub dirt all over until somehow it removes the red? You couldn’t even entertain the thought. But you needed to get it off.

You frantically wipe the blood away with your hands, only serving to spread it further into your skin. But it’s all you can think to do. You have to get it off. You must. If you don’t… If… Would something bad happen? You’re not sure. It feels like yes, something terrible would occur the longer it sat on your flesh. But what? Why won’t it fucking come off?

You don’t even realize you’re speaking. Half-formed desperate, choked pleas to get rid of the blood. Prayers to higher powers to forgive you - even when you’d never prayed for such a thing before. Insults spewed toward yourself, damning you for being so fucking weak.

So you killed a man, so what? You’d killed hundreds to get you where you kneel. What made him any different?

I killed him in self-defense.

You’ve killed loads of men and creatures alike for the same reason.

He didn’t recognize me.

You don’t know that, do you?

All he had was a name. Not even a description of who he searched for. He wouldn’t recognize me.

And why dwell on that? If he’d recognized you, surely he’d drag you back? Tie you up, gag you, drop you on her doorstep. She’d recognize you.

And she’d punish me. Punish them. And then she’d see my scars. What then?

Then she’d gut you. Slowly. Keeping you alive for as long as possible so she can moan to your screams, so she can lick her fingers clean of your adrenaline-rich blood. She’d even do it in front of her spawn. And they’d love it.

I hurt them.

You fucked up and they paid for it. They’d laugh as you beg for mercy. They’d even join in if they could.

But he didn’t need to die. Astarion, he- He could have led him away. I would have been safe.

And when he realized Astarion sent him on a wild goose chase? He’d turn right back around. And by that point his suspicions would fall to you - the leader. He’d know.

He’d know you’re the monster he hunts.

Hands roughly grab your own, snapping you out of your restless trance. Your skin is not only red from blood, but from how much you rubbed and scratched. Small lines beaded with your own blood where your nails broke the skin. It stung. And finally feeling that pain grounded you further.

“Calm down, for gods’ sakes,” Astarion cursed. He hurriedly pressed a white handkerchief into your hand. It was soft and cool to the touch. Gold embroidery danced around the edges, quickly becoming stained and ruined. “You’re going to rip your skin off.”

You felt everything so vividly. You almost wished you were numb to it again. “I’m sorry,” you croaked. “I don’t know what happened, I just… I thought of her. Of what she’d do to me, and I couldn’t think of another way out.”

He sighed, annoyed but all too understanding. “I was going to send him off North. By the time he realized he’s been had, we would already be in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smirked wickedly, mischief twinkling in his eye, despite the tinge of concern underlying it all. “You’ve simply provided a more permanent solution to our problem.” He glanced over, but you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to look again. “No point worrying about it now.”

“He could have helped,” you chastise. The intensity was only directed toward yourself. “If we paid him or explained or- or something, he could have gone back and said I was dead. Then- then she might have stopped looking for me.”

“And if he didn’t?”

You couldn’t let yourself spiral through that argument again. You just shook your head, opening your eyes to watch as he wiped away the blood. Most of it stayed, requiring water to wash it off - a realization that frightened you. What if the blood never came off?

“I know it may seem hard to believe,” he began. His voice was strained, like he was forcing himself to believe in it too, “but you’re not alone in this fight. If she finds you - Do you hear me? If. - we can protect you. And if she takes you away, we know where to find you now.”

“Berdusk.” He hummed, pleased you understood his meaning.

“Karlach would go on a rampage before she ever lays a finger on you.”

You chuckled weakly at the thought. You could almost picture your companion barging down the front door of the manor, everybody else behind her, as she tears through the place to find you. It’s… comforting.

A shiver runs through your body as the adrenaline finally fades from your system. You sighed. And just when most of your guilt has left, another weight finds itself in your throat - a heavy lump of fear. “I’m afraid to go to Baldur’s Gate,” you admit quietly. He pauses to look up at you, red eyes scanning your face. “Berdusk is so close by.”

“If it’s any consolation, Cazador is in Baldur’s Gate.” You hum; he’s told you this before.

“And you’re walking back into arms reach.” You look up from your hands. “Doesn’t that terrify you?”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “Do I hide my fear that well?” he teased. “Of course I’m terrified. I have no idea how well these tadpoles block his influence. For all I know, the moment I step foot in the Gate, he’ll have full control over me again.

“But if there’s even the slightest chance I could kill him, I’m going to take it. I can’t go back to that life. Not after this.”

Not after experiencing freedom for the first time in too long.

Astarion curls your fingers around the handkerchief so you’ll hold it. He picks up your bloody dagger and cleans the blade on the dead Gur’s clothes. You can’t watch, but you can see the sneer on his face as he does so. He reaches forward and tucks it away in your sheath. It feels heavier at your hip somehow.

He holds you by your arms as you stand, continuing to hold your hands in front of you. It feels wrong to let them hand so casually by your side, and just the thought of using them makes you feel worse. He turns you away from the body, directing you back toward camp.

You can still feel the Gur’s blood in your skin, even after you spend two whole hours washing your hands.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #angst #i come with knives

[ashintheairlikesnow]

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

-

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one. 

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him. 

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her. 

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily. 

That’s okay. 

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did. 

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better. 

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax. 

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it. 

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head. 

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble. 

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing. 

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own. 

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband. 

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to. 

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there. 

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed. 

She doesn’t always roll well. 

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back. 

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them. 

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue. 

No, wait. 

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word. 

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse. 

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.” 

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.” 

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump. 

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke. 

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply. 

She can't help herself. 

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear. 

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath. 

“Savvie,” he whispers. 

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

 She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips. 

Her blood. 

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?” 

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.” 

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her. 

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step. 

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch. 

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion. 

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall. 

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.” 

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

#whump #amonthofwhump #amow tropeathon day 1 #duel #intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #creepy whumper #noncon touch #noncon kissing #noncon references #sadistic whumper #drugging tw #drugged whumpee #jax #comfy-whumpee #captivity #defiant whumpee #whumpee fights back #amow tropeathon2024 #day1

[cyberstrm]

hi hi hi this is a request!! could i ask for hobie with a reader who is obssessed with crocheting things? when the two started dating, the reader sent him crocheted stuff as gifts. Ex: crocheted flowers, crocheted plushies, and the rest is up to you. :)

quick question tho do you think hobie would like homemade plushies?? I know he's all punk rock and stuff but he has a kind heart.

but anyway take all the time you need on this one! It's completely understandable if you don't wanna do this. have a good day/night !

cws: none!!

a/n: hi my love!!! thanks so much for requesting!!! hope you enjoy!!!

omg he finds it so cute

he really respects your patience for crochet, and loves that you have a hobby that makes you happy

does he like crochet plushies? uh- YEAH!!! anything you make for him he keeps. absolutely. he personalises them a little, like the plushies you make for him often have little spiked collars and patches

he also takes plushies on missions and sends photos of them on lil adventures hfbfjd its so cute

he actually kinda digs your flowery/pastel/soft crochet vibes in contrast with his punk vibes. they complement each other well, he thinks. like, he has a lil crochet kitty keychain you made him that he clipped to his jeans. he calls him bob :] but yeah he just loves it, and he loves you and just UGH baby

he didn't realise that you giving him gifts was your version of flirting, so it took a lot of gifts for him to realise. when you did start dating, the gifts increased and he was honestly thrilled

he also loves that you make gifts and don't buy them because fuck capitalism

if/when you set up a small business or shop he promotes the hell out of it and is so proud and supportive of you and always gives you new ideas

he loves your creativity, it's one of his favourite things about you <3

#spiderman across the verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the verse #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #spider punk #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #crochet #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader

[terrietont]

The more I think about it, the more silly I get about it.

The security breach animatronics have a lot more of their animal model traits and it’s great.

Chica eats trash- chickens in real life will eat literally anything and you do feed them compost. She bawks like a chicken too. Chickens can also be pretty fierce when they need to be.

Monty- self explanatory for the gator death roll, his strength and brutal force as well as the “chomp” jumpscare. Surrounded by water. Seen as the “lazy” one who hardly wants to perform and also like to imagine he just lays in a big light to “warm up” before show time. Of course the water level in ruin shows his true gator nature too.

Roxy- Sniffs like a wolf, pounces and honestly it makes me giggle thinking that her “Pay attention to me!” Attitude is so similar to my experience with dogs, especially my dog. If you do not pet him or pay attention to him long enough, he will literally paw at you (sometimes smack you in the face) I like to think her robotic tail has a “wag” mechanic too. Gets sad when left alone for too long and can lash out when feeling threatened or attacked. She does also wear a spiked collar it looks like.

Freddy- Big bulking bear, protective of his “cubs” in a lot of sense. Though I feel he is the least animal-like out of the band. He can definitely get aggressive if he feels a child is threatened as seen by the rooftop ending.

Anyway I’m in a silly mood and now I want to see drawings of them acting like their animal counterparts, especially lazy sun-laying Monty with his huge gob open.

#fnaf security breach #glamrock animatronics #montgomery gator #Roxanne wolf #Glamrock Chica #Glamrock Freddy #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf sb ruin

[aerequets]

hug your grief close

ao3

summary: “You came to watch her, right?” He asks, making her tense up. But he doesn’t sound accusatory—he speaks plainly. “You’ve been doing that every night.”

Shock curls in her belly. “You knew?”

rating: G

genres: light angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: **based on events in ch 70 onwards of the manga!!**

it seems like i can only write and post fics that are written in one sitting. anyways, this is my first yor-pov fic! i dont rlly know how i feel about this one. it's more serious which i feel is harder to pull off but i should probably go to sleep so im just posting it even though it may not make sense <3 enjoy and thank you for reading!

title taken from a (very roughly) translated line of a poem by Allama Iqbal

Yor has started watching Anya sleep.

On the days Yor puts her to bed, she hums her a lullaby, sometimes reads her a story, until the girl’s eyes finally droop shut. Before, she would tiptoe out of the room once Anya’s light snores filled the air. Now, she stays frozen by the bedside until her legs are creaking when she gets up. She doesn’t even do anything most nights—just traces the soft curve of Anya’s cheek with her knuckles, sometimes. Smooths down her fine hair.

Eyes the faint marks on her neck until her jaw aches from grinding her teeth.

She’s a little embarrassed by this new ritual of hers, especially since Anya herself seems so unruffled by the events from the week prior. A bus hijacking, a terrorist threat, bomb collars—and Anya is cheery, ecstatic at the second stella she has received for her bravery. Her bravery. Yor does not want a little first grader to have to be brave, not like that, but she fears voicing this strange thought will expose her for the fake mother she is, just like her new obsession with making sure Anya is breathing will expose her as an assassin. The assassin that failed to kill all of Red Circus. The assassin that, inadvertently, put this girl’s life in danger.  

It is why she keeps her nighttime habit a secret. She takes extra caution to slip out silently—which, given her natural tread, ensures she’s quieter than a breeze—so that Loid will never find out. She feels a different kind of guilt when she sees him. She came into this family and put his own daughter in danger, and now she kneels by that girl’s bedside as if she has any right to. But every night, the desperation wins out over the guilt and she stays.

It’s different tonight, because Yor isn’t able to tuck Anya in. She comes back home late from a job—a job in which she has to triple, quadruple check to make sure she’s truly eviscerated every last person, which takes an extra thirty minutes. She had told Loid not to stay up, that she’d be really late, and had apologized for leaving the nighttime chores to him. He’d smiled, benign, and told her not to worry. The guilt multiplied. He probably wouldn’t be smiling at her if he knew she was the reason his precious daughter almost died.

The house is dark and silent. Yor knows how to pick apart the shadows and see if people are hiding, so she knows their apartment is free of danger, yet her heart rate still spikes up. She hasn’t seen Anya yet.

She quietly slips out of her work clothes, changes into pajamas, and ties her hair back before tiptoeing into the hallway. She keeps the lights off, but the moonlight from the living room window illuminates her surroundings and sends a slat of light into Anya’s room as she cracks the door.

A slat of light that falls onto Loid’s form before she can pick him out in the dark.

She freezes as Loid turns around and meets her eyes. Guilt and panic slam into her from opposite ends, and she has to stop herself just in time from crushing the door handle in her fist.

What is he doing here? Is her first thought before she’s scolding herself. What kind of question is that? She ’s the intruder here. She has to make up an excuse.

“I—I was—”  She left something in Anya’s room? But she never comes in here unless she’s tucking her in. She hasn’t been in Anya’s room all day. She has no reason to be here. “Um…”

“Come in,” he whispers, catching her off guard. She hesitates before slipping inside and closing the door behind her. It’s only once she’s inside that she registers the way he’s sitting, parallel to Anya’s bed with his legs bent and arms wrapped around. She imagines he might lean his head on his arms to look at Anya’s face. It’s the way she does it.

“You came to watch her, right?” He asks, making her tense up. But he doesn’t sound accusatory—he speaks plainly. “You’ve been doing that every night.”

Shock curls in her belly. “You knew?”

He shifts and does exactly what she’d envisioned before, leaning his head into the crook of his arms. Curled up by Anya’s bed, house clothes wrinkled and hair mussed, Yor thinks he’s like an unraveled ball of soft yarn. In the past week, Loid had been the same calm, collected rock for the family that he’d always been. While she felt like she was going to fall apart, he remained orderly and efficient, sorting matters out with the school and doing whatever else was needed without so much as a frown. She didn’t see him keel over once. She had the brute strength, but between the two of them, she thought he held it together far better than she ever could.

“I saw you,” he says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I do the same thing.”

“Oh.” The shock quickly turns into remorse. Has he been waiting for her to leave Anya’s room this whole past week so he can get time with his daughter? She’s been getting in the way of this real parent and child, and selfishly so. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way.”

“What?” He straightens. “You aren’t.”

“R-right…” she replies, shaky. It suddenly hits her—she has no right to be here. Not just in Anya’s room, but here. In this family. Maybe she could have fooled herself into thinking it was alright before, but now? Now Anya has the marks of a collar on her neck. Loid is the one who deserves to tuck her into bed and see that she’s sleeping and content, not the one who put her at risk to start with. If only I’d been more careful, more diligent. If only I’d been better. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone—”

“Wait.” He’s reached up and caught her hand in his own. The sensation is so warm and jarring that all Yor can do is blink, bewildered. He releases her hand just as quickly, hovering in the air. “Um, sorry. I just…” He looks up at her. She feels like she is caught in time as he searches her face—for what, she doesn’t know. His face is stonecut, sharp planes softened by the cloak of night and muted moonlight beyond Anya’s curtains. His eyes are inscrutable as ever, but she has to tamp nerves down for every second that goes by. Her heart, wretched thing, has no sense of time or place and is beating nearly out of her chest.

“Don’t go,” he says eventually. Her expression must not inspire confidence, because he repeats, “Don’t go. She needs you here.” And then, swallowing as if trying to force the words down and barely audible: “I need you here.”

She sits down across from him, mirroring his position. She knows she shouldn’t be here, but how is she supposed to say no to that?  

They’re silent for a while. Yor turns to look at Anya, at the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the sheet. They were so close to losing it all. Yor has come much closer to death, but has never felt as scared of it as she is now.

The first thing she’d felt last week upon finding out was rage, white-hot and searing. It was exactly the thing Garden condemned, and heavens knew Yor had nearly two decades to flush that volatility out of her system, but it was inexplicably there. She thought the only thing that could quell that rage would be drenching her hands in Red Circus blood. Until she saw Loid’s face.

His expression had been tight. Most of all, it had been closed off. She felt like he usually had a placating smile at the ready, so he had almost felt like a stranger, tense and coiled up to strike. She saw him wring his hands. Then the rest of what happened had been a blur, a whirlwind of calls and schoolbuses and frantic media until they had Anya nestled in their arms, maybe too tight but assuredly safe.

The thing was, by the time they’d been made aware of the situation, it had already been mostly taken care of. Yor wasn’t used to having things done for her. She was used to ripping what she needed from the world’s grip whether it was ready to give it to her or not, which might have been why she felt the need to make sure Anya was alright every night. Because she didn’t know how else to assure she was okay. Maybe Loid was the same, restless with a sense of urgency sprung inside him that had nowhere to go.

But Loid was good. He was real, a true father. He wasn’t like her.

When she turns away from Anya, she finds Loid is looking at her again. She has to suppress the fighter's instinct to tense up and force her muscles to relax. “What is it?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Are you okay?”

“Uh?” Yor, confused, points to herself as if he could be addressing anyone else. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” he says, the barest trace of a smile on his lips that makes her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “You’ve seemed down.”

“Oh. Isn’t that a normal thing to feel after what happened?”

“No, of course. I…hm.” He clears his throat. “I guess, besides that, I thought something else was bothering you. I apologize if it’s presumptuous—”

“It’s not,” she interrupts softly. She ducks her chin down so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. “You’re right. I think all this kind of made something clear to me.”

“What’s that?”

“I… I don’t know how to do this, Loid.” The words come out sounding more desperate than she’d have liked. Her voice is embarrassingly shaky as she admits, “Being a mother. Keeping Anya safe. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She covers her face, mortification and tears building up with similar ferocity. It’s quiet for so long that she begins regretting saying such a thing, until Loid says, “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“What?” She sniffles. “But you do. You’re so…put-together. You always seem to know what to do. When we found out what had happened, I had no idea what to do, but you…”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he says. There’s a bitter undertone to his words as his hands tighten around his elbows. “I was sitting around while Anya… while Anya was…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I keep thinking, Yor. If I hadn’t insisted she go to Eden, dragged her into all this, she wouldn’t have had to go through all that. What am I doing?”

Yor hovers, unsure of her place. Was this her place? Did she comfort him? What did a normal wife do in this situation? Should she act like a normal wife or keep a distance?

Loid takes in a shuddering breath, dashing all her thoughts away. To hell with it, Yor. None of that matters. She leans forward and captures his hand in her own, making him look up at her. His eyes are rimmed with red. Hers are probably no better.

“You were not just sitting around,” she murmurs. “You got us through that nightmare—all of us. And you can’t blame yourself for a butterfly effect like that. You only wanted the best for Anya, right? The only ones to blame for the situation are the terrorists.”

He considers her words before pulling their hands down to rest between them. He rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “Then it’s the same for you. You keep Anya safe, but it isn’t your fault she was in danger. It’s not your fault.” He looks up and Yor can’t stop the tears from finally slipping down her cheeks. He doesn’t know the truth, she tries reminding herself, but it’s futile—his words, inexplicably, comfort her as they always have.

He somehow makes it feel like he completely understands her, different as they may be. Perhaps she doesn’t deserve it, but Loid said it himself: She needs you here. I need you here. Her family. She wasn’t going to step out on them now. “It’s not our fault,” she says, relishing in the relief those words bring to her chest.

“It’s not our fault,” he repeats, voice dropping. He lifts his hands and wipes the tears on her face with the pad of his thumb. They’re close and the nerves make a rapid return as Loid’s eyes dart between her own, hands large and warm and still cupped around her face. He slowly approaches and her breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut, when she feels a gentle pressure on her forehead instead. His hair tickles her as he leans his forehead against hers.

“I’m glad you’re my partner in all this,” he admits. “Thank you, Yor.”

He’s thanking me? She thinks, lost for words. When she thought of all the things he had done for her, it seemed almost impossible to match up. But…

She glanced out of the corner of her eye where Anya lay, fast asleep. With the way she slept, they needn’t have been so quiet during their conversation. She was safe and soundly sleeping with a smile on her face and her plushies in her arms. As for Loid? I’m glad you’re my partner in all this.

She had to be doing something right.

“Me too,” she replies, a wide smile brimming. “Thank you, Loid.”

#spy x family #sxf #spy x family fic #sxf fic #my fic #my writing #twiyor #loidyor #loiyor #loid forger #sxf loid #yor forger #sxf yor #anya forger #sxf anya #agent twilight #thorn princess #twilight #sxf fanfic

[vargamornight]

angel and spike's relationship and their eligibility for the shanshu prophecy have got my brain on puree and i'm tossing episodes in one at a time

when spike was first turned, immortality was a gift. he could live forever! the first goddamn thing he did was go to his mother and turn her. he told dru the three of them can travel the world together! it didn’t go well, but that was okay, because he still had dru, and she was his everything. she was his whole world, his sire, the woman who gave him life. she was his destiny. spike-as-william was perfectly content to just live with drusilla, and angel and darla, because he loved dru, and she loved them. they were family, they were his home, and that was all he ever wanted. just somewhere to belong.

and that pissed angelus right the fuck off. angelus, whose first act as a vampire was to kill his father, whose love for darla was more like rage, who took every opportunity to slaughter and bathe in the blood of innocents, could not fucking stand that this guy was just like "hahaha that was so funny when you killed that guy. anyway, i think i'm just gonna go hang out with dru." angelus didn’t want love, or peace, or contentment. he wanted to rip heads off of shoulders, eat babies, and rape teenaged girls. seeing spike so well adjusted made him genuinely angry, so he did something that he knew would ruffle spike's calm: he slept with dru.

ever since then, they've hated each other. angel literally started it, but neither of them was ever particularly kind about their retaliation. angel tortured spike emotionally and psychologically for like a hundred years, and spike had angel physically tortured for like, three whole hours for information, plus spike definitely went after buffy (in more ways than one) just to piss off angel. but even without a soul, spike was never anywhere near as bad as angel. not even close.

so angel gets a soul. it's an enormous burden, because of how much of a shitstain he's been for the past 150 years or whatever, and he suddenly is capable of guilt again. it's a curse.

(but then he sees a 14 year old girl, the one girl in the world who might put him out of his misery, and he, a 27-slash-200 year old man, literally immediately decides he's in love with that 14 year old girl. okay dude. sure.)

angel becomes a good guy and joins the fight against evil, instead of just eating rats and not dying, because he wants the girl to like him. she does, they bang, he loses his soul again, tortures her psychologically, kills some people, gets sent to a hell dimension, gets out, and leaves. honestly, can't blame him for that one.

angel leaves buffy voluntarily so that he won't/can't hurt her by being a shitstain without a soul again.

and then there's spike. spike basically just noodles around, delivering threatening monologues from rooftops while watching one protagonist or another, and it's very cool and scary until it's time for the dastardly plan to kick in, at which point everything immediately falls apart like a cartoon car with no bolts, leaving spike blinking comically, holding a steering wheel and sitting on air. spike refers to angel as a drama queen several times, and he's not wrong, but he is very hypocritical.

spike gets to sunnydale and goes after buffy for fun, fails terribly, then succeeds at kidnapping angel, who he needs because dru, the light of his life, his moon and stars, his effulgent beauty, his destiny, is not feeling well and he needs the blood of her sire to heal her. that's it. no real ulterior motive, no "i'm gonna getcha" threats, just. business. his wife is sick and he's getting her magical chicken noodle soup. it just so happens that the chicken in said soup is angel, and spike has no problem with that.

then he continues noodling around, tortures angel about a ring, fails terribly, goes back to sunnydale, and immediately gets caught and collared by the literally underground military group operating out of a california college campus. and then he can't hurt humans anymore without getting a migraine, and he's the world's biggest baby, so he is effectively neutered from here on out.

gradually, he learns to be less of a shithead, and falls for buffy the real way, the long way, the hard way—he sees her, and he knows her, and he learns to respect and love her. he is dogged in his pursuit of her. relentless. because even when she tells him to back off, she kisses him right after. she's putting on a show for the benefit of her own pride, and he knows that, and he understands, because he believes it when she says he's beneath her. he knows it. he's not good enough for her, and he never could be.

but he could be better.

so he leaves. he goes and gets his soul back. he fights tooth and nail to get it, almost dying several times in the process. because he's not being cursed with a soul—he's earning his. he's proving, once and for all, to himself, to angel, to buffy, to everyone, that he is better than what everyone thought he could ever be.

and, just in case anyone had any doubt, he goes back to sunnydale and he does the one thing angel could never do: he gives his life to save the goddamn world. burns up, knowing he's leaving buffy behind, knowing there's no coming back from this. knowing, ultimately, this is the only thing worth doing. he dies, not for buffy, but because it's the right thing to do.

and that pisses angel off, too.

he's like, why the fuck should it be so easy for him? all he has to do is die and now suddenly he's a hero? a champion? angel's spent a thousand years suffering! that has to be worth more! that has to mean he's the better man! because if he's not, if spike can be weighed against angel and find a balanced scale, then he suffered for nothing! and spike barely suffered at all! (factually untrue, but angel doesn't exactly see clearly when it comes to his protege) so, no. he does not keep his cool when it turns out spike is eligible for the shanshu prophecy just as much as angel

and the reason for all of angel's dumbfuck behavior is made all too clear when he tries to convince spike not to claim the shanshu prophecy for himself: "it's a burden. a cross. you have to live."

diagnosis: terminal catholicism

angel is catholic and spike is not and that's why all of this happened the way it did.

p.s. also: SPIKE WITH A SOUL WAS NOT A DIFFERENT MAN THAN THE SPIKE WITHOUT A SOUL WHO LEARNED TO BE GOOD. he put the fucking work in, he just needed it to be official. like a high school diploma. "went through hell and here's the proof."

p.p.s. also: the initial angelus getting mad was because angelus totally wanted to fuck spike, took him on a date, and spike bailed to hang out with dru, so angelus had revenge sex with dru. canon.

#btvs #angel the series #spike btvs #angel btvs #spuffy #spangel

[whyycherry]

It's been a while but I have become so infatuated with rqg and I adore these four so much, I miss them a lot :( rqg has been getting me through my first weeks at uni I'm so grateful for this podcast! Anyway here are my first designs for the lolomg gang

[ID: Two headshot sketch pages of Rusty Quill Gaming characters. One page is the sketches with colour and the other is without. They are of Azu, Hamid, Sasha and Grizzop.

Azu is a black Orc with a buzzcut, she has two tusks, the right of which is broken and on the same side of her face she has an eyebrow slit. She has long eyelashes and a gentle, kind gaze. Azu is surrounded by a large pink aura and wears three earrings, two are on the left and are cuffed and one on the right is a golden oval. Her ears are short and slightly pointed. A pink scarf drapes over her shoulders. You can also see part of her armour which is high golden collar with floral engravings.

Hamid is a brown halfling with slicked back dark curls, one curl is dropping infront of his face. His side profile is gazing downwards slightly with a soft smile and his ears are upwards pointing. He wears a small golden earring, a purple robe, ruffles and eyeliner, he has a small beauty mark under his eye along with long eyelashes. Golden flower doodles surround him.

Sasha is human with extremely pale, white skin. A burn mark stretches over one side of her face and creeps over her nosebridge slightly. She has dark eyes and eyebags and thick and scruffy eyebrows which are much like her hair that is flipped over to the left and half shaved. Her hair has a slight spike to it. She also has a white patch of hair near the back. She wears a studded leather jacket, a turtleneck and a slightly awkward but smug expression.

Grizzop is a Goblin with grey skin and wide fully red eyes, along with a sharp toothy grin. He is bald with thin eyebrows and had two very large pointy ears that stick outwards on eachside of his head, he has three arrow earrings in his left ear and a half moon symbol earring on the right. In my sketch you can see reminiscence of his armour. His head is gestured upwards confidently and eyes are looking down slightly. He has dark grey freckles. End ID]

This is my first time doing an image description so any feedback would be helpful <3

#rusty quill #rusty quill gaming #Rqg #rqg sasha #rqg hamid #rqg azu #rqg grizzop #rusty quill gaming fanart #rqg fanart #rqg lolomg #sasha rackett #grizzop drik acht amsterdam #hamid saleh haroun al tahan

[michinnyun]

Fashion Choices

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader

Summary: You've been giving Steven a hard time about his wardrobe lately. It's not that you don't like when he wears a collared shirt on top of another collared shirt, you just want him to try new things. Then him and Marc decide to tease you about it. Big mistake. Huge. // Chapter 1 is only with Steven. Chapter 2 will be for Marcy-Marc

Tags: Sharing Clothes × Lingerie × Teasing × Established Relationship × Pure Smut × Sub Steven Grant (Marvel) × If You Squint × Dom/sub Undertones × Masturbation × p in v × Enthusiastic Consent × Breeding Kink × No use of y/n × Woman on Top × for the majority of it lol × Multiple Orgasms × Unprotected Sex × Rough Sex

Words: 2.8k

Ao3 link

Steven has a lot of collared shirts. Like, a lot of them.

“You dress like a lesbian,” you tell him one day, laughing when you see that he's layered one of his button ups on top of another collared shirt.

He scoffs. “I can’t believe you just said that to me during Pride month.”

He manages to dodge the book thrown at his head, but he isn't able to dodge your questions after that.

“Why did I find another collared shirt in your bag?” you ask, showing him the reusable bag he'd brought to the shop earlier that day.

He pouts. “That’s for Marc.”

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s adorable. “Nice try. Marc almost exclusively wears crew necks.”

He doesn't meet your eyes. “Jake, then.”

“Jake dresses like a newsie in 1920’s New York.”

Steven groans. “Would you deny me my comforts, woman?” He pulls you into his lap, peppering kisses to your face that make you scream and laugh, trying to escape.

“I just want you all to try branching out!”

His eyes roll back into his head, Marc staring back at you now, intense as always. “Why would we want to do that?” he asks, pressing searing hot kisses into your neck.

The sudden shift in persona and mood makes you dizzy. You don't know if you'll ever get used to them doing that.

You gasp softly, grabbing onto the crinkly-soft fabric of Steven-Marc's starchy shirt.

“Marc,” you murmur, letting him trail a hand down your side. You haven't seen him in a while, and he’s clearly happy to see you, based on the way he's insistently pressing himself into you.

“Baby,” he mumbles back, licking a line up your neck to your earlobe, a white hot spike of arousal shooting down to your clit. You arch against him, letting him lift you and press you into the table, his hand riding up your shirt and teasing a nipple. You can feel how wet he’s making you, the way only your boys can. He laces your fingers together and kisses the back of your hand, ducks down to kiss your neck again-

Then, he stills. “Anyway, lots of work to do today, love. Better hop to it!”

Steven pulls away from you and grabs his stuff, leaving you stunned and frustratingly horny as he heads towards the door.

“W-wh-” you stutter.

“Don’t question my fashion choices!” he shouts, letting the door shut behind him. You narrow your eyes, huffing.

Oh, he’s in for it now. __

Your boys aren't coming over until later. It’s been two days since the Steven-Marc situation, and you won’t even let them sext you. The moment anything remotely sexual starts up, you shut it down. They’re getting restless. Steven especially. He’s always been particularly needy.

The boutique owner had been terribly nice when you'd explained your situation (minus the “my boyfriends’s’s are a superhero/Avatar/legendary warrior with multiple personality disorder” detail). You’d picked out the prettiest piece together, a delicate lace thing with more modest coverings for your private areas. Something that would drive Steven perfectly crazy.

“If I’ve done my job right, this won't survive the night,” she promised.

You’re slightly fidgety. You've never worn something this complicated before. Nothing for the express purpose of getting fucked.

It doesn't matter, really. Your boys can't resist you. That’s what's going to make this so much fun.

One of Steven’s many button ups is covering your lingerie, which had taken twenty minutes of cursing for you to put on. It’s a soft, purple shirt, your personal favorite. He’d been wearing it the first time you met.

You’re reading a book, or trying. You’ve been skimming the same page over and over in nervous anticipation ever since you got the text he’s almost at your flat.

He knocks on the door, and you answer in nothing but his shirt, your hair done in the way you know he loves. He always makes a comment when you wear it like this, so you made sure it was perfect before he came over.

He kind of just stares at you for a minute, taking you in. Then, something happens, something you've only seen a few times before. They start fighting over the body.

“I don’t- she clearly. This is- Marc. Steven. You-Why d-I- Jake, if you don't- Why can’t I, guys-”

He’s saying this all softly, eyes closed in concentration. You don't want to touch him. You don't want him to have a panic attack, and then have your attempt at revenge/seduction turn into something traumatic.

Finally, he settles, and Steven looks at you with wide, wet eyes.

“Is this- for me?” He swallows hard, looking at the way the fabric drapes over your body, just a little too big for you. You nod sweetly, leading him to bed.

He lies back at your insistence, staring up at you in awe as you straddle him, smiling teasingly.

His hand starts to slide up your thigh, but you swat at it.

“No touching,” your murmur, starting to unbutton yourself for him. He nods, swallowing again.

As the beginnings of your surprise are revealed, you realize he might not be the only one who has a problem with this no touching rule.

They’re fighting over the body again.

“If you’d just- Steven, look at her, I can’t- Stop.” Steven says firmly. You quirk an eyebrow.

“Everything alright in there?”

He nods, looking slightly miffed. “Just- you look really, really good, love. Really good. Don’t feel like sharing right now.”

You blush, then wiggle a little. Steven hisses, clenching his hands into fists. Fuck, he's already hard.

He whines when you finish unbuttoning the shirt, letting the fabric pool at your elbows, letting him drink his fill of your new outfit.

He’s slack jawed, mindlessly moving his hips against you. “Fuck,” he whimpers, letting the word trail off into a growl that ends deep in his throat.

His hands are getting fidgety, so you take the opportunity while he’s distracted to grab onto his wrists and pin them next to his head.

“You’re right Steven,” you purr. “I do actually like your shirts. Maybe I’ll wear them more often.”

He throws his head back, groaning. “I knew that's what this was bloody about, you little minx.”

You laugh, grinding down again bodily and making him gasp.

“That’s what you get for being a fucking tease. You can touch when I’m done with your punishment.”

If Steven’s eyes weren't so dark, you're sure you'd be able to see how his pupils are blown wide with lust. He looks ravenous, depraved. You haven't even kissed him.

“Yes,” he murmurs, even as he struggles against your grip.

You let him go, and hum happily when his hands stay in place.

You unbutton his pants, licking your lips as you pull out his cock, hard and leaking for you. You smear a pearl of precome weeping from the tip, relishing the sounds he makes.

You lean down, letting the crotch of your lingerie grind over his hard length. “You’re so mean to me sometimes, Steven. Just wanted to be a little mean back. Give you a taste of your own medicine.”

He whimpers. “Not trying to be mean. Just-just-”

“Just?” you ask, slowing down until he gasps and his hands twitch.

“Just wanted to prove a point,” he finishes lamely, arching his back so he can press up into you. You tsk at him, but allow it.

“Wanna take this off, pretty boy?” you ask, running your hands over the lace covering your plush breasts.

He nods frantically, craning his neck up so he can see a little better, get a little closer. You push him down with one hand, increasing the friction on your clit while you press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“Later. Good boys get to undress me,” you hum, grinding down and chasing the rush of him pressing against your most sensitive spot. His eyes flutter shut, finally surrendering to you.

“Steven,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth, traveling down his neck and sucking marks into his skin.

He grunts a response, too far gone to really answer you. You leave your tongue over the salt-heat of him, listening to his rattling breaths and stuttering heartbeat.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur against his neck. “My good boy.”

His hips jerk violently against you, and you stop moving completely. He freezes.

“I’m sorry,” he says frantically, but it's too late.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. You spread your legs, hovering over him and moving your panties to the side so you can rub your clit.

Steven’s mouth hangs open, devastated yet unbelievably turned on.

“Now you get to watch me come,” you say, gathering some of the wetness leaking from his tip to soften the friction. “And you can't do anything about it.”

He whines, shutting his eyes closed and growling in frustration. You spread yourself wider, letting your legs rest on the tops of his thighs.

Steven loves making you come. With his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Masturbating in front of him is still hot, but it frustrates him more than anything that he’s not the one making you feel good. Little does he know, the sight of him all hot and bothered is usually what gets you there faster. Like right now.

You feel it starting to bubble up, a deliciously warm orgasm that you’ve been depriving yourself of for days since the shirt incident. It takes a little while, but you finally peak, your fingers bringing you to completion at the sight of Steven Grant, helpless and completely distraught underneath you.

You lean forward until you're burying your face in his neck again, your thigh muscles still contracting pleasantly.

Steven hesitates, his hands moving from where they're meant to be to gently hold your waist. You purr, nuzzling into him so he knows he has permission. You're much more agreeable now that you know he’s suffered sufficiently enough.

He kicks his pants off the rest of the way, still gentle, careful not to disturb you in your good mood. You move a little, unbuttoning his shirts until the smooth expanse of his chest is warm under your palm.

“We’re matching,” you murmur happily. He chuckles nervously, one hand moving to cup the lace covering your bottom.

“This for me?”

You nod. “Don’t question my fashion choices,” you say, nipping at his ear lobe.

“Of course not. Never,” he says, running a hand over your garter belt appreciatively.

He reaches behind to move your panties aside, dipping shaking fingers into the wetness you’ve made for him. “Fuck,” he whispers, practically throbbing against you.

“You can go ahead,” you tell him, yawning. “Want you to. Want you inside, Steven.”

“Fuck,” he says a little louder, grabbing his cock where it's trapped between your bodies and sliding it between your legs to bring it home.

He lets out a breath he's been holding in, and you bloom under his fingers, legs widening to accommodate his girth. You’ve had enough teasing, and it looks like Steven has too.

He fucks you at a brutal pace, whining and gasping into your hair while you press sloppy kisses into his jaw.

“So good,” you whisper, encouraging him. “So good. My Steven.”

“I- hah, love you. Fuck.” The easy glide of him inside you isn't enough to make you come again quite yet, but you give a valiant effort. You suck at the tender spot under his ear, the one you know drives him crazy, and his hips stutter.

“Pretty girl, wearing my clothes and putting on nice things. Don’t deserve you, do I? So good to me,” he murmurs into your ear, one arm holding you close while he uses his other hand to push down on your lower back, using you as his little cocksleeve.

“Steven,” you gasp, grinding down harder onto him until you feel blissfully over sensitive, the fabric of his shirts rubbing against your skin while he fucks you hard, the way he’s been waiting to for days.

He groans out your name before he bites down on your neck. You mewl, bearing down on him before you sit back so you can ride Steven properly. He hangs onto your thighs for dear life as you move in earnest, pulling off him fully before slamming back down onto the length of him.

He brings his hands up to cup at the intricate lace designs covering your breasts, snapping the strap of your bra before he thrusts into you so hard that you can feel him in your guts.

“Fuck, can’t get enough of this little pussy,” he says, watching himself disappear into your tight heat. He moves a hand down, pressing a thumb to your abused clit and making you black out a little.

“S-Steven,” you stutter, no longer able to conjure competent speech, not when he touches you like that.

“Yeah, you like it when I touch you? Should’ve let me earlier. Even if you were mad at me,” he rambles, rubbing tight circles that make pleasure travel up your spine.

“Wasn't mad,” you whine. “Just wanted r-revenge. And I-I-” You can’t think about anything other than Steven’s hands on you, bringing you to the precipice of another sorely needed orgasm.

“I know, love,” he coos. “You got what you wanted. Now let me get mine.”

Your head tips back a little before Steven pulls one of the cups of your bra down, sitting up and sucking a pert nipple into his mouth. Your chest is still criss-crossed by straps and covered in lace, and Steven is clearly frustrated by the extra covering which he had found so sexy earlier.

“Steven,” you say breathlessly. “Gonna come again, I-”

“It’s okay,” he mouths against your skin. “You can come. Come all over my cock, love. Wanna feel it.”

He flicks his tongue against your tight bud, and you’re overwhelmed by sensation. Just a little-

You reach your hand down to give your clit a little more attention, and finally your second orgasm of the night claims you.

You milk Steven, making him choke and moan against you as your head tilts back and you cry out into the empty apartment.

Then Steven does something that you didn’t expect. He rips your panties off of you.

“Steven,” you gasp, despite remembering what the boutique owner had said about your outfit not lasting the night. “Those were expensive.”

He flips you over, pulling out and rubbing his cock between your folds. “I'll buy you a new pair,” he says, melding his mouth to yours before he pushes in again.

If you thought he was giving it his all before, you were mistaken. Steven’s fucking you at a punishing, brutal pace, pulling at the straps of your lingerie until one by one they all snap off of you and you’re left bare in nothing but shredded lace and his button-up.

You whine, the result of two orgasms making Steven’s conquest an easy slide. Your eyes roll back into your head a little. He’s relentless, insatiable, biting the meat of your bottom lip and licking into your mouth, fucking you so well that you know you’re going to be thinking about it for weeks.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he stutters. “I’m never going to get enough of you. Fuck. Fuck. I-I’m gonna-”

“Come in me,” you beg. “Steven, Steven, come inside.”

He looks into your eyes. “You want me to come inside? Fill you up? B-breed you?”

You wrap your legs around his back and pull him closer into you, making the angle deeper. He groans, wet sloppy sounds accompanying his increasingly quickening thrusts.

“Come in me, Steven,” you kiss his cheek. “Come in me. Breed me. Please, please.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

He pulses inside you, coming hard like you've been daydreaming he would for the past few days. You kiss the side of his head while he buries his face into your shoulder. “Perfect,” you whisper. “Perfect boy.”

He whimpers, still not relenting in filling you. You’re a little surprised. This is the longest an orgasm has ever lasted for Steven. You must’ve taken a lot out of him.

When he’s finally finished, he lets out a big sigh. You rub his back, nuzzling into him and wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to stretch out the moment as much as you can.

“Will you leave me alone about my wardrobe now?” he says into your neck, slightly muffled. You laugh.

“Sure. Only if you promise to wear a t-shirt once in a while.”

He groans. “Deal.”

#REMINDER THAT IM A GAY PERSON BTW #so no one come for me abt that joke in the beginning please and thank you #if you have not been making this joke all month then i'm sorry i don't know what to tell you #anyway happy pride month #my fic #moon knight 2022 #moon knight #oscar isaac #steven grant x you #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader

[katsukikitten]

Thinking about Bakugou being annoyed every time you show him cute little chokers and "collars". Always saying you and him should get matching ones, the conversation always ending with a glare and your brows furrowed. Downtrodden before you force a giggle and say it was a joke anyway. "No one can collar a sick dog and his stray can they?"

Yet still he lies awake on a mission at one am when he should be sleeping. Thinking about what he said. Thinking of all the dynamics, possession he was used to but ownership? You made it clear from the get go that no one owned you, no matter what you said or liked between the sheets. You were by far the most independent woman he knew.

So why the hell did you want a cute and discreet little collar? Well there would still be equal in the power dynamic so to speak since you wanted him to have one too.

Growling from losing yet another fuckin night of sleep to this he rolls over, snatching his phone from the bedside and researching. Hours and hours of endless research until he finds the perfect one for you and one for himself.

After weeks of being away you welcome him with open arms. Pulling him into a hug, crushing his ribs as you giggle. Telling him how handsome he is and how much you missed him. Feigning normalcy but he can still feel your fingers feathering over him in search of wounds.

When you find none you pull away, giving him a soft kiss.

"Gotya somethin." He tuts, kissing your forehead.

"Oh yea? Lemme guess." You take him in a moment, trying to find any trace of where he may have been. A game you always played and sometimes it was scary how accurate you were. You can smell the salty air on his skin and your eyes light up.

"Another big shell!" The conch from a previous trip sits on your bedside, the first thing he ever brought back.

"No, now close your eyes pretty girl." You pout but thankfully you don't brat, at least not right now. Closing your eyes and your long lashes kiss your cheeks. Something soft goes around your throat and a small jingle can be heard before you feel Bakugou's warmth pull away.

"Open." He barks, your fingers fly up to your throat and you turn towards the mirror in the foyer. Soft little pink and black leather choker with a small rose gold bell and when you turn back to tease him about needing to get him one too he has a box in his hands, open and waiting. A spiked silver chain on top of dark felt.

"Am I gonna have to put it on fuckin myself?" He teases and your sharp claws are quick to grab at the necklace. He hunches closer to you for ease as you clasp the necklace around his thick neck.

He steals a kiss while he's down there, looking deep into your eyes.

"Looks like you caught a sick dog." He cups your cheek before following your jaw to rest where your shoulder meets your throat. Your smile wide and full of mischief as you answer him.

"And you found a stray."

[katzenprinz]

Tuggoffelees prompt: Tugger follows Misto to his human home and becomes the thing that wouldn’t leave.

“…what is-“

“I don’t know, and he won’t leave.”

“Did you take him outside?”

“Yes! All morning! Every single time he’s gotten back in somehow. The windows are all closed and locked. I shut the chimney flue. I even checked the attic, but there are no holes. It’s just like-“

“Just like when Butler disappears and we look everywhere just to find he’s been asleep on the back of the couch the whole time?”

“Pretty much.”

“Where is Butler?”

The woman points at the very large, very fluffy creature now occupying the entire circumference of a basket with a round pillow inside it. Amongst the fluff, when the man leans closer, a small black ear can be seen.

“I think Butler brought him home with him,” the woman says. There is a pause. “He didn’t want to cuddle with me at all, but he followed me all over the flat for a bit and let me rub his ears. Even the little tufts. And the two of them have been inseparable.”

The man crosses his arms over his chest. “It was enough of a fight already finding a flat that would let us have one cat. They’re not going to allow us two. And I’m not sure that thing is even a cat. Not a domestic one, anyway. He’s got stripes and spots, both.“

“I think he’s what’s called a cashmere bengal. I looked up cat breeds. But he’s definitely also maine coon. That’s why he’s huge.”

On second look, the man can’t even see the basket that the ‘cat’ is curled up on because he spills out of it so much.

“We still can’t-“

“If you can get him to leave and not get back in somehow, then fine,” the woman says, even as she reaches over to stroke the strange cat’s fur. “But you know Butler always somehow does his vanishing act any time our landlord comes round. For all they know, this handsome beast could’ve always been our one cat we moved in with. Aaaand, Butler has cried every time I’ve tried to put his friend out.”

The man doesn’t seem convinced, and bends down to lift up the sleeping cat. It immediately awakens and writhes to escape his grip. And from the basket, a tiny meow of protest roses from the now-revealed black and white cat that is Butler, who is less than half the strange cat’s size.

Two hours later, the man slumps onto the couch. The woman laughs as the cat who had just been yowling at him and scrambling to get out of his grasp jumps up onto his chest and lays out down practically the whole length of the man. It begins to purr so loud it could probably be heard over half of London.

“Alright. I give up. He can stay.”

The woman beams, going to the hall and then quickly returning holding a black leather collar studded with tiny spikes. “Thank god!”

#cats the musical #mr mistoffelees #the rum tum tugger #tuggoffelees #sorry this one took me forever to respond to!! #this may not have been what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it~ #holden writes #my writing #drabble #cats the muscial