#(the way i always have brain rot regarding this)

[thebitchywitchyone]

I’ve got two jobs and I’m writing slow, but here’s a snippet of my brain rot to satisfy yours 💛

Lucanis smiles at her as they leave the eluvian room to climb the stairs up to the main level of the lighthouse. “You notice so much about us all, Neve. I don’t think I even know what color Emmrich’s eyes are.”

“They’re Hazel,” Neve says with absolute certainty. “A good deal of umber with flecks of emerald and chartreuse.”

Emmrich looks at her with no small measure of surprise as they mount the last step. “Why in the world do you-“

“Ah Rook!” Neve says loudly, drawing the other woman’s attention before she could finish crossing the vestibule and disappear into her room. “I’ve got that package of oil pastels from Cabbage and Sons. They send their regards.”

Imogen hurries over to excitedly accept the parcel. “Thank you, Neve! You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugs. “It was on our way. They said they added a few extra on the house since you were going through them so quickly.”

He watches Imogen fold the unassuming brown paper back to look. “Oh! Emerald and chartreuse. That was nice of them; I have been using them quite a bit.”

She folds the paper back over her art supplies, carefully not looking in his direction as a blush rises over the apples of her cheeks. “Thanks again!”

Neve looks at him pointedly as she scampers off with her prize. He meets her gaze, heart thumping in his chest. It’s only when Imogen’s door is fully closed that he addresses her.

“Forgive me the assumption,” Emmrich starts slowly. “But I had been under the impression you didn’t approve of me. In general, or in this…circumstance.”

Neve smiles at him. “Rook’s a friend. I had to make sure you were the right sort.”

“Ah.” Emmrich swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Neve waits for him. When he’s sure his voice will be steady he goes on. “As her friend you must know her quite well. The…casual flirtations she’s often prone to…”

Neve looks like she wants to laugh at him. She doesn’t, but he can suddenly see the seldom used smile lines on her face. Beside them Lucanis pretends to rub his chin in order to hide his grin behind a hand.

“I’ve never known Rook to be a casual flirt,” she tells him. “Or a flirt at all really. Her last relationship was- well. It was years ago and ended poorly. No one’s sparked her interest since.”

“No one?” He asks dumbly. That can’t be right. Imogen is witty and intelligent. She’s very easy to talk to, so ready with a kind word or to help those around her sort out their issues. Not to mention how stunning she always looks, with her dark hair and plush-

He’s blushing now, to the tips of his ears.

Lucanis claps him on the shoulder as he moves past him to escort the detective away with a quick “Good luck.” Emmrich almost misses the “and well done!” he also mumbles under his breath.

Yall, I need some fanfic recommendations. Preferably on AO3. With Emmrich x Rook (female or non binary). I’m looking for mutual pining, they don’t realize the other likes them, Emmrich being worried about his age, that type of thing. I’ve been reading “The Romantic Misadventures of Corva Aldwir” by MuseumCat on AO3 and that is super good I just need more.

I’ll also take spicy fic recs but mostly I want the fluff.

[godzexperiment]

~the thoughts about nix's choice of weapon consumed me~

the way, nix's default and go to weapon is knives- how his go to blade in most verses is an pocket knife he swiped on his way out.

-it being an close, personal weapon if he does end up having to use it. *in an case throwing isnt viable* (how interesting that can be as it means when he does an first stabbing especially of the fatal sort- it's rather direct contact to add onto the horror of having done so)

-especially that he is not really violent; despite his demeanor. *most verses at least* so the way he is always fidgeting with knives/throwing them is scary seeming to lots but it's usually just him vibing. (it's noticeable when its an stabby type of intent/mood) -certainly something to be said that it reflects, mirrors his inner turmoil (the desire to be known, closeness. the way it's such an personal/close way of hurting or taking another life even if just for him internally. especially that first time.) -just has an fondness for knives; he can't quite explain why things like twirling one between his fingers is mostly an soothing thing etc but it's habitual formed from time up in heaven too so it's not a habit he can break

-which sure he practiced with say like swords at times, but was permitted to mess around with knives so he did just that and it stuck to him *didn't even quite learn/practice fighting techniques for intended purposes it was mostly boredom+self entertainment* -also! the way nix in 'human' verses namely in vega just opting out overall but favoring knives (no memory- but trusty ole pinprick always with him) however proficient at various weapons/lingering micro adjustments ability etc. pretty often only has his issued side arm on to not get in trouble. -^ the real big thing is his ability as an sniper, rather prefers to be super reliable support from an distance. (not as some say cuz he's an coward) it does mirror, reflect the distance he prefers to keep from people. but also that he'll very much protect others just in his own way.

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby

- gojo satoru x reader

a domestic life with your husband and baby

genre: teeth-rotting fluff, sugary dump fluff, and simply pure fluffff, baby-related, mentions of pregnancy, dad!gojo

note: inspired by this fanart by Deltapork in twitter! from the moment i saw that artwork, i just can't get this out of my head😫

and this is a part of a series of gojo drabbles i’ve planned called gojo's love entries anthology -> updated masterlist here

general masterlist

Watching your husband entertain your child would never fail to make you smile.

"Aw, my cute baby!" Satoru joyfully exclaimed as he and the baby, secure in his hold, emitted almost harmonious squeals of delight. Both of them practically shared the same brain cells at this point.

And it was a sight that warmed your heart so much, especially when the old Gojo Satoru was a prick who used to made little Megumi cry just for the sake of it and always said that babies and everything that came with them were a pain.

He playfully devoured your son's plump cheeks and burst into laughter, paying no attention to the curious glances he garnered from other shoppers at the supermarket.

"Satoru, hush," you chided gently as you pushed the cart, yet still smiling all the same.

"Ah, look, mama doesn't approve," he remarked to your babbling son, wearing a playful pout. At the same time, your barely seven-month baby puckered his lips too, turning him into a perfect miniature version of your mischievous husband at his best, melting your heart even further.

"It's time for his milk," you pointed out, retrieving the milk bottle. Satoru reached for it and offered it to your baby, who eagerly latched on and started drinking.

Your precious baby continued to feed on the formula, clearly relishing it. It appeared that he couldn't get enough, with the way he drank with such enthusiasm.

"He's a hungry baby... just like you," you mused.

Satoru laughed out loud once again. "Why are you comparing a baby with a grown-ass man?"

Your son was still drinking the milk and seemed like he wanted more, but you could definitely tell how content he was in that moment.

"Because it's your baby, duh. And not only he looks like you, he's also reflecting what you've been doing to me so far, it's uncanny."

"So I've turned our son into a mini-me now, have I." He regarded you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And what have I done to you, darling? Tell me."

"...A lot of bad things."

"Heh, is that so?"

The baby then stopped drinking and seemed to want you to cuddle him, as he reached his tiny hands towards you. Satoru handed him over to you, taking the bottle away, and you gently pulled him close, cradling him against your chest.

"Yeah. Bad, bad things," you cooed to your baby, your eyes sparkling with joy. "First you seduced me, then got me pregnant. And then you forced me to go through that painful labor."

Satoru didn't miss the way the clerk eyed him after you said that. But he chuckled anyway. "Well... in the end you fell for me, and I probably seduced you a bit..."

He paid for the groceries and then the two of you walked out of the supermarket.

"But is that so bad?" He continued with a meaningful smirk. "You seemed like you love it so there's nothing to complain about."

"Hmph."

"And then I got you pregnant... well, you wanted a baby, dear, so you can't really be mad and blame just me for it all, okay?"

The fact that you were having this crack conversation at a crossroad made you struggle to stifle your laughter, to say the least.

Your son was still cuddling up to your chest and now he was looking at you with those wide, glassy blue eyes. You could tell how much he liked and needed you, as well as spending time with you, his mother.

This is your baby with the man who loves you. How could you not love him in return?

Satoru looked at his son in your arms. “Our son is the cutest, isn’t he?”

He seemed tired more than anything though, with the big yawn he just emitted.

“He is so… defenseless.”

“Well, he’s a baby,” your husband said matter-of-factly. “That’s how babies are, darling. He’s learning how to do things and completely defenseless, so he needs his parents. You and I.”

Your baby’s eyes became a little droopy. He was sleepy now, and wanted your warmth to fall asleep.

“Let’s… protect him together, yeah, Satoru?” you muttered softly as your child settled in your embrace, peaceful and content, falling asleep.

Your heartstrings were pulled when you witnessed the expression of absolute adoration on your husband's face.

“Silly. I’m the one who will protect both of you, sweetheart.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

hobie brown (spider-punk!!) is giving me severe brain rot, i love him sm 😭

if you ever decide to write for him, could you do some relationship hcs??

ty ^^

Not sure wether this is what you wanted but I hope it was worth it.

Music from the heart:

One of the most obvious ones is that Hobie would have a plethora of songs about you, it’s fucking adorable and so sweet, and so he would play them for you within the comfort of your room because where else would you rather be serenaded?

If anything it makes the moment more special and memorable for the both of you as something you can look back on with fondness.

Though you probably try teasing him one day by asking how many more songs of you he had in the works and Hobie would either say ‘too many to count.’ Or ‘a whole albums worth.’ He’s not going to hide the fact that he’s got notebook after notebook filled with song lyrics dedicated to you.

Pda though not quite:

Hobie isn’t the type to heavily involve himself in PDA but isn’t against the likes of:

holding hands.

his hand being placed on the small of your back when guiding you somewhere else.

the classic arm over the shoulder.

Thigh holding

His/ your head resting on each others shoulders and or laps.

Guitar pick:

This one came to my head out of the blue but I’m gonna add it here even though I’m not too certain but here it is anyway:

if Hobie uses guitar picks to play his guitar -which he probs doesn’t but idk- I’d like to think he’d make you a guitar pick necklace from one of his old picks.

Sure he hates gifts and such but this is the sole expectation alongside any and all handcrafted jewellery you may give him because he wears that shit with pride.

Terms of endearment:

Love

Darling

Sweetheart

Impromptu sleepovers:

Hobie crashes at your place more often then not to the point he might as well be living with you in regards of how often he leaves something of his at yours, so much so you’ve begun to wonder if he was doing it intentionally or accidentally.

Either way you made sure that his stay was comfortable by having a makeshift bed set up for him so he didn’t have to constantly sleep on the uncomfortable couch and wake up with a crooked neck.

Hobie appreciates all that you do for him but would often tell you it’s not necessary but you weren’t about to get into a discussion about whether or not he was deserving of help because the answer was obvious and that answer would always and forever will be; yes.

Also he’s a bit of a cuddle bug but only with you but that’s your little secrete.

Date nights:

Most, if not all of your dates are either just the pair of you being your natural selves in the comfort of your own home where’d you would talk about anything and everything that came to your mind, free of judgment.

or

showing Hobie your undying love and support by showing up to his gigs and scream the loudest because he is talented as shit and deserves a lot more in your eyes.

Either way as long as you were within each others company, anywhere you both went could be considered a date.

Spidey business:

Now this is all dependant on wether or not you know he’s Spider-Man:

If you did then you’d probably would help him patch up his wounds after every fight he had

Or

If you weren’t due to Hobie wanting nothing more then to keep you and that life as far from each other as possible, you’d most definitely would be concerned when you see him with any sustained injuries he tried patching up himself.

No matter how hard you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, Hobie would just tell you it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Meeting his friends/ Bragging rights:

Before introducing you to the likes of Pavitr, Miles and Gwen(if you haven’t already met her), it’s almost an 100% guarantee that he brags about you anyway he knows how which only intrigues them more and more to the point they’re just pleading with Hobie to introduce his cool, kickass partner to them.

So when he does, the three are practically hounding you about your relationship with Hobie and when you looked back at him for help in wrangling in his over excited friends, the little shit merely smirks and shrugs his shoulders as though he had no idea they’d react like this, all the while leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest; happy to see all his favourite people he cares about a lot interacting with one another to the point that by the end of the day you’re very good friends with each of them.

[luludeluluramblings]

Hi so I was having some brainrot regarding your small-town-neglected-meta reader and I wanted to share them with you!

One thing I've been thinking about alot is the way readers powers work and what kinds of weather they're likely to create, etc. One thing I specifically thought about is that readers powers definitely have to come from her mom's side. Bruce and no else in Bruce's biological line have powers so readers mom has to have the meta gene. I was thinking that maybe readers mom also controlled the weather a bit, maybe not as strong as reader can but still had some powers.

Like creating little drizzles, maybe some dustdevils, and little snow storms. Because her powers were so weak she never really used them for much, maybe to help out her own parents on the farm but that's about it(using her rain powers to easily water the crops)

In that same line of thinking I also wondered if readers little brother also has superpowers. Maybe the way his powers work or appear are bit different than readers because of they have different dads(I imagine Bruce has really strong genetics. If Damian is any proof of that lol)

One little crank in this little headcanon though is that Nana and Gramps would also have to have superpowers. But then I reread the first chapter and thought about One of the phrases you used to describe how reader got in Bruce's hands.

"but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court."

That specifically makes me think that Nana and Gramps are actually readers little brother biological grandparents and not theirs.(what happened to their bio grandparents 🤔)

But anyway, one last thing I wanted mention is how badly I want to see reader using their powers more freely when they're back in small town. Like they aren't afraid to use their powers to make it super windy and have fun with their little brother up on the sky. Or causing a blizzard just so they can have a snowball fight and make snow-men with their little brother. Or even accidently cause a power outage because someone pissed them off! No more suppressed emotions just freedom. (Also reader crying in the middle of the rain they made in front of their parents graves(they wanted to be buried in their hometown) would be so tragically fantasic.)

Anyway I know this is a lot to read and I'm sorry if I seem a bit scrambled but I wanted to send this to you just cause I had so many ideas floating up in my brain I couldn't stop thinking about it all. Thank you for listening to me ramble, I hope your doing amazing🩷

Your call this bain-rot, Imma call it fertilizer. This is long as mess, but I think I addressed everything. Lots of Smalltown!Reader lore and I made a Family Tree to help explain if needed.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Smalltown!Reader's Family Tree:

Complicated little bugger, ain't it? I didn't add Stephanie or Barbara because Bruce technically never adopted them or fostered them. This isn't an official thing, I made this and it was composed of little bits of information I found online. So some of this stuff might not be lore accurate.

Also, while I was researching I found out that Bruce's middle name was apparently Patrick, after his grandfather at one point.

Now, time for the pseudo science.

I consider the meta gene to be a genetic trait carried down by a parent. That would be Momma/Adeline, in this case. She carries the gene. Now, the meta gene does not always activate even if one has it. So, no, Momma was not making mini storms for us. She was, however, very encouraging of Reader using their abilities. It takes an event, usually a traumatic one, to activate the gene. (Little Brother could be getting power's in the next chapter, though.)

As for Nana and Grand Daddy we have this:

They don't have the gene, so they don't have abilities. (Which doesn't me their harmless.) They are Reader's Step-Grandparents, but they've grown to love them all the same. Now, in court, it is preferred for a child to go to the nearest blood relative after their parents die. Or, at least, that's what I roughly know from what the court in my state is like. I'm not from Louisiana or New Jersey, where Gotham's located, so maybe it's different. But, this is fiction. This is why Nana and Grand Daddy didn't get custody of Reader, though. Plus Bruce is rich with a bunch of adopted kids, on paper he looks like the best option.

☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎

I really love the thought of Reader using their abilities for silly little things while back in Smalltown, at least before things absolutely go to hell in a hand basket. So I'll probably include a bit. (They used to do things like that before moving to Gotham, definitely.) Something I want to mention is that Reader likes to make it rain when their happy. It's their favorite weather, they love it. So a grave scene might be a bit different. (I have to include that now. Thank you for that idea! Frick, Part Eight about to be long af.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

If your curious about Reader's other grandparents, they just died from old age and health problems. I like to think that Reader had a close relationship with them. Calling them MawMaw and Gab for their nicknames and having spent a lot of time with Reader and their Little Brother before they died. (I'm sorely tempted to just commit to rewriting this with the OC I based Reader off of so I can include all this backstory to highlight how different their life in Gotham is compared to what it used to be, but I best finish what I started first.)

(Side Note: It's very common in the American south for people to give their grandparents nicknames. I have some for my southern grandparents, while I call my northern grandparents just plain Grandma and Grandpa. The nickname can vary and is usually what ever the first grandchild comes up with.)

Thank you for sending me this ask! Stuff like this actually inspires me so this was wonderful. Hopefully this helps. (Now to get back to work on my writing, I've been draggin' my feet again.)

[hyuckkaiji]

a pretty girl's needs - abby anderson x f!reader

summary; clearly, abby enjoys when people are mean to her, and if that's what she needs, that's what you'll provide

word count; 2.3k

warnings; 18+, explicit content, shameless sub!abby smut, ahhhhhhh, mentions of owen

note; I want, no, need to dom her. The abby brain rot is real. She's my pretty girl and I wanna **** ** ******* *** **** like there's no tomorrow. also why is writing smut so hard 😭

Your fingers trailed over the row of CDs, the plastic cool against the tips of your fingers. A hum played at your lips as you failed to find something that suited your current mood. “You’re music sucks, Abs.”

You turned to face your friend when you didn’t get the snarky reply you’d been expecting. “Abs?” The blonde sat on the couch, undoing her braid with practiced fingers. Her gaze was trained on the floor, not having registered your words as she was too lost in her own jumbled thoughts.

Your bare feet padded softly on the wooden floor as you walked over to her . “Abby?” Concern laced your voice as you stopped to stand in front of her, your feet obscuring her view of the worn wood.

“I fucked Owen.” She admitted guiltily, before groaning, bringing her hands up to hide the blush that was creeping across her freckled cheeks. She tossed her head back, letting the couch support the crook of her neck as an exasperated sigh passed her lips.

“Abigail.” Your tone was reprimanding as you crossed your arms over your chest. You knew she was well prepared for your reaction when she peaked at you through her fingers before letting her hands slip. She leaned forward, her hands braced against the cushions on either side of her thighs as she looked up at you through her lashes.

She knew to some extent the way you feel about her, she has to. There’s no other way to explain the way she weaponizes it against you. With fluttering looks and soft touches just barely brushing your skin every time you’re upset with her, she knows how to play your strings and she does it without regard.

“It was an accident.” She spoke with a softness that all but caressed your skin with its near sense of intimacy. God have mercy on your soul. She playing with you, like you’re her favorite toy and you could never break.

But break you will, there is no other way to describe to the heat in your chest, the lack of control you have as you snap at her like you never have before. “An accident?” You scoffed at her, “What? He slipped and just somehow ended up with his cock inside of you?”

She looked taken aback, you were by no means the gentlest person but always you were gentle with her. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” She defended herself.

“No you never do. You’re always done with him, until you’re not. He always treats you like shit, until he doesn’t. And I’m the one that has to hear you bitch and moan about the same situation you keep putting yourself into.”

“Fuck,” you raked a hand through your hair, stepping just a little closer to her, just close enough to feel her suck in a breath that hitches in her throat. “It’s like you enjoy being treated like shit Abby. Do you like when people are mean to you? Is that what gets you going?” Her lips parted slightly, still staring up at you stupidly. It drove you insane, she drove you insane.

“Bet it makes that pretty little clit throb doesn’t it? You just can’t keep your hands to yourself when he’s mean to you. Do you need it Abs? Is that what you need, pretty girl?”

You want to say you don’t know what came over you, but you do. Years of watching her run back to that obnoxious prat after he hurt her, years of being the shoulder she cried on. Years of pinning after her slowly chipping away your resolve, your sanity.

Abby said nothing in response, though she didn’t need to really, she already given all the answer you needed. The slight rise and fall of her chest as she tried to hide her quickened breathing, the subtle shift in her thighs as she pressed them ever slightly closer together, the way her fists attempted to bury themselves in the cushion.

She was still staring up at you, pretty blue eyes watching you almost expectantly. She was truly a piece of art, art which you consumed daily, taking in every subtle shift of her body like it’s your life line. A twitch of her fingers, a crinkle of her nose, you had studied all of it, memorized every little thing about her.

You had learned her body as best as you could from a distance, sure you hadn’t fucked her the way Owen had, but God you knew you understood her body in ways he never could.

You turned on your heel, walking at a pace that portrayed control over the situation. Leisurely, taunting her. You knew she wouldn’t walk away, wouldn’t even blow out a breathe that risked shifting the tension that laid heavy in the air.

You pulled down a bag from the top bunk of her bed, knowing where she kept everything, occupying her space as if it were your own. “What are you doing?” Her voice was near a whisper, though she made no move, only letting her eyes follow you.

You ignored her question, smiling to yourself as your fingers wrapped around their destination, pulling out a rope. You silently walked back over to her, letting the rope dangle from a loose grip at your side.

“Stand up.” You commanded.

Abby watched the rope cautiously but nonetheless obeyed you. It’s quite funny really, the way she towered over you in every sense of the word but still waited for your word. Such a good girl.

You let your nails rake softly over the exposed skin of her arms, goosebumps raising in the wake of your touch. You pulled her arms behind her back, making quick work of the knot before taking a step back to admire your work.

You walked back around to face her, pushing her back onto the couch with the faintest nudge of your fingertips against her shoulder. She dropped like you forced her with all your weight, even the faintness of your touches having unprecedented control over her.

“You enjoy it don’t you?” You stepped closer, using your knee to nudge her legs further apart, giving you space to stand between them. “You like when he’s mean to you. Admit it.” Your voice had dropped to a near whisper, tone attempting to coax her like a dangerous animal.

“I don’t.” She all but whimpered the words. “Abby, Baby. I know you. Do you think I don’t?” You gripped her jaw harshly, leaning down so your lips were a hairs breath away from hers, “I know when you’re lying.”

She closed the gap, her lips smashing clumsily against yours as she tried to keep herself balanced. You fingers snaked into her hair, wrapping securely at the base of her skull, giving a sharp tug on her soft blonde locks.

She gasped, giving you an opening to slide your tongue into her mouth. She whimpered into the kiss as you used your grip to pull her further into you. Using your free hand to pull the sofa forward with her.

You pull away from the kiss with a pop, releasing the bite you had on her lower lip, she fell back with sofa. Landing with a soft thud on the makeshift bed.

She looked up at you with glazed eyes and puffy pink lips. Such a powerful woman undone into this mess from just a kiss. You smiled down at her, a cruel smile, a predatory thing. You were going to ruin her, you wanted to break her. Make her yours, make sure the only person she could ever think about again is you.

You climbed on top of her deliberately slow, drawing out the actions, her anticipation was palpable. You settled your legs on either side of one of her thick thighs. Letting your knee just barely brush against her clothed mound, making her jump at the contact.

“Please.” Abby let out the word breathlessly. “Please what baby, I need you to use your words?” How you had dreamt of this moment.

“Please touch me.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end, she was holding on to her composure by a fraying thread. You nuzzled your face into the hallow between her shoulder and neck, inhaling her faint scent of trees before brushing your lips over her pulse.

You could feel the way it rushed, ever quickening in the face of your torment. You let your tongue trace over a prominent vein, bringing you up to her jaw, peppering kisses over the soft skin there, watching as Abby’s eyes fluttered shut.

You abruptly bit down on the soft flesh of her throat, making her jerk in surprise beneath you. You licked over the angry read mark, soothing the abused skin. You did it a few more times just for the amusement of watching Abby pant and screw her eyes shut, trying not to react to the sudden pain.

You kissed you way down her torso, over the bunched fabric of her white shirt, reaching the exposed skin of her hip. Kissing, nipping, sucking pink patches into the sensitive skin, enjoying the way she whined and bucked beneath you.

You undid her cargo pants with nimble fingers, sliding them off and discarding them somewhere across the room with a flick of your wrist. Settling on you knees, you pulled Abby closer, close enough for your breath to fan over the evident wet spot on her boxers.

“Is there where you need to be touched baby?” You pressed a chaste kiss on the soaked fabric, just over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

She could only mange a quite plea, attempting to buck her hips back up to meet your face. Your forced her to lay still, your fingers digging cruelly into her soft flesh. “Use your words.”

“Your mouth, fuck, please, your mouth.” You clicked your tongue against your teeth, “Atta girl.” Your fingers looping beneath beneath the band of her boxers, discarding them with the same disregard you did her pants.

You took a moment to admire the view before you, fucking breath-taking. You licked a stripe from her hole to her clit, moaning against her as you began to swirl your tongue in a slow pattern. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck oh my God.” You watched her, arms straining against their hold, trying so hard to break free and touch you, push your head further into her.

You pressed a quick kiss before pulling away, making her whine. Moving to litter her inner thighs with soft pink hickeys, your fingers collect her slick on two tips and drag it up to circle her clit. “Just like that. Just like that.” She repeated your name under her breath, whispering to herself like it was her own sacred prayer.

You could feel her thighs tensing beneath your lips, see the way she was arching off the cushions, golden hair splayed around her, lips parting in quieting moans. Her voice loosing traction the closer she got to coming undone.

You watched her, tracking her reactions and pulling your hand away just as her whole body started to tense, mouth falling open in a silent moan. You snorted a soft laugh when she collapsed with a groan, struggling to push herself up enough to give you a glare.

“Oh come on. I’ve waited how long and you really thought I’d give it to you that easily.” You gave her still throbbing clit a tap.

You gave her a hand in sitting up before pulling her into another bruising kiss. Pulling away only to take her shirt off best you could, the fabric pooling around her wrists, caught on the knotted rope.

“Come on pretty girl.” You moved to lay beside her, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at her. “Work for what you want. I want you to use my thigh to make yourself cum or I’m not touching you again.” She opened her mouth to protest but closed it when you beckoned her with a curl of your fingers, pointing down to your still clothed thigh when she started to move closer to you.

As soon as she settled herself flat against your thigh you pulled her down with you, quickly unclasping the front latch of her bra and letting it join the tangled mess around her wrists.

She picked up pace, rocking her hips against you as you latch onto a pert nipple. You guide her to ride faster with hands on her hips, pushing her down harder as she chases her climax. “Good girl. Good, pretty fucking girl.”

“Please.” She whimpers, her movement starting to stutter but she moved fervently. You could feel the wet patch she’d made on your pants, her juices soaking through to coat your skin. “Please what?”

“Please can I cum? Please.” You leaned up to capture her breast in your mouth, assaulting the skin with teeth and tongue as you hummed in approval, fingers digging into her ass as you rocked her against you.

It hits her all at once, making her tense and arch into you. Her head falling backwards, gasping as she struggles to maintain any sort of herself. When she comes down from her high, you shift out from beneath her, moving to undo the restraints before she collapses, exhausted.

She lays on her side, one arm splayed over her stomach and the other pillowing her head, utterly content. You watch as her eyes flutter shut and her breathing shallows out, your own quickening as anxiety takes its hold on your heart. Ravaging as sense of composure you had.

“Abby.” You lay down next to her, mirroring her position, teeth nawing at the inside of your lip. She hums quietly, eyes still closed.

“I'm sorry.” She finally looks at you, soft blue eyes tracing your features. “Why?”

“I- This. I don’t know.”

She laughs, short and sweet. “Y/n. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to make your move. It’s about time. And by the way I didn’t fuck Owen. You know he’s never even made me cum. And besides, there’s no going back now.”

All you could manage was a small “Oh.”

[noforkingclue]

I warned you it's brain rot. It's Tommy Shelby brain rot-

But Tommy Shelby has a nurse who knows not to ask too many questions, who lets injured Peaky blinders into her house and helps them quietly. He's been there himself, so has Arthur, John. Finn once, too, but for a scraped knee on the street.

And Thomas has always regarded her as one of his-his men, his assest, whatever. And he's been slowly learning about her-she talks when she works, to distract, put them at ease, and it lets him learn more about her-she likes horses, for instance. Where she grew up, the basics of how she ended up here-and he pays her well enough, and she doesn't seem fool enough to turn coat.

But there are moments...moments where he's injured, where it's her and him in the room, smelling of blood, of pain and that soft voice and comfort-and he knows in those moments she's not just his nurse. Not just a healer he wants to keep around because her stitches are clean and neat, and her mouth shut.

So when Grace the fucking barmaid squeals about her to the coppers-he's not exactly a happy man. And Tommy Shelby angry is a sight to behold.

Note: requests are currently closed

Of course anon! I hope I got all the details in the request as it was a long on!

Enjoy!

Title: Vengeance

Warnings: descriptions of violence against women

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshititsfenharel, @lenaskyler02, @elenavampire21, @swordofawriter, @zablife, @cillmequick, @polishcrazyone, @nataliewalker93

Thomas Shelby tag list: @alreadybroken-ts, @darlingdevil, @lyrxbz, @watercolorskyy, @notyour-valentine

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Arthur growled, “once we find out who did this their going to wish they hadn’t been fucking born.”

“Arthur-“

“They fucking hurt y/n,” Arthur said, “Y/n? What has she ever done?”

“She fucking helped us,” said John, “how many times have you been to her?”

“Not as much as you fucking have.”

Tommy was looking into the main bar, smoking silently. He had remained quiet while his brothers discussed what happened and their plans for your attacker. Well, Arthur and John had. Finn remained quiet and very pale, clutching a glass of whiskey so tightly that Tommy thought he was going to break it. That would only add to their problems seeing as you wouldn’t be able to pull the glass out. Tommy had seen Finn wiping his eyes but subtlety was never Finn’s strong points.

“Boys.”

Polly stood in front of Tommy. He glanced over her shoulder and looked at you huddled in a booth. Polly pushed her was passed him and Tommy shut the door behind her.

“How is she?” asked John

“What a fucking stupid question,” snapped Polly before sighing and running a hand over her face, “how do you think? She needs time so, don’t-“

“You need to leave.” Said Tommy

“Excuse me?” said Polly, venom in her voice

“I’m going to speak to her.”

“She doesn’t need that at the moment, especially from you.”

Tommy looked over and locked eyes with Polly.

“I need to speak to her.”

“Tom-“ said Arthur

“Fuck off.” Tommy said as he left the room

Your head jerked up when you heard the door open but you seemed to relax slightly when you realised it was only Tommy. He sat down opposite you and was vaguely aware of his brothers and Polly leaving. Neither of you spoke for a while. You ran a thumb over the rim of your glass and Tommy lit a cigarette and offered it to you. You took it with shaking hands and his eyes dropping down to the cuts on your hands. Deep scratches along the palms of yours hands, knuckles had the skin scrapped away. When he looked up at your face he felt the familiar bubbling rage resurface.

Your left eye was an ugly purple colour and swollen shut. Your bottom lip has been cut open and starting to scab over. Your nose was now slightly crooked and he could see the traces of blood around your nostrils. From the way you drew deep shaking breath, wincing every so often, he guessed that your ribs had been broken.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “this shouldn’t have happened.”

You took a deep drag of your cigarette and said,

“I knew that this could happen when I started helping.”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

“I work for the Shelby’s.”

“Which is why we’re going to find out who did this and kill him.”

You blinked in surprise and smiled bitterly.

“Never knew you cared.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re one of us.”

And maybe it was because Tommy liked you a bit too much. You always helped him and his men, probably more often then you should’ve. You stayed up late, humouring an old (and secretly lonely) man. Telling him stories of your life before the Blinders, telling him about your day and in return getting some small snippets of his life in return. In the dark of the night, in a room that smelt of blood and alcohol, the two of you grew closer.

And it was this that had sealed your fate.

“Love, you need to tell me what you can remember.”

“I… can’t.”

“Anything.”

“They blindfolded me.”

Ah.

“But, he had an accent.”

“Hmm.”

“Irish, I think.”

“Irish,” Tommy let out a chuckle, “think I know who you mean. He’d hate for you to call him Irish though.”

“Huh?”

You jumped when there was a clink by the bar. Tommy looked over at it sharply and saw Grace by the bar. A tense silence fell over the room before Tommy said,

“And how long have you been there?”

[thetempleofhades]

victors and fools

i just finished the whole lyney and lynette court case and oh my god..... i had to write something out for it because i'm full of ideas and no way to get them out other than my silly little brain rots.

it's surprising that a crime could take place in such a place as The Opera Epiclese, but you're not surprised that Furina is taking her chance to try and prove herself superior to the powerful outlander, especially after her first attempt was foiled by none other than the accused.

But even then, you don't interfere. You see no reason to, after all Furina would never stoop as low as falsely accusing someone to get her way, neither you nor Neuvillette would allow her to go that far.

Speaking of Neuvillette, he's one of the other reasons you're not interfering. He takes his job of Chief Justice seriously, as he should, for the sake of Fontaine and the justice it upholds. So, the outcome will be the truth.

You don't really care about any of that, you want to see the Traveler in action as an attorney. It should be funny enough to see them bring Furina down a peg.

As much as you adored her, she could be arrogant at times. Sly and demanding, you usually didn't mind but her near desperation to prove herself above the traveller and paimon was becoming annoying.

You sat in a seat that had been guided to, where everyone could only look up and see you, watching it all pass on with amusement or a contemplating look.

as the trial came to its conclusion and Furina's accusation was proved wrong, she looked over at you as you got up. Your starry eyes glanced over at her, unreadable.

That was new. You always allowed yourself to be an open book around those of your acolytes that you spent your times with. Usually a smile graced your face as you looked at her but a frown marred your lips as you turned and left, not stopping even as she ran out after you, shouting after you.

"Y-your Grace!" She called out for you, easily catching up to your slowed pace as she looked up at you, a nervous guilt in her eyes. "I-If I had only known-"

"You accused him and instigated a second duel with the traveler." You mused, looking down at her, the look on your face indicating that you were thinking. "....To prove that you were above them, above the other Archons?"

She frantically tried to figure out if you were truly upset at her. There was no rain or thunder or anything indicating that Teyvat had responded to you upset feelings. She relaxed only a bit. "I am above them! All of them! They were defeated so easily, I won't be. B... But, I will no longer regard them as a threat..."

You looked down at her for a moment as if looking right into her soul before you sighed, the same ever-suffering sigh you always let out when she caused chaos and dragged it right to you. "Haah, what will I do with you?" You rubbed your face gently. "You can be so irritatingly arrogant sometimes. Don't tell me you did this just because you're jealous of the attention and praise i gave them?"

Furina turned her face away from him, leading you to raise an eyebrow down at her form. "...Okay, I won't tell you anything, Your Grace."

"You're insufferable." You sighed as you started to walk forward again, not saying a word as she hurried to catch up to you once more, clinging to your arm. "....That dessert shop you like is still open, do you still want to get dessert? 'One must always have dessert after entertainment'." You imitated her voice in the last part, still looking forward.

She smiled brightly up at you, still clinging to you. "Mmm! Your Grace knows me so well, I'm honored! Let's get dessert!" She seemed happy by it so you let it be.

Just another day for the Hydro Archon and the Creator of Teyvat.

[eupheme]

k08. hate sex + knife play | something’s gotta give

the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.3k

tags: dub con, hate sex, reader & cooper are both dicks, mutual dislike & implied interest, power dynamics, disparaging comments about coop’s anatomy, fighting & violence, pain kink, coercive /taunting dialogue, knife play, oral sex, spanking, rough PiV

a/n: I received a request for a hate sex fic (which I have never tried before!), I’ve been chipping away at it since and finished it for kinktober! hope you like it, anon! 💕

“Know what you’re tryin’ to do,” His voice is low. The drawl stretching the words out - a little shake of his head, as if disappointed.

The next is like a knife, slipping into you. Close enough you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek, words honey-smooth, “Thinkin’ you can goad me into fuckin’ you.”

(Or - when tempers flare, fighting quickly turns to fucking.)

You should have been paying more attention.

Heart leaping into your throat as the feral ghoul lunges at you - a lurch as the barrel of your gun swings up.

Only for something to catch you by the scruff of your vault suit - knock you to the ground just as a much louder gun fires, blood splattering across the floor and your feet.

“What the fuck?” You bite out - a hand rubbing at your left shoulder, where it collided with the metal filing cabinet.

You could’ve handled it yourself.

The Ghoul regards you with a sneer, his shotgun still smoking as it rests on his shoulder, “Well that don’t sound much like a 'thank you', Vaultie.”

It makes your teeth grind.

Always so antagonistic. Bared teeth and looking for fight.

You had hoped for something else, when your paths first crossed. Not so greedy or naive as to expect friends - you’ve been out in the world long enough to know that something like that was an old-world dream.

But you would’ve settled for partners. Even reluctant-but-civil traveling companions.

Instead you got saddled with an old Ghoul that’s meaner than a junkyard dog. Just as dried up as the rest of the Wasteland.

Who rebuffed any attempt to get to know him with sharp words and a sharper glare. Interactions turning into exchanged barbs that dug deep beneath your skin. Heavy looks and heaving chests. Everything inside you twisting up into knots.

It hadn’t taken long to start hating him.

Hating even more that you need him.

That he needs you, in return.

All you know is that he’s looking for someone. That they’re tied to Vault-Tec. The same place you’re heading, looking for information at their headquarters.

He didn’t know computers like you did, in the before. And you were always more brain than brawn.

Two months ago, maybe you would’ve thanked him. Maybe even more, for saving your hide like that.

“Fuck you.” You spit, instead.

Unsteady as you push yourself to your feet - as he scoffs, holstering his gun.

“That right?” A leer then - as he watches the way you wince, steadying yourself against the wall, “You couldn’t handle it, sweetheart.”

The laugh that rips from you is ragged, irritation melding with the flip in your stomach at his innuendo.

“Handle what? I bet that old pistol of yours is rusted up.” Your arms cross over your chest, as your eyes dip down.

“That’s assuming there’s anything left. Heard they rot right off old ghouls like you.” You scoff - his eyes dark, when yours jerk back up to meet them, “Bet that’s why you’re so fucking mean all the time, huh?”

You know it’s not true.

Had gotten an eyeful yourself, couple weeks ago. Stirring just before sunrise, to find him getting ready to piss on the embers of the campfire to put them out.

A scrunch of your nose, rolling over quickly before he noticed. But you hadn’t missed what he was working with.

And as much as you hate to admit��� you hadn’t forgotten.

His answer comes with the swift swing of his hand. A sharp, open-palmed crack against your cheek that has your head knocking against the wall. A metal tang against your tongue from where your teeth bite into your cheek.

You’re launching yourself at him before you can think. A flurry of fists, your knuckles connecting with his ribs. He snarls, a hand wrapping vise-like around your bicep, as he pins you up against the wall.

“Wouldn’t be so mean,” His voice is rough and low in your ear, “If I had some goddamn peace and quiet from all that yappin’.”

Struggling against him as he pins your wrists - your foot kicking out in response, ankle notching around his, sending you both to the ground.

A rough grunt pushed from him as you land on top, thighs spread wide across his waist for balance. The Ghoul’s hands find your hips - his own lifting, as he presses himself flush.

The blood races in your veins - pulsing heartbeats beneath your skin that dip lower. You must make a noise, something quiet and hushed, from the way his eyes go dark beneath the brim of his hat.

“There, now.” The Ghoul rasps, rocking up into you again. Where he stiffens in his trousers, a languid roll against your clothed cunt, “That feel like nothin’ to you, sweetheart?”

The saccharine name is spit out, venomous. Teeth clenched, fingers pinching hard enough to bruise.

Fire licks through you. Heat lingering in your cheek, where he struck. It only makes you want to return it, a hundred times over.

But… there’s something about it.

How that as much as he hates you - there’s still the hard press of his cock against your vault-grown pussy. Whether it’s from the strike of his palm or the way you straddle him, you don’t really care.

It’s still from you.

Beneath that roughened skin, he’s still a man. Not the devil he makes himself out to be.

Maybe it makes you want to see how far you can push him. Maybe he’ll break. A sweet revenge that you can carry with you.

Make him hate himself more than you hate him.

“You’re one to talk,” Your chest heaves, “Seen you watching me. Checking out my ass. Can’t help it, can you?”

He bares his teeth, half-pushing himself up on an elbow, “Only part of you worth lookin’ at.”

It’s far from the truth, but it wounds you. Your hips rut against his as your own hand swings. Only for his fingers to curl around your wrist before impact, using the momentum to roll you beneath him.

The Ghoul is heavy - all that metal and leather and lean muscle pushing you into the wooden floor. A thigh wrestled between yours as you shove at his shoulder.

Your wrist slammed down, a skittering pain lancing through it. He pins you down, breath hot against your cheek as you squirm - trying to throw him off you.

“You fuckin’ want it.” He husks - his mouth so close to yours, sharing the same breath. A press of his knee against your core, a smirk when you inhale a sharp breath.

Pleasure sings through you - an involuntary jerk of your hips against his, where his cock digs into you.

“You wish,” It’s breathed out, missing the fury you intended.

He can almost smell the blood against your teeth. Your lips just ghost against his, eyes narrowed as your foot tries to kick out - but he only drops his weight.

Another nudge against your cunt, where your pulse has settled.

“Would’ve never taken you with me,” The Ghoul rasps, “If I knew what a brat you’d be. Should’ve put you in the ground.”

The threat should scare you. Maybe it would unsettle you, if you couldn’t feel him - full and straining against your hip.

It has you laughing, his eyes pulling down to the part of your lips as you challenge him, “You need me.”

He’s not getting close to what he wants without you.

“You need me a lot more than I need you, sweetie.” He volleys back.

This time it’s you flexing into him, nudging at the heft of his arousal, “That right?”

His eyes narrow. A rough scoff, as his hand moves - fingers spreading to pinch at the hinge of your jaw, holding your head in place.

“Know what you’re tryin’ to do,” His voice is low. The drawl stretching the words out - a little shake of his head, as if disappointed.

The next is like a knife, slipping into you. Close enough you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek, words honey-smooth, “Thinkin’ you can goad me into fuckin’ you.”

You glare - eyes dragging away from his. Caught, and you’re pissed he’s realized it.

“By all rights, I oughta just walk away,” He hums, “But it’ll be more fun to hear you beg for it.”

“Beg for what?” Your retort is shaky, spat in his face, “Bet you don’t know what to do with it.”

He growls, nails biting into your jaw. Rolling off you before his hand is at your collar again, dragging you up and onto your knees as he stands.

“Always runnin’ that mouth.” The Ghoul husks. His shadow spills across you, as he looms. Too tall from this angle, his eyes hidden, “Got a better use for it.”

There’s a throb in your jaw as his fingers dig into your chin. Forcing your face up to his.

“Fat fucking chance.” You hiss - the grip on your suit tightening when you shift, pushing you back down.

A low, rough laugh comes from him.

“And yet here you are, on your knees.”

Letting go of your chin so he can palm himself. Your eyes unable to help fixing on the strain, trying not to shift in place yourself.

“Open up.” He thumbs at your lower lip, your teeth clamping down. There’s the tilt of his head, a slow smirk, as his thumb presses harder.

“Sweetheart, either admit that you’re all talk,” The Ghoul growls, “Or open up. Like I said, I’ve grown tired of all your yappin’.”

You’re not about to lose.

The taste of leather floods your tongue, when he shoves his fingers past your lips. Three of them fanning out, keeping you from clamping down on them.

An added insurance, in the hand that leaves your suit. A quiet snick of the knife that he loosens from his belt. The press of cold metal against the soft spot beneath your chin.

A warning, your eyes dipping down to the blade, the cracked ceiling reflected back at you. Drool pooling on your tongue as he presses down, almost gagging you.

He hums, teeth flashing with his smirk. Waiting until there's the glossy shine in your eyes, tears that prick in the corner as he inches deep, before he withdraws.

Spit strings from your lips, with he tugs his fingers free. Your breath hitching as your teeth bite for the barest moment, his eyes dark as the metal threatens to prick flesh.

Giving you an up-close look as he tugs at the belt buckle. The yellowed resin against silver, an ancient creature caught inside.

His cock bobbing free when he loosens the button, draws down the zipper. A glossy pearl beading at the tip, and you know he sees the flash of teeth as you smile.

The playing field leveled, for the briefest moment.

Before his hand is wrapping around the base. Smearing his skin with your spit, as he works the length in front of you.

Thick and long. Reddened like his skin, and you almost forget where you are - as your head starts to tip forward. Catching yourself at the last moment. Head tipping up, feigning disinterest.

“Come on, sweetie.” He growls. The tip rubs against your lips, “Can’t fool me, I saw that fuckin’ look.”

A scowl, as you open. He inches inside, heavy against your tongue. Another press of the knife when you have to open your jaw wider - the barest scrape of teeth against his skin.

Expecting him to set a brutal pace. To treat you as his words did, but he only jerks his chin upward.

“Get it nice and wet, sweetheart. You’ll be thankin’ me later.”

You bite back the moan, eyes closing as your head bobs. Listening for the groan in his chest, as your tongue licks across his veins.

“‘pecially if you’re dead set on pretendin’ you’re as dry as this desert.”

He throbs against your tongue - velvet, as you take him deep. Fingers twisting in the fabric at your shoulder, his chest heaving as the blade dips, forgotten.

That hum loosens then. A barely-there buzz against his cock, as your thighs shift wider. Something that he still catches, those keen senses firing even as his hip cant into your mouth.

His voice pitches low, head cocking to the side.

“Bet that pussy’s leakin’ for me, ain’t she?”

Another sharp smile.

“Wet little thing, just beggin’ to get fucked.”

It makes you clench. Muscles tightening in your abdomen, thoughts rotten and wanting. Lips glossy, when you pull off him.

“Who's pretending? You really think this is doing anything for me?” You challenge, as his teeth scrape against his lower lip.

“Guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?”

The point of the blade dips down - dragging between your breasts. The tip clicks against each silver tooth, his eyes following.

“You best take this off,” He husks, “Or I’ll do it myself. Ruin your suit, but that’s fine by me.”

The space between your thighs throbs. Things turned fucked up along before you were born. Learned not to think too much about them - your eyes fixing on his, as you tug the zipper down.

Bare shoulders beneath. A threadbare white tank, the matching panties caught with the tight blue suit as you push the fabric down to your thighs.

The Ghoul’s eyes greedy - roving over skin. Narrowing, when your gaze doesn’t leave his. Daring him to make good on his threats.

He’s stronger than he looks. A hand at your bicep - yanking you up and bending you over the edge of a desk before you can draw breath. Trapping you with hands that splay across the stained top, caging you in.

Bare skin against yours. His cock nudged flush, pressing against your ass. You hold your breath, muscles tensed as you wait.

Only for his hips to rock against you. Letting his length slip low, to rub against your folds. A low chuckle, when he feels how you drip against him, slicking him up further with each cant of his hips.

“There she is."

Another lazy rock, until his cock fits between your thighs, hips cradling yours, "Filthy liar, you know that?"

Your teeth grit, fingernails denting the old wood as pleasure flares inside you.

“Not gonna be gentle,” Another rut of his hips, puling back until his cock nudges at your entrance, “Still think you can take all of it? Or you gonna tap out?”

You don’t want gentle. You don’t want his goddamn teasing, the words spat out on the ground.

“I’ve had bigger.”

The knife glints, and you only just now remember he’s still holding it.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He growls, even as he nudges into you, “Got a goddamn death wish, don’t you?”

The Ghoul is answered as your hands brace against the edge of the table - pushing yourself back.

The noise you make is near-feral. The sound made when you rip the hilt of your blade from a corpse, but it’s you that’s being speared this time - his rough curse worth the sudden intrusion.

This is what you needed. Something real, after the litany of veiled-threats and pulled punches.

Metal clattering against wood as his hands find your hips. A growl as you squirm - a lie, before. Too full now, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been stretched open like this.

You think he must know it, with the way he moves. The slow drag out, only to drive himself balls-deep. The fabric twisted around your thighs, straining as you try to inch your legs wider.

Making him feel bigger, deeper, like this. Your heartbeat in your throat, the warning sound coming out soft and pathetic from yur chest when a hand cracks against your ass.

A low chuckle as you bear down around him - spit-slick leather dragging over the curve of your hip, then underneath.

You jolt when he brushes against your clit. The low hum when they slide easily, tracing against where you’re stuffed full of him. Where you’ve dripped against your thighs, smearing against the tugged-down fabric.

Doesn’t have to say anything. Not when he feels how you clench. The minute shift of your hips, the way your back arches as your head dips, eyes closing.

Determined to hold out. Jaw aching as your teeth bite down, swallowing a moan as he pushes you further against the table. Up on tip toe, the angle sending the head of his cock against a spot that has you gasping.

The stretched-full ache bleeding into pleasure.

“Bet you haven’t been fucked like this,” He husks, bending over you - his weight pressing against your back, pinning you further as his thrusts grow shallow, “Is it as good as you’ve been dreamin’?”

That has your eyes snapping open. Pushing back against him, his fingers biting into your hip in warning.

“Haven’t been.”

The Ghoul’s teeth flash with his smile, a knowing look that you miss.

“Sure you haven’t.” He hums, “Just like you’re not aching for it.”

Another grind of his hips, as you suck in a breath. The slick, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, loud in the silent room.

“Just listen to her, honey.” He croons, “Fuckin’ lovin’ every second of this, aren’t you?”

Your snarl catches in your throat, as his fingers brush against your clit again. Sparks shoot through you, skittering up your spine.

“Come on. Say it.” His voice is gravel-rough, circling with each sentence.

“Admit that you've been wanting this.”

Air sucks through your teeth, the lie sweet, “I haven-”

The words cut sharply into a moan, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder. Hard enough to bruise - the taste of iron beading against his tongue - a mark beneath that will match the fingerprints at your hips.

“I-,” You try again, as he hums against your skin, “Oh, fuck-”

It’s too much, the way you hover on the brink. Ready to snatch that knife and stab him, if he left you hanging. Pissed off that’s he’s so intent on ruining you.

Unable to help leaning into it. Into him, as the plunge of his cock and the swirl of his fingers tease at the promise of release.

Your hips moving. Pinned between his and the desk, but it’s enough. Bruises against your skin as you fuck yourself back onto him.

Panting, as sweat beads at the nape of your neck. Teeth biting down on your wrist to muffle the sound, though you can hear him just as loudly in your ear. Feral growls - ragged, as his teeth scrape against your shoulder.

Pain and pleasure lancing through you, your breath hitching as you’re dragged closer to the peak each time his hips snap flush.

“That’s it.” He croons, as another moan slips from you.

“Gonna make you come on my cock so fucking hard, it’s all you’re gonna think about.”

Passing a point of no return. Your body tightening in anticipation, a soft "please" mumbled out into the imprint of teeth against skin. An answering groan, and you’re there, with the next messy swipe of his fingers.

It burns through you, white-hot.

A wail ripping from your throat, nails scraping against the tabletop as your head dips. Your cunt throbs around him, as he makes you come - toes curling in your worn leather boots.

“Fucking Christ, darlin’.” It’s growled out - his rough tone tipping towards disbelief. Hips snapping harder, the desk scraping across broken tile.

“There you go. Knew you could fuckin’ do it.”

Drawing out the current of pleasure that pulses in time with your heartbeat as you come apart around him. The wet suck of your pussy as you gush, slicking up his cock.

You loosen a stilted gasp, as you suddenly find yourself empty. Wet warmth streaking across your skin as he groans filthily in your ear - barely able to wrap his hand aroundm before his cock is spilling against your ass. Between - dripping down wet and warm to where you clench around nothing.

A surge of annoyance coursing through you, at the realization that you’ve never came this hard in your life.

That you’ve always been greedy. That you already know you’re going to want more.

That you’ll wear each other for the rest of the day, and that there’s something deep down inside you that purrs at the thought.

He always did know how to get under your skin.

thank you so much for reading!! 💖 and for going on this little kinktober journey with me! (and forever loving cooper bitching about yapping with he's the one that won't shut up, haha)

[userlando]

can we get max Emilian brain rot? Teasing him with a little show, getting him worked up with lingerie, not letting him touch you uGH

trying to combat my weird writers block aaaahh I hope you enjoy this 🤍

pleasant surprise (1.2k) max verstappen/fem!reader nsfw blurb

You can hear him in the kitchen, pouring himself a sugary drink and humming loudly to a song he’s had stuck in his head for the majority of the day. It makes you smile as you stand in the bathroom, staring yourself down with critical eyes because you want it to be perfect. A good surprise. Something Max will look back on when he’s gone for the week and has no one else but his hand and his vivid imagination.

It’s black, thin and strappy. The lace is so intricate and pretty that you can’t help but run an appreciative hand over the material, admiring the way the cups are holding your tits and enhancing them perfectly. It was hard to find good lingerie that did wonders for your body nowadays, and you usually went for the boring old cotton because comfort was always your first priority in that regard. But you’d gone shopping with Kika in Spain a few weeks ago and had come across this gorgeous set in the display window. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, ignoring your friend’s teasing smile when you purchased the lingerie.

“Babe?” Max’s voice drifted down the hall, footsteps getting closer and you quickly turned around with wide eyes.

“In here,” you strategically placed yourself behind the door so he wouldn’t spot you as he walked by. “I’ll be right out.”

Your boyfriend made a sound of acknowledgement and you figured his attention had been pulled by his phone, because he didn’t say or do anything else as he continued walking toward the bedroom. You took one last glance at yourself, wiping at your glossy mouth until the feeling of the sticky substance irked you; Prompting you to switch the light off in the bathroom before you started going at your face with a wet wipe.

You’d spent too long on your makeup. Granted, Max was going to probably ruin it in five minutes but you wanted to look pretty for at least a few minutes.

The man in question was standing with his back to the door when you entered, completely oblivious to your presence as he tapped away at his phone. His head twitched to the side when he heard you clear your throat gently, but he still didn’t pull his eyes away from his phone screen.

“Daniel just sent me this funny— Whoa.” He’d managed to turn around in his little ramble, light eyes going unnaturally wide as he caught sight of you standing in front of him. He swept his gaze from your toes to the top of your head, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure what words to utter.

His reaction alone made you preen a little, biting down on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay as you took a step closer to him. Max’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes lingering on your midriff before you locked eyes.

“You look—“ he trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

But what his mouth didn’t say, his body clearly made up for. His reaction spoke a thousand words and managed to boost your confidence as you turned around slowly, showing off your pert bottom hugged by the lacy thong. Max made a small noise in his throat, setting his phone down without tearing his eyes away from you before he quickly closed the distance between the two of you.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to take two steps back, tutting loudly enough for him to halt his pace and frown at you in deep confusion. He looked dumbfounded, having been so prepared to put his hands on you and watching you melt like putty.

But your stance was different, rigid back and eyebrows raised on your forehead in a teasing display that made Max’s palms itch with the urgent need to touch you.

“You can’t do that.” He said quietly, confused by your lips breaking out into a wide smile.

He looked a little lost as he reached out his hand to place on your waist, making a sound of protest when you spun out of his reach. His hands balled into fists as he fought the natural urge to grab and pin you against the nearest surface just to hear your squealing laughter.

But he liked this game. Whatever you were doing was making his joggers feel very tight all of a sudden.

“I can and I will.” You said, voice going up in a teasing tone as you took a cautious step forward with narrowed eyes, like you were expecting him to jump forward and grab you. You looked pleased when he stayed put, reaching your arm out to touch his right pectoral with the pads of your fingers.

Max glanced at your fingers, the way they were mapping out the muscles of his skin and he inhaled quietly when you swiped over his nipple over his t-shirt, eyebrows pulling together. It was only when you put pressure in your fingers that he took a few steps back, letting you walk him back until his knees hit the bed frame. He sat down gingerly, reaching for your waist but stopping immediately when you made a noise of disapproval.

“You’re just being cruel.” He said, annoyance pinching his face as he looked up at you and it made you grin because you knew how tortured he must’ve felt.

“I’m being tactical.” You said, gently straddling him and placing both of your hands on his shoulders. “I know that you’re gonna rip these as soon as you get the chance and I paid too much for them.”

Max sucked in his lips to hold his smile back, nostrils glaring with laughter and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“I can always buy you new—“

“No.” You cut him off with a shake of your head, laughing. “Just… enjoy it.” You reached for his hands and guided them back, placing his palms against your ass.

It was hard to contain the gasp when he immediately squeezed, like he was trying to grab as much flesh in his hands as he could. You grind forward with a muted moan and it makes Max swear in your ear as you finally sit crotch to crotch.

You lean forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, smiling at the way he eagerly responds and circling your arms around his shoulders to bring him into you.

“Fuck, you smell good.” He murmured when you separated, eyelids fluttering shut when you kiss down his jawline to his ear, burying his nose in the softness of your hair.

You suck small hickeys into the skin of his throat, paying extra attention to his Adam’s Apple because you know that it makes his eyes roll. Your hands grab into him a squeak leaves your lips when he suddenly drops back on the bed, taking you with him and the expression on your face makes him laugh.

“I’m staying on top.” You said, arching a brow like he’d ever say no to that and he grins like you know he would, pulling a hand back to spank your ass cheek. “Max!”

“Get to it then.” He says it jokingly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes you comply happily.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

this was kinda rushed 🫢 but I just wanted to do this quickly so I could go back to writing my fic. I’m in such a slump rn that I’m trying to get out of but I hope this was somewhat enjoyable. thank youuu for your lovely request 🤍

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” ||[10/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"You're the one, You're all I ever wanted. I think I'll regret this."

— Mitski, "Your Best American Girl"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (live action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

The past echoes behind you, as does the uncertain future that lies ahead. Where you go from this point on, you'll have to be quick about making your decision. There is unrest in the waters, and not everyone knows how to swim.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, Buggy being a simp, flashbacks

A/N: .... Half a year later, and an update. As I've mentioned several times already, I'm sorry for the delay. A lot of things have happened these past couple of months, work has been hella hectic, and I'm moving into a house next month. This chapter is not too long, but I hope it'll do until the finale. If you notice any grammar mistakes, no you didn't.

It's tough to have so much love in your heart but nowhere to put it. It festers in your body, churning until it sours and rots into something unspeakably ugly.

You try not to remember, but sometimes your mind possesses a will of its own; sadistic in nature, taunting you with images of events you wish would leave you be. 

You recall that day. You see images of it flash through the synapses in your brain on more than a few occasions; twisting and knotting until they form an enlarged image of what you have dubbed the day you were acquainted with true pain.

It was a rainy day, not even a month after Rogers departed from the world of the living. The winds were picking up, the ship was rocking like she intended to knock you off balance and leave you at the mercy of the waves. 

Even still, you refused to let go.

The tension between Shanks and Buggy was palpable through your fingertips for a while by then, the reasons behind which were entirely unknown to you. The way they looked at each other was vehemently acrimonious, yet you had no clue as to what had detonated this rift. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think about it?

Maybe you were so desperately naive as to believe that things would stay the same, even when it was plain to see that they wouldn’t.

Buggy and Shanks had always been … at odds with one another, but never in a way that struck you strange before. They were simply like that, for as long as you’d known them. Their rivalry was benevolent in nature, just boys being boys, pirates being pirates.

Not that day.

You had been talking to Shanks on deck, moments before it happened. The subject of your conversation has long since evaded your memory, but that’s all you did. Conversing.

Then, Buggy was there, only that he wasn’t there either. There was something different about the bright blue eyes you used to hold in such high regard. They were cold, inexplicably hostile. 

Foul.

There was rage in his irises, and that had been beyond the kind you were acquainted with. It was scorching, tenfold sharper than the kind you received from your foes. 

Only that he wasn’t one of your foes.

It was Buggy.

Your Buggy.

And you were on the receiving end.

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?!” He demanded in such a way that you felt like it wasn’t him at all. An impostor.

Whether it was the surprise or the shock that ensnared you, you didn’t answer at first.

“ANSWER ME, DAMNIT!”

“Buggy…” your voice was hushed, scarcely making your vocal cords vibrate with each syllable. “What are you—?”

“I saw it, so don’t bother denying it!” 

He stomped over to you, and it felt like the planks beneath his feet were about to break. “Just tell me! Tell me that’s what you’re going to do! Just get it over with!”

You tried to reach for him, intertwine his fingers with your own; a safety line amidst a storm. He never rejected the gesture before, but when your digits fell upon his soft skin, he yanked them off like your touch was molten lava.

His limbs were quivering, hands knotted to fists, burning with heat yet trembling with cold at the same time.

Then, he said three words. 

Three words that would come to haunt you for the next two decades to come.

“I hate you,” he snarled. “I wish we’d never even met. Be with him if that’s what you fucking want! What do I care?”

“Buggy—“

For a moment, you didn’t know how to breathe. 

How to blink. 

How to feel. 

You had been stabbed before. Burnt. Slapped. Stabbed. Whipped. Tortured. 

Long before Rogers brought you with him, you thought yourself well-acquainted with all the pain the world could provide. It marred your bones, painted your flesh, scarred your skin. The indents still stained your arms and legs, your face, yet nothing could compare to the agony that followed Buggy’s words.

Your heart felt hollow; submerged in neck-deep waters with no bottom in sight.

“Buggy,” the corners of your eyes were stinging, yet you could not recall if you were crying or not. The feeling was a foreign one, so much so that you had no way of recognizing the sensation. 

He left after that; turned his back and walked away, and it was the last time you ever saw him in the flesh.

The next couple of years following that incident were blurry, you can’t remember much of it. It was as though your brain decided to dismiss those memories in an act of self-preservation.

You remember staying with Shanks for a time, whether loyalty or self-preservation, it didn’t matter. You stayed until just the mere sight of him rendered your guts to stones. 

You had no reason to resent him. He was good, among the best, but he could not provide a cure for your affliction, so you decided to leave the Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks never begrudged you.

After parting ways with him, it didn’t take you long enough to establish a crew of your own, and a name. “Cross-Hairs”, the moniker you replaced with your real one. It’s been so long since anyone acknowledged your actual one, it’s as if it never existed. 

Some people saw a strong woman with enough broken bones on her record to know she would ensure their survival just as much as she could guarantee their demise, yet they still placed their bets on it.

Thus, the Cross-Haired Pirates came to fruition. Escaped convicts, thieves, general rogues, but efficient people in their own rights.

They feared you as much as they respected you. Your crew was among the most loyal people you’ve ever met. 

If you told them to bark, they’d bite. 

If you commanded them to kill, they’d do so without question, but they’d still leave their lives in your hands. They were your pack of loyal hounds, but you were a wolf in their ranks. Your say was the last of theirs.

You don’t regret letting them go. You had nothing more to offer them after you’d found a reason to stay in Foosha Village. Whatever violence remained in the world; they could find it in your absence. 

Some of them chose to disagree with your decision, demand that you remain their Captain; their checks would never run empty, but they were silenced quickly enough with the swing of your blade.

You’re not proud of the person you were, yet you could credit your survival to her. 

Blood, bones, tears, and pain, it never mattered to you, yet it granted you a superior seat on the food chain.

You became the beast haunting everyone’s dreams. The shadow in their path.

Even so, the pain of other people could not relinquish your own. 

You burned every day and every second for twenty years, so you turned the world to ashes in kind.

———

Long ago, Cabaji found his captain on deck one night with a bottle nursed against his sternum, his back against the railing, and his knee propped up to rest his head on. He was drunk, and although it wasn’t an unusual occurrence on its own, it was still unnerving.

“Captain, you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Buggy answered tightly, lolling his head back and forth. It was dark outside, no moon, yet the first mate could spot the redness across the Captain’s cheeks. “What t- time is it?”

“Just past midnight.” Cabaji frowned at the pathetic display, and with some hesitance, crouched down so he could put a finger on the clown’s forehead. Holy shit, what a fever. “Captain… You’re burning.”

“Burning?!” Buggy wheezed, as if he’d been told the world’s funniest joke. He threw his arm out, bottle raised high, and repeated: “Burning? Oh, that’s just great! I never took you for a jester, Cabaji! That title’s usually reserved for yours flashy truly! You tryin’ to upstage your captain or something?”

“No, Captain.” His right-hand man lightly put his fingers on the clown’s forehead again, mindful of not letting them linger lest he wanted to lose them. “You’re seriously burning up. How long have you been out here?”

“Five minutes, an hour, fuck, twenty years perhaps!” Buggy took another sip of the half-empty bottle in his hold. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it did wonders for his mind. His troubled, asymmetrical library of a brain whose caretaker had long since abandoned their charge.

The jester leaned the back of his head against the hard surface of the railings, tipping the bottle carelessly to the side so that its content could spill onto the wooden floor without any concern. It stained his pants; he'd reek for days, but there was no urgency in ridding himself of the splotch. “How can I burn when there is no sun out, Cabaji? Answer me that.”

“I don’t understand… it’s the middle of the night, the sun will be back tomorrow.”

“MEH! WRONG!” He continued to laugh with no sense of humor. No joy. No nothing. Just hollow breaths meant to mimic his trademark sound. With no short amount of effort on his part, he almost tripped himself trying to get up to his feet. 

His next words almost struck the first mate as … hollow somehow.

“The sun stopped shining long ago.”

———

You can’t sleep, but it has nothing to do with the added weight on your abdomen. 

Buggy, even with his entity body stripped from him, feels heavy and sleeps soundly, and he snores. You can't help but marvel at the view, mindful of your movements as you do. 

He looks to be at peace, completely so. Content. You'd think that he'd be a bit more wary considering he's currently stuck on a ship with people who want nothing more than to throw him overboard, yet here he is.

He's here.

With gentle hands unbeknownst to you, you carefully pry him off of you and settle him back down once your body’s out of the hammock. 

He can rest, you think, and he does so like a newborn.

Even with your body no longer attached to him, you can’t help but marvel at the sight. His eyes are closed, breathing even, as though he’s completely at ease with the world. Light as a feather, you tug a strand of hair away from his eyes and resign yourself to a night of wandering to ease your nerves.

The air on deck is cold. You find Ussop leaned across the steering wheel, sound asleep. You have half a mind to scold him for his negligence, but the other half remind you that in essence, he’s still just a kid. He should rest as well.

So, you find a blanket and carefully pull it over him, hoping that the cold won’t catch him as easily as Arlong’s men probably will at one point.

The waters are calm as you lean over the railings to observe them. The moon isn’t full, but it still dons a soft light across the waters. You relish in the ambience the night sky grants, finding serenity in it all. 

“What’re you doing up?”

You snap your head down to find Buggy’s head poised next to your arms, having hopped over to you on the railing. He must’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, or maybe you had been uncharacteristically caught off-guard. 

He looks tired, but not disoriented as he props himself closer to you. If he’s moody from the lack of sleep, he doesn’t voice it.

“You’ll fall off,” you warn him.

“You can still swim, can’t you?” He points out. 

“What makes you think I’ll jump after you?”

“Won’t you?”

You glance back down at him, and you can vaguely spot an ounce of sincerity in his eyes; a genuine question that conceals the deep-rooted vulnerability underneath. It’s a rare look on him, or maybe it’s the hole of light in the sky playing tricks on your brain.

The two of you say nothing to each other for a while, but your eyes never shy away from each other. To be honest, you have no idea where this … this is headed. You’re not sure what to do about it either. Twenty years has left a gaping hole in your chest, akin to a supernova that swallows everything around it.

Turns out it will still consume any scraps of your youthful affection too, and you can’t tell if it fills the hole up or further deepens the void. You’re not sure you want to know.

“You should head back inside,” you finally say. “It’s cold outside.”

“So what?”

“Being a head surely leaves you at a disadvantage against the elements, does it not?”

If he had shoulders, he’d shrug, but he makes a pretty good imitation of it with just his head alone. “Dunno, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t want to catch pneumonia and die or something, do you?” I

t wasn’t meant as a joke at first, but the moment he hears it, a snnnrrrrrk develops into full-blown laughter that’s a hair width away from waking your crew members.

You don’t know what possesses you, but hearing him laugh like this, so genuinely, conjures a laugh of your own. It’s more hushed and subtle in comparison to your companion, but it’s there and it feels so strange to have it erupt from your chest. 

When was the last time you laughed? 

After a while, your combined laughter gradually quietens and when you look at Buggy next, you see him with eyes the size of plates, like he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. Not in an alarming way, but in … adoration. Just unadulterated, complete awe.

For some reason, it pains you to have him look at you like this. After all this time. So, you turn your head back to the sea and let your gaze linger there again. You’re reminded that, like the waves, you can’t go back to how it used to be.

“When you’ve retrieved your body, you can go.”

Buggy freezes. "... What?"

"Once you get your body back, you can leave. I'll tell the crew you disappeared." 

It'll be easier for the both of you, you justify. He can get back to being Captain Buggy, and you can go back to being ... someone. 

You're no longer a captain, and you have no interest in playing the part again. He'll have his freedom, and you'll have your contentment in knowing that you have once more gotten to look him in the eyes.

It’ll hurt, but pain is an old friend.

He doesn't say anything for the longest time, but you can hear the cogs churning in his brain. "You mean ... You don't want to go with me, after all this time?"

You glance over your shoulder to the door to the kitchen area. "I ... Care much for the boy, and I know you tend to carry grudges. I don't intend to be involved with that."

"You don't have to be!" Buggy insists, almost urgently, like he's afraid you'll leave on the dot. "You can stay with me, and whatever business I have with the rubbery pri-... I- I mean, the kid, I'll keep it to myself."

You spend a second looking down at him, scrutinizing him of any signs that he's being false, before you avert your gaze back to the waves. Truth be told, you've never thought much of what to do once you left Luffy's crew. 

As far as you're concerned, you don't have anywhere to go back to. Maybe you'll return to Foosha village, pay Makino a visit, or maybe you'll become a wayward at sea. Make coin where you can, visit Shanks sometime?

But joining Buggy?

Now that's a thought you never believed would cross your head for a long time.

"I won't be a good circus performer," you admit.

He makes a pfsssssh sound, tongue waggling out of his mouth. "'Course you'd be! The strongest woman in all of East-Blue! People will bankrupt themselves just to see you in action! C'mon, just think about it!"

You bury the urge to remind him that if anyone will commit any bankrupting, it'll be him. Joining Buggy's crew, after so long? A part of you thinks that it can open a window of opportunity to provide closure. Grant him a chance to make up for his misdeeds.

Another part reminds you that the pain he once brought caused you two decades of misery, so why give him the opportunity to attempt the same once more? In all your life, only he’s ever possessed the power to render you so small. 

You might be among the strongest pirates across the seas, but someone always held you by a leash; dragged you, pulled you into every direction, and demanded your obedience. Rogers freed you from the leash altogether, but Buggy remains the only person you freely gave your leash to. You gave it to him, and he let it go.

Are you willing to hand it back to him, knowing what happened last time?

How does the saying go? 

Bite you once and twice, shame and all that.

"We should head back inside."

———

Coco Village, you think, is a lonely place; void of life; desolate. It reminds you of where you originally came from before Rogers brought you onto his crew all those years ago. A hollow replica of how it used to be.

A feeling of cold stretches across your skin at the memory of it all, like a layer of frost having come back to torment you. 

You glance around at the halfway-demolished huts, and you see its denizens with nothing behind their eyes. Whatever hope once resided in their hearts abandoned them long ago. It brings you no joy, but it doesn’t necessarily bring you any melancholy either.

It is not your sorrow to bear.

Nojiko’s cabin, on the other hand, seems like a pleasant reprieve. It’s not much, but judging by the delicate way she handles herself and her equipment, it’s a home.

A home hanging on a thread from Arlong’s pointy nose.

While Sanji’s helping Nojiko clean the plates, you’re seated across from Usopp, with Buggy’s head poised between you on top of the table. Wherever Luffy and Zoro are outside, you’re certain they’re concocting some sort of plan to get Nami out. 

It’ll be the first time he’ll have to make up a thorough plan, rather than making it up as he goes as he’s done so far.

You’re curious as to how it’ll go, though you’ll follow nonetheless. Your presence here with them depends on whether he’ll make it, and if he does, you’ll finally part ways.

You love Luffy, almost more than you’ve loved anyone else in your entire life. You were there to watch him grow, you were there to patch him up, to make sure he had food when Makino couldn’t afford to spare any. 

You love his hair, his eyes, the way his smile all but brightens up any dark corner in any room. You love him so much so that you’ll leave the moment you know he doesn’t need you anymore.

The thought, while maintaining a rooted spot in your brain, lessens your appetite and causes you to play with the food on your plate. It’s long since grown cold in your negligence.

Suddenly, a loud "BOOM!!" promptly snaps you out of your mindscape and back to reality. Buggy cackles, and although you're not the intended target of his joke, it still irks you to some limited extent.

"Can you just be quiet?"

"Aw, come on. Where's the fun in that?" There's a malicious glint in the clown's eye. "Do you really think your little toys can get through the skin of a fish-man?"

You have to commend Usopp for his resilience. "These are smoke bombs."

"Smoke. That's rich..." Trailing off, Buggy eyes your meal with the subtlety of a puppy looking for scraps, licking his chapped lips. "Makes me think of how long it's been since I've had any smoked fish." 

You spare him a wayward glance, fork ceasing its massacre of the flesh on your plate. Usopp notices the change almost instantaneously as he tinkers with his makeshift bomb.

The reply from the slingshot is quick. “Don’t give it to him.”

“As opposed to what?” You quirk an unbothered eyebrow. “Let Sanji’s meal go to waste?”

“Eat it yourself, then! You’ve hardly had any!”

“I’m not particularly hungry at the moment, and it’s either the trash or the clown.”

Usopp scoffs. “Like there’s a difference.”

“HEY! I’M RIGHT HERE, ASSHAT!”

Sanji perks up at the commotion and looks at you from over his shoulder, hands still wet from the washing. “I do hope you’re not discussing the possibility of discarding my food. Not when Nojiko has been so lenient as to lend us the necessary ingredients?”

Usopp shakes his head. “It’s worse! She wants to give it to the fucking clown!”

Sanji glances at you, and he speaks in that soft tone he primarily reserves for the women in his company. “Was my meal not to your satisfaction, Madam?” 

You incline your head to him in a way that’s meant to convey approval. “It was, make no mistake of it, but I’m afraid that my appetite is rather lacking at the moment.”

Buggy looks between the two of you, and his mood sours considerably. It’s as though a fire is burning in the back of the room, and the scorch threatens to incinerate the furniture and all the people inside. He halfway hopes it will, but although his Devil Fruit has granted him a plethora of powers people can only hope to dream of, prokinetics are evidently out of his reach.

No one notices, however.

Then, a minute goes by, and Sanji finally shrugs. “As much as I can’t condone Usopp’s anger, I can’t condone a good meal being wasted. Do with it as you please, my lady.”

Buggy guffaws while Usopp pales, but your face stays the way it’s always done. If anyone were to notice the way you discreetly inch the plate towards Buggy, they keep their opinions to themselves. 

If Buggy stares at you like you hung the moon and the sun in the sky, you keep your observations to yourself.

You don’t say a word, but you want to say a lot. 

You wish to say more than you've ever said before.

But you don’t.

———

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[secretlypansexualmango]

I have been brain rotting back and forth with @stormsthatrage about Shinichi in an au where only Ichigo goes back in time, and for once I made something that’s not all angst. Behold:

So Ichigo goes back in time, gets found by the Shibas in not entirely dire straits so they don’t need to get Unohana. Thereby giving him a certain lack of notoriety once Ichigo ‘decides’ he wants to go to the Academy, he’s still obviously talented- but in a way that’s more normal levels of genius.

So he goes to the academy, blazes through it in a year or two and gets accepted to Shinji’s division. Who is not suspicious of him exactly, but more curious.

At this point Ichigo knows that he’s got enough time to play the long game here, and as much as he was a proponent of throwing himself headlong into any and every fight, Kisuke and Shinji did eventually managed to pound some appreciation of planning and tactics into his brain at some point during the extended war.

So he’s not content, but he’s settled in for the long haul.

(he’s lonely and longing and yearning for his pack bonds but for Shinji most of all, Shinji who was his leader and partner, Shinji who seemed like he always knew what to do, Shinji who was never not there when Ichigo needed him)

But of course voicing these sentiments would have him either murdered or thrown into Muken so he adapts, improvises, overcomes.

He’s watchful, learning the habits and preferences of this new old Shinji, his favourite tea, what he likes to read, things he finds funny, how he prefers to order his paperwork, where he likes to go to lunch and his favourite shampoo. He watches and attends and he thinks he can live with this new normal.

Shinji doesn’t really seem to show him any real preference, but the regard he shows any of his officers is enough, has to be enough. So Ichigo contents himself with the occasional praise and shoulder pat. He thinks he settled into a routine that can last until he can make some real change.

Shinji had noticed of course, that his 4th(?) seat had always been accommodating and especially helpful and was always watching him and smiling - ahh. He sees.

And it’s not as if Kaien is trying to Shanghai Shinji into eternal matrimony with his baby cousin, it’s really more of a “let him down gently” (or they’ll never find your body) “if he confesses don’t be cruel about rejecting him” (or I will Bankai your ass to Hueco Mundo and back)

Ichigo doesn’t know what changed. (Kaien went to some length to make sure Ichigo wouldn’t find out) It’s just that all of a sudden Shinji starts watching him back.

Watching with intent.

It’s too much to hope for, that he might feel some remnant of a pack bond so Ichigo just pretends not to notice. Shinji for his part thinks Ichigo must have resigned himself to one sided pining.

Shinji likes what he sees is the thing. Ichigo is considerate and attentive and observant. Genuinely kind in his own gruff way that’s not limited to nobles or Shinigami. So Shinji decides, well he’s never been one to really hold himself back from what he wants so he invites Ichigo to drinks to test the waters. They both get absolutely hammered and end up snuggling together on Shinji’s couch, and when Shinji wakes up in the morning, sees Ichigo curled up into his side with his face pressed into neck, he thinks *ah* this is happening.

[thegayloragenda]

Okay I want to put all of my current predictions out here (these are subject to change, of course):

• I think this show is going to get a little more colorful or a little bit more gay with each show because I think she’s running out the clock.

• I am CLOWNING for an eventual pronoun change during surprise songs.

• I think Karlie will probably show up again. And if she shows up for the rep announcement I will die dead.

• I’m also clowning for a rainbow variation of every outfit or perhaps a debutation variation if she plans to drop them together. Maybe a karma outfit. Idk. I don’t really know what is coming next in regard to music or if there will be anything (what if she just went black out for a year and then dropped rep next December 😂).

• I’m split because I think she’s either going to continue this Travis stunt until the Super Bowl or she’ll break up with him while on tour (if it’s real that’s totally fine but the way this relationship has been crammed down our throats gives me the ick so bad). I have no idea how that breakup will go down especially since they’ve made an entire Christmas movie about this relationship.

• I’m still assuming we’ll get a proposal / breakup.

Overall, I don’t think Taylor Swift would pander to this side of the fandom the way she has if she didn’t have a plan to blow everything up. I assume she’s a good person. I assume she’s supportive of the fans who see her. I’ve been in this fandom long enough to know what it looks like when she’s in the closet and when she isn’t. The closet isn’t even glass anymore. The closet is just invisible at this point so if she’s just a straight girl who loves rainbows, she’s absolutely diabolical in the very worst ways.

And before anyone comes for me, yes she can be bi or pan or whatever she wants to be. I don’t care about muses or labels. I notice patterns and I can’t help but connect the dots. I see bi and lesbian dresses and her calling attention to them so that’s where my focus is. I care about freedom for her (whatever that looks like) and I also think some clarity about who she actually is will help a lot of us decide if we want to keep supporting her and giving her our money. I’m placing my bet on her being who I think she is so I’m here to support her until the end of this roller coaster ride.

I will make a post on the final day of this tour but I just want to say this: I have had the TIME OF MY LIFE in this labyrinth. I have made lifelong friends because of this side of the fandom. Thank you to ALL of my friends on here who have followed me and commented on my posts and said such kind things. Thank you to everyone who has messaged me their insights and theories. And finally, thank you to my fans who have messaged me your homophobic, brain-rotted hate comments. Good luck in the aftermath!

And to Taylor (if you ever see this), thank you for keeping my mind so stimulated. I will probably never get dementia because of you. You have been so good for my brain health. Thank you for teaching me about my own history as a queer girlie. Thank you for helping me heal my relationship with my neurodivergent self. Thank you for being the “mother” who saw me when my own mother just talks about how gross and wrong gay people are. Thank you for being kind and strong and brave in the face of shame and fear and danger. Thank you for leading a revolution of New Romantics! No one does it like you, girl. I love you so much. I hope you got a giggle over the chaos and the wrong predictions. I hope this tour brought you joy and hope and peace and healing. I know I haven’t always seen eye to eye with some of your choices, but I do respect you and I do hope the rest of your life is sunshine and rainbows and you get to hug your mom forever and take really long naps with your person after all of this is over. Long live 💜

Update: I do think the election plays a big role in how loud she can be. @casuallycruel131313 pointed this out, too. We’ll get way more once Kamala has been elected! I think Canada shows will be wildddd.

[colonelarr0w]

Yay requests time!

Can we get bratty!mean!reader with simp/lover boy yuuta or yuuji? Like, reader is always rolling her eyes or ordering him around and he just looks at her with heart yes and does as she wants. But obviously, everyone has their limits so sometimes they need to reel her back in and let her know that's nothing you treat someone that you love and loves you even more.

i dont know if you can tell but I'm getting brain rot about this and it's all I'm thinking about every night.

Sypnosis - How would !Loverboy Yuuji fare with a girlfriend who quite literally would step on him?

Warning(s) - foul language, mention of canon violence, Reader is kind of a bitch (but she does a 180 I promise)

A/N - !Loverboy Yuuji enjoyers rise up, I crafted this just for y'all.

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

To be fair, when Yuuji falls in love, he falls in love hard. Loving Yuuji is the equivalent of adopting a golden retriever that will be perpetually stuck to your side in any given circumstance. And that means any circumstance — including if you’re working to exorcise a spirit. Yuuji just wants — or rather needs — to be by your side no matter what.  

Yuuji is also the kind of person to blindly follow orders. He doesn’t really have any regards for any consequences that may follow his actions — which has definitely resulted in multiple visits to Shoko. That, of course, includes any and all orders that you give him.  

Obviously, your “orders” aren’t as dire as, say, instructions given by Gojo before he sends Yuuji on a mission. But that doesn’t mean that he’ll show even an ounce of thought or hesitance. He does — quite literally — anything and everything for you. That includes carrying your backpack, carrying your bags when you shop, cutting your food when you have dinner together, tucking you in when you have move nights, buttoning you jacket when it’s cold outside, literally everything. 

Does he care that sometimes your tone gets a little snippy with him when you ask him to do something for you? No. Does he care that you scold him if he does something wrong? No. Does he care that you roll your eyes at him when you catch him staring? No.  

Because at the end of the day, you mean more to Yuuji than anything else. He can handle Cursed Spirits that can — and honestly have — ripped him limb from limb. Surely he can handle a bit of eye-rolling from his beautiful girlfriend. 

Megumi and Nobara can’t help but tease Yuuji for his behaviors, Nobara more so than Megumi. She just enjoys pointing out the fact that you could tell Yuuji to jump and he would reply back with, “How high?” 

But that doesn’t mean that they don’t see the small points of toxicity that peek through your actions. Sure, it was sweet that Yuuji would be willing to do anything and everything for you — but it felt like the things that Yuuji was doing went unreciprocated. 

It was Nobara then that approached you because, in all honesty, Yuuji was one of her closest friends. And she would be damned if she was going to stand by and just watch as he was treated like someone’s lap dog. Don’t get her wrong, she loves and adores you too, but she can see where people’s toxic traits lie.  

She ends up pulling you aside following one of your training sessions together, noticing in her peripheral the way that Yuuji pauses upon seeing you be dragged away by Nobara. You don’t protest to her actions, allowing your classmate to drag you underneath the school’s entry archway. Nobara keeps her fingers locked around your wrist as she inhales deeply, not wanting her emotions to accidentally get the better of her — the last thing that she needed was for you to get cross with her. You were deadly in that regard after all. 

“(Y/N), listen to me, yeah? You’re an amazing person, and I know that you likely don’t mean to come off as brash or as harsh as you sometimes do, but we all notice. And by ‘we all’, I mean me and Fushiguro. Yuuji is — for lack of a better word — devoted to you, he loves you a whole lot ‘kay? Again, I know that you don’t mean to be rude to him sometimes, but that’s what we all see. So try and lay off of the eye rolling, yeah?” 

Nobara smiles once she’s finished speaking, releasing the grip that she had on your wrist and placing both of her hands on her hips. You stand there in silence for a moment, mulling her words over in your head before reflecting on all that you had ever said and done to Yuuji. 

You realize at that moment that Nobara was right — Yuuji had only ever been kind and loving to you. And you were just…bitchy right back. You felt like slapping yourself across the face, how could you have let that behavior go on for so long?  

“God — you’re right Nobara. I’ve been — I’ve been pretty terrible haven’t I?” 

After that conversation with Nobara, you begin to plan in your head how to make it up to Yuuji — starting with his favorite snacks and movie series. Your dorm is suddenly nothing but blankets and pillow forts, adorned with the string lights that you usually kept your room decorated with. On the television is the selection screen for the Deluxe Edition of the Human Earthworm movies — which you knew were Yuuji’s absolute favorite.  

Once you finished setting everything up, you text Yuuji to swing by your dorm — which he agrees to without hesitation. Within five minutes of sending the text, Yuuji is knocking repeatedly at the door, smiling widely when you pull it open. You invite him inside, placing your palms over his eyes and repeating that you had a surprise for him.  

You lead him to the pillow/blanket fort set up in front of the small television in your dormitory, guiding him to sit down. You take a seat beside him, removing your hands from his eyes and presenting your little movie setup with a grand flourish of your hands.  

“You did all of this for me?”  

“Yeah — think of it as an apology for me being so demanding of you all the time.” 

Yuuji turns to you, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you firmly to his chest, tucking you into him and burying his nose into your hair. You nestle yourself in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling to yourself as he holds you.  

After a good five minutes of sitting in Yuuji’s arms, you disconnect yourself to play the first Human Earthworm movie, smiling as Yuuji excitedly begins to ramble. 

With a lovesick smile of your own, you settle in with your boyfriend, nibbling on your snacks and simply enjoying his company.  

[ttulipwritezz]

Rules huh?

Sirius Black x James's sister reader

warnings: Honestly other than the reader being referred to as she/her, one year age gap, and being called beautiful I think nothing, lmk if I missed anything.

pt2, pt3

synopsis: There was one rule..and he had broken it.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room were the four marauders.

or well three of them were sitting, the last one was pacing back and forth on the carpet such that a few more minutes would have started to dig a hole in it.

"mate...trust us, why'd we wanna get with Your sister anyway?

That was Moony, always the ever-so-sensible one

"yea, when I could have anyone at Hogwarts I assure you I wouldn't lay an eye on your sister. I'm serious"

yes...he was Sirius alright.

Here's what happened.

When James received an owl regarding his sister's transfer to Hogwarts in her fourth year, needless to say, he wasn't stoked.

It not only meant she'd be able to owl their parents on what shenanigans he did throughout the school year but it also meant keeping Boys away from her.

The first to receive this lecture were the marauders...at the least, James had to make sure his best friends weren't involved with his sister in any way.

So he had one rule...just one

Do Not Fall For My Sister.

"yea mate, not like we'd like her when she shares a face with you."

Quipped worm tail as the others agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh how wrong they were...

not only did you look Nothing like your brother, but you were also one of the most beautiful girls the boys had ever seen.

Sirius's interest was immediately piqued.

He'd catch a glance of you each time you'd walk the halls, or he'd drag the rest to follow you into the library, they, of course, didn't say anything because they knew how much of a book nerd Sirius could be.

It started to get a little suspicious...then he'd ask Moony to ask the gang, and they'd continue their library trips.

Honestly speaking you'd try to maintain your distance from your brother's group, the last thing you want is a bunch of fifth years on your tail.

Though part of that came from the lecture you received on your end as well...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius Orion Black

He was interesting, to say the least, he had a generally flirty personality and would often be seen winking at girls in the halls.

Oddly enough, despite your brother's warning, you were on the receiving end of quite a few.

James did NOT approve

He's noticed the little smiles and glances exchanged between the two of you rather quickly, considering how little observant he is, 7 months is quick for him.

But oh well, Sirius had broken the one rule his best friend had set up...and maybe you had too.

A/N: lmk if yall want a part two, I've been in such a marauders era brain rot please give me fic recommendations if you have any. I also haven't checked it too well so lmk if you find any mistakes I'll write a part two if enough people want one.

p.s pt.2 at a 100 notes I promise

[biocrafthero]

Why Sunny’s Halloween costume is a mummy instead of a vampire

Okay strap in guys this is a long one

(Under a read more because I have lost my mind)

(Also for some stuff I’m using Wikipedia as a source this isn’t a professional essay or anything)

Something I have noticed with Omori fans is that, much like with other fandoms, people like to assign fun Halloween monsters to their favorite characters. For a character like Sunny, I have noticed that many people opt to make him a vampire, which is a choice that seems quite understandable. The idea of the modern vampire can be traced back to many different authors, the most popular one in the minds of most being Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which was published in 1897. Some of the visual and behavioral trademarks of a vampire has to do with things such as aversion to sunlight, pale skin, fangs, and the need to feast on the literal blood of others to stay alive. Vampires have always been considered undead, which aligns with their history throughout folklore; there were several instances where corpses were staked after being accused of vampirism.

Reading this, its easy to see why fans would assign a character like Sunny to the idea of vampires based on all of the common traits of vampirism. However, while I do enjoy AUs and such of a vampiric Sunny, I disagree with this common interpretation and instead propose the idea of Sunny being associated with a different kind of undead monster: the zombie.

(“But Kaun, didn’t you say in the title of this post that Sunny is associated with mummies?” Yes, but we’ll get there.)

The origin of the zombie can be traced back to several different sources throughout the world, the most well-known one being Haitian folklore during the 19th century. Regarding modern depictions, popularized by the film Night of the Living Dead, zombies tend to be slow, rotting, human undead (while it must be noted that undead animals isn’t particularly uncommon either). Much like vampires, zombies need to consume humans to survive, but the difference is that, while vampires only need blood in most depictions, zombies tend to eat all parts of the body. The idea of the brain being the specific target is something that’s only come up within the last fifty years throughout pop culture; adding to these newer additions, it was only within the last twenty or thirty years that the idea of the running zombie was introduced and subsequently popularized.

So what does any of this have to do with Sunny?

Well, thought Omori, we are shown clear evidence of why the idea of the zombie resonates with his character. The most obvious example is with Hellsunny, who can be found throughout the entire truth sequence, in some parts of Black Space, and in a very particular cutscene in the Hikikomori Route.

Now, while its easy for us to assume things from the POV of Sunny himself, sometimes its important to take into account the intent of the creator in order to interpret things such as this. So, once again, why a zombie?

Well, the choice of the zombie is quite obvious to me: the fact it is commonly referred to as the living dead. Now what does this allude to regarding Sunny? It most likely correlates with his emotions in the wake of Mari’s death, especially considering he’s the one who killed her in the first place. It is commonly said by people who have experienced the loss of a loved one feel as if they’re just drifting through life after their passing, and the same can definitely be said for Sunny. At the time the real world sections of the game take place, its been four whole years since the incident had occurred, and Sunny has both figuratively and literally wasted away in his own home. Characters comment on how he seems very skinny and/or frail, and how he clearly hasn’t been taking care of himself. In a way, its like a part of him died alongside Mari.

This is where we get to what some would consider to be an extension of the zombie archetype: the mummy.

Regarding its depiction in horror since the history of real mummies is an entirely separate conversation, the modern depiction of the (male) mummy can be found dating back to the 1932 film The Mummy. While most historical, real life mummies had their organs removed before burial, the mummy from the film (named Imhotep) was deduced to have been buried alive after it is discovered that its organs had not been removed at all. Now while the rest of the film’s plot isn’t quite as relevant to our analysis, I believe these details are important to note. The idea of the mummy being something sealed away, only later to be awoken again as some kind of living dead, is very interesting considering the parts of Omori that make this comparison to Sunny. The allusions to the idea of Sunny’s own home being some kind of coffin or tomb adds to these ideas.

This is why I think the vampire comparisons simply do not fit. The idea of the vampire inherently implies that the afflicted needs to take something from others in order to survive, and while the same can be said about zombies it must be noted that within recent years the idea of a kind zombie has been slowly making itself known. Additionally with mummies, aside from the blatantly orientalist bullshit regarding its history in pop culture, don’t tend to be depicted with having to consume any physical part of the human body (but physical violence in general is still on the table for them. They tend to be depicted as more on the level of vampires in terms of their intelligence).

In contrast, the living dead (referring to both zombies and mummies) tend to be much more passive. Most don't go out of their way completely to hunt humans, only hunting if one crosses their path—mummies even more so, with them not even needing human flesh to maintain themselves. When not hunting, these monsters tend to just... exist, not doing much of anything at all. They don't expend energy on actively looking for what they need to survive, instead opting for what they need to find them, wasting away all the while. And the thing is with zombies: they rot. They decay, bound by more realistic things than mummies are (which tend to be sustained my more magical elements in pop culture).

While the idea of having to actively go out and hurt others to sustain yourself is very interesting, when specifically regarding Omori’s canon, it doesn’t quite fit in line with Sunny’s character and his arc. In contrast, him neglecting his own needs and wasting away is more in-line with all of that, which is why he’s more commonly depicted as being a zombie or a mummy by official material.

I know this post is extremely long-winded, but I think this kind of analysis is very fun. Additionally, you don’t have to take my word as gospel, either. I enjoy AUs where Sunny is a vampire, since he’s in a position where he has to violate his own morals in order to sustain himself. I think it acts as a very interesting way to deconstruct his character, and to push him to his limits (including the brink of death if he refuses to hunt).