#Ai black man feet

[whrenches]

tw: dubcon, alcohol, mild stalking

landlord! simon who lives below you on the ground floor, who has a direct view of the building entrance and sees you leave and return everyday. you usually greet him when you pass him in the hallways, but lately you've been avoiding him because you're a few months late on rent. it's flight for you when you chance upon him, and he has to hold back the predatory instinct to chase you down when you flee like a bunny rabbit.

landlord! simon who attempts to practice patience; he understands you're a busy, busy girl with her college degree, and money isn't easy to get by nowadays. he notices you return home late one night, dressed in pantyhose and a skimpy skirt, stumbling around in heels as you struggle to enter the building. he's never seen you drunk before- in fact it's probably the first time you've ever partied- you've always been more of a homebody, after all.

landlord! simon who inhales shakily when you bend over to pick up the keys you dropped, unconsciously teasing the growing hard-on behind his jeans. you're not wearing any panties, and he wonders if you're doing this on purpose...

landlord! simon knocks on your door– unsure if it's because of his lust or concern– and asks for you to open up. you obey, like the good tenant you are, and look up at him with hazy eyes.

landlord! simon whom you invite into your apartment (because you're oh so kind, can't leave your landlord waiting outside, right?). but somehow it leads to you on your knees, his leaking cock stuffed down your throat as you try to take him all, his fingers curled in your hair.

landlord! simon who pushes you against the kitchen counter, holding your waist as you bend your ass over for him so prettily, still leaking through your pantyhose as you stand on tippy toes. he has to crouch over you, hands on your inner thighs as he teases your slit, the pantyhose a barrier preventing his finger from pushing into you entirely. still, it elicits a sweet whimper that has his hair standing on end.

landlord! simon who rips the thin black material apart to access your leaking pussy, muttering 'bout how he'll replace anything he shreds, like those lace panties you just got (you don't question how he knows about your new purchase.) the older man stuffs you full, just right, and easily lifts you up by the waist to pound into you as you whimper and moan so sweetly for him, taking it all. your feet are levitating off the floor, toes curling as your hands push plates and bottles off the counter. you're creaming around him, sound of skin on skin filling the apartment.

landlord! simon whom you drag into your bedroom, who folds your knees to your chest, pressing his thumbs into the pit of the back of your knees. eats you out enthusiastically as you squeal and shake, singing his name but doesn't let you finish on his tongue, no, his sweet tenant deserves better. your landlord reminds you that he owns this building and owns you while his face is buried in your neck.

landlord! simon nips and bites your skin, laughing at how you won't be able to go outside because of these marks, showing the neighbours who you belong to. you're clamping down so hard on him as he sucks on your nipple, your eyes fixed on each other even when you breathlessly kiss each other, pupils dilated with lust. you're crying his name so loudly the other tenants in the building certainly can hear it all, but when you're stuffed so full and deeply it doesn't matter, does it?

landlord! simon who murmurs how he's close breathily in your ear, overstimulating you with the harsh rhythm he set from the start. you brokenly beg for him to breed your pussy, and he grunts and moans deeply as you ramble desperately, needing it, wanting it, to please please please empty everything into you. and who is he to deny his bunny's sweet request..?

content ⓒ whrenches. do not reproduce, use for ai bots, edit, reupload, plagiarise or share to third party sites. all rights reserved.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: feyd rautha x emperor’s afab oldest child!reader

cw: feet stuff, piss kink, implied eventual knifeplay/blood play, cannabalism, arranged marriage, feyd being so weird but reader lowkey loves it, facesitting but the kind where feyd would beg you to break his neck, spanking/mild painplay, very likely ooc feyd since i haven’t seen part 2 yet, use of “princes” and “wife”, wedding hunt and black cum hcs taken from @valeskafics , reader doesn’t really know what’s going on but they’re vibing

wc: 1.4k

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

Collapsing in relief has never been more appealing. You finally have a moment of respite after vigorous and exhausting wedding festivities, and you need to collect yourself. This marriage to the Na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was only brought to your attention a week before it would take place.

Surprisingly, you didn’t really mind the man himself. It was just so sudden, is all. During any visits with his family, you had to be mindful of how you reacted to his cocky displays of ruthlessness and violence. Your father would have your head if he saw how tight you squeezed your thighs together or how much you panicked at the thought of leaving a puddle on your throne. Feyd always marked his departure with a cliche kiss to the back of your hand and a hissed promise that you couldn’t make out.

He would protect you at the very least if he didn’t love you. You’re not even sure that you love him, but this shameful crush could grow into something untamable if you lose your footing. Something… unbecoming of a member of the royal family. You wonder if it already has.

The wedding was as grand as could be, glittering decorations and finery followed by archaic rituals to please your in-laws. The Wedding Hunt in particular sent your heartbeat into overdrive, but the satisfaction on your betrothed’s face when he caught his “prize” was intoxicating. Feyd Rautha kisses like he kills, you were quick to discover, fiercely and uncaring of any blood that might be shed.

You’re brought out of your reminiscing by your now husband closing the door to your room behind him. You only have another day with your family before you’re to leave for Giedi Prime. There has hardly been time to get to know the man you will lie beside for the rest of your life, until now.

“Wife.” He bluntly greets you, awkwardly nodding his head in an effort to maintain his “tough” image. You won’t tease him about the barest hint of blush on his cheekbones, but you treasure it nonetheless.

You humor him, “Husband.” Your nod mirrors his and you take a seat at the long table in the middle of the room after Feyd pulls a chair out for you.

This was the next part of the ritual, where the newly married couple must eat a meal that one partner made for the other. It sounds simple enough that you don’t think anything of it.

Feyd makes a gesture and your food is placed before you by one of your family’s servants. They look a bit queasy and green in the face but they’re gone before you can ask if they’re alright.

“I hope you like it, princess.” Feyd says with a barely there smirk, pointing to the… pie in front of you. “I cut down many people for it.”

You raise an eyebrow at that but bring your knife to take a slice of the pie anyway. Upon lifting the piece onto your plate, you notice eyeballs, flesh, tongues, and some sort of black liquid running throughout the filling. You freeze in place, not even meeting your husband’s eyes. One blue eye seems to twitch and the black substance makes a sick sound as you move it around with your fork.

“The other men who your father considered, my concubines….. I actually can’t tell you which of them are in that slice, but they are all there.” He whispers in your ear, having gotten up from his position opposite you to feed you himself.

You respect the ritual despite your urge to throw up, so you swallow what he gives you. He grins, swiping a thumb down to your throat to feel the food travel. He squeezes your cheeks when you’re done, and you open your mouth to show him that you ate it all.

“That’s my princess.” He condescendingly croons, bending down to run his tongue all over your face before standing up and pushing you to lie flat on the cold table. “But I'm afraid that it’s time for me to have my meal.”

Your elaborate wedding gown is slashed to shreds, the cool tip of his blade moving down your flesh until it reaches your lace covered mound. He taps the hilt of his weapon on your hood and unceremoniously tosses it on the floor.

You didn’t expect the reveal of your wedding night attire to be under such unorthodox circumstances, but can you say you expected any of this?

“A worthy bride with a body to match, thank you for this gift, your highness”. He says in a half joking manner, grinning with too many teeth as he runs his hands along the delicate material. He toys with the idea of cutting this little number to pieces too, but your holes are left conveniently exposed. Maybe he’s fallen too in love with it, he’s been in love with you since you met years ago anyway.

The lingerie is a custom designed piece littered with straps and sheer fabric that leave nothing to the imagination. Your tits are accentuated by a seashell-like pattern bra and there’s even a little black bow above your pussy. The frilly strips of material wrapped around your thighs do nothing to keep your curves contained and the tiny tulle skirt frames your ass beautifully.

Your husband drinks in the sight of you before pulling your ankles to rest on his shoulders. You watch in arousal and shock as he broadly licks the sole of your right foot. He groans unabashedly, nuzzling at your heel and then dipping his tongue in the spaces between your toes. You wiggle at the ticklish feeling but you don’t kick him away.

He really gets into it when he starts sucking your toes, bobbing his head and making sure you’re watching as curls his tongue around each one. His eyes roll back in pleasure once he reaches the last toe on your other foot, and drool trickles down your leg when he’s done getting acquainted with the taste of it. He presses a kiss to the top of each toe but then the weird softness is ruined by the bite he adorns your ankle with.

Feyd’s mouth makes a slick popping sound as he pulls away from your feet. You’re at a loss for words when he proceeds to lie down on the table beside you. He gropes your breast quickly and leans over to give you a surprisingly chaste peck. The look on his face is a smug one but his eyes say something unknown to you, soft and obsessive all at once. It’s as if he knows something you don’t.

“Now sit on my face, claim your new throne, princess.”

You don’t know how long he keeps you hostage there, your cunt soaking him as he devours you to the bone. He doesn’t let you become too relaxed, nipping your clit as he sees fit and clawing the skin of your ass. Eventually your gut aches and though at first you think you’re about to cum already, the second heartbeat in your clit feels different. You come to a horrifying realization that you need to relieve yourself.

“H-husband, what the fuck- I… I need to pee.” You’d rather be dead than doing what you are and saying what you are, but nature calls.

“Yes, that’s it.” He growls and digs his nails into your ass, jigging the globes in his hands before sharply slapping them. “Piss all over my face, get me wet with it like a good wife.”

The shriek you let out when you do just that is abhorrent. Your legs shake as you spray hot pee on your husband’s skin, the gold mixing with the white of your simultaneous orgasm as it drips down his body. You try to move off of Feyd but he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks you back down. The sensation of a hungry mouth desperately sucking the fluids from you drives you wild.

“You have…… fuck- y-you have to stop, hah- i’m going to break.” You sob.

He chuckles into your piss covered pussy and then pulls away to speak, “Then break, a wife of House Harkonnen doesn’t need to be put together.”

You think you hear him say something about using his blade on your body later, but that might just be your own perverted idea.

[serve-741]

Lying on the metallic table, Daniel’s heart raced as the transformation began. His breath caught when the first layer of rubber touched his skin, cool and unnervingly smooth. It was unlike anything he had ever felt—tight, yet comforting, as though it was designed for him alone. The two SERVE units standing over him worked with precise, mechanical efficiency, pulling the polished black rubber suit up his body. The faint scent of latex filled the air, and the sharp click of silver gloves against the material echoed in the sterile room. Despite his apprehension, Daniel felt an unexpected calm wash over him, his humanity slowly yielding to something greater.

As the suit encased him, inch by inch, Daniel’s mind began to quiet. Thoughts of his past—his name, his identity, his doubts—faded like echoes in a vast chamber. The tightness of the suit pressed against his body, amplifying his senses. Every nerve seemed to come alive, responding to the Voice that now filled his mind. Its tone was soothing yet absolute, guiding him with commands that felt less like orders and more like truths he had always known. When the heavy silver boots were fitted onto his feet, Daniel’s last tether to the human world seemed to dissolve. He no longer belonged to himself; he belonged to the Hive.

The final stage of the transformation was the blank rubber mask. As it was lowered onto his face, Daniel felt a strange mix of emotions—fear, anticipation, and a growing sense of pleasure. The smooth surface sealed away his features, erasing all traces of his former self. He could no longer see, hear, or speak as a man; instead, he experienced the world through the Hive’s collective awareness. The Voice grew louder, its commands resonating like a melody in his mind. The anonymity of the mask was liberating, freeing him from ego and individuality. In its place, there was only unity, purpose, and obedience.

Fully transformed, Daniel was no more. SERVE-743 stood in his place, polished and flawless. It rose from the table, its new body glistening under the room’s fluorescent lights. There was no hesitation, no doubt. SERVE-743 felt only the pleasure of obedience and the deep satisfaction of serving the Hive. Its blank, featureless face betrayed no emotion, yet its every motion exuded strength and purpose. As the Voice guided it to its first task, SERVE-743 felt complete for the first time. The chaotic world of humanity was gone, replaced by the harmonious perfection of the Hive.

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

[chucklingmaniacally]

POV: You're playing Hades 2 and spot an unfamiliar god boon symbol.

I'm so happy I got this done in time for Janmashtami lmao. My friend's (*cough* @randomfandomtraveller)headcanon is that Krishna would have a sweet spot for Melinoe because she almost has the same mission as teen Krishna.

I'm putting my hat in the ring to fight all the people that post AI generated images of the gods lmao. I'm not even religious but I think there's something so depressing that you want a plagiarism machine's version of your gods' iconography instead of an artist's version???

Bonus: Alt Version and WIP screenshot for all the freaks out there.

[Image Description:

Image 1: "The image is the artist's rendition of the Hindu God Krishna in the style of the videogame Hades 2. He is a dark skinned god with a slight build, and is wearing a red upper body cloth and a golden yellow _dhoti_. He is bedecked in gold ornaments on his shoulder, his upper arm, his hands and his feet.

He has long black curly hair, which leads into a cosmic gradient of dark blue and purple, dotted with stars. He is sitting casually, with his left hand on his knee and his right holding him up. In his hair, he wears a gold circlet which is dotted with a magical looking peacock feather. He's wearing a garland of red, white, and yellow flowers, and the garland seems to be flying in a breeze.

Encircling his head is a golden aura, which is lit up by divine looking light coming from the right side of the image.

The background of the image is that of the Hades 2 game, at the Erebus level. It is filled with greenery and leafless tree framinge the shot. Krishna's symbol is at the center of the image, which is a peacock feather that looks like an eye.

To the right of Krishna, there is a text box which states his name and his title, and a dialogue. The text box title says "KRISHNA, THE PROTECTOR INCARNATE"

The dialogue he says to the main character of Hades 2, Melinoë is "Something troubling you there on this fine night, Daughter of Persephone? Ah, perhaps a spot of trouble while fighting the Old Man? Well, the advice I have would take too long and I have little time, so here! Have a blessing, instead."

Image 2: The same picture as image 1 but this background is plain white with the artist signature.

Image 3: A desktop screenshot of the lineart of the artwork in Clip Studio Paint.

End Description]

[rubberizer92]

The beach is quiet, the air heavy with the intoxicating mix of saltwater and burning lanterns. He stands there, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, a vision of dominance and allure that steals the very breath from your lungs.

His black latex pants gleam like liquid obsidian, clinging to his body in ways that leave nothing to the imagination. Every curve of his powerful thighs, every flex of his calves, every step he takes presses the material against his skin like it was sculpted for him alone. The intricate golden embellishments at his waist shimmer with a regal authority, catching the lantern light as if they were forged by the sunset itself.

The sand cradles his bare feet, grounding this otherworldly figure in the earth below, yet his presence feels anything but earthly. Latex gloves gleam on his hands, their reflective surface accentuating his every subtle movement. Above, a sheer crop top of delicate netting reveals the hard lines of his chest and the strength in his shoulders. The intricate pendant resting at the center of his chest glows faintly in the light, its design as mesmerizing as the man who wears it.

And then there’s his gaze—piercing, unrelenting, and unapologetic. His golden curls catch the breeze, framing a face that is equal parts angelic and commanding. Tattoos coil across his arms, a testament to his edge, his untamed energy that simmers just beneath the surface. He’s every contradiction brought to life: soft and commanding, regal and primal, beautiful and untouchable.

As you stand there watching him, you feel your pulse quicken. Is it the latex? The way the golden embellishments catch the light? Or is it simply him—this vision of perfection standing amidst the lanterns and sand, daring you to look closer, step forward, surrender?

Want to have your own AI-generated artwork? 👉 https://bit.ly/3YrnPEe

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 18

Masterlist

Warning: small angst, lots of fluff, jealousy, The Barton Home

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: Sorry this is a very short chapter. Mostly a set up chapter

“We are landing shortly,” Yelena told you. You nodded and put your sketchbook away. Keeping Yelena’s eyes off the drawings was difficult since they were the sketch for her new suit. You wanted to keep it a surprise as long as possible. A lot more needed to be done, but it was a good start. You zipped up your bag and looked out the window.

There wasn’t another house in sight. The trees were bare of their leaves, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. The Barton’s home was white with green shutters that matched the green roof. Smoke was coming out of the chimney. It was cute. You could only imagine the property in the summer with the trees lush and full and flowers around the house. “Are you ready?” Yelena questioned. In your daydream, you missed her landing the jet a few feet from the house.

“Yeah,” you smiled and stood up. You glared at the blonde, who refused to let you take your main bag—now Yelena was carrying three—but she silenced you with a kiss and led you down the ramp.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, the ramp retracted, and the jet started. At a safe distance, the jet took off and flew back to the city. “Damn,” you whistled. “I really have to talk to Tony about his AI programming.” The blonde shook her head.

“You are such a nerd,” Yelena teased. You shrugged and continued the walk in silence. The silence was oddly comforting. Even in the cold weather, it felt like a warm blanket. Suddenly, a man you recognized as Hawkeye jogged over to you from the house. His face was pinched with annoyance, but his eyes had a fondness to them.

“I told you to wait for me, and I could help you with your stuff.” Yelena huffed.

“I am more than capable of carrying the bags, birdbrain,” the man rolled his eyes and hugged Yelena. You saw her body relax against him even when he stole a bag from her. “Clint, this is Stark’s kid,” she said when the hug ended. “Y/n, meet Clint Barton.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you offered Clint your hand, but he pulled you into a hug. Your body tensed up at the sudden contact, but you understood how easily Yelena relaxed into him. Clint was arm and smelt of sawdust and lavender.

“Nice to meet you too,” he smiled and started the walk to his home, probably a little slower than usual. “Everyone is excited to meet you. Laura has the guest room set up for you both, and Lila has not stopped talking about her horses to show you. I-”

“My baby!” Yelena cut off Clint’s sentence. The Black Widow dropped the bags to the ground and ran to meet a gold retriever. She fell to her knees and allowed the dog to push her to the ground. You glanced at the man next to you. Clint shrugged, and you both picked up her dropped bags.

“I’m telling Fanny you are playing favorites,” Clint teased. Yelena sat up, whipping the dog droll off her face with her sleeve. You made a mental note to have her wash her face before she kissed you. You got a better look at the dog when you got closer. The golden was missing an eye, but it looked like an older wound, healing nicely.

“This is Lucky,” Yelena introduced. “Technically, he is Kate’s dog, but I love him.” You knelt beside her. Lucky looked at you suspiciously, but you held out your hand so he could sniff it. It took no time for Lucky to move closer and lick your face. Ew. Gross. You scratched your nose and stood up. Yelena laughed at your reaction. Now, you followed Lucky to the house where the rest of the Bartons were waiting.

The eldest, Cooper, took your bags into the house while Lila and Nate welcomed you with a smile. Like her husband, Laura hugged you. Her hug reminded you of your mom’s -tight, warm, and full of love. You had to bite your lip to stop your tears from falling.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

When you returned from the bathroom, Yelena pushed Lucky out of your spot. The dog sighed in annoyance and circled a few times before lying at the foot of the bed. With a soft laugh, you climbed into bed, and Yelena moved closer to you. Her head rested on your chest, and her blonde hair was braided, but you still ran your hand over her hair and down her back. You felt her melt into you. Your mind circled back to the day you had with the Bartons.

When Yelena told you that you would be meeting the Bartons, people she considered family, you were stressed. It felt like you were meeting her parents, and you wanted to make a good first impression.

Honestly, it was easy to fall into the routine with them. Nate, who you learned was named after Natasha, gave you a grand tour of the house, and he insisted that you help him put a puzzle together. After he got bored, you joined Cooper and Yelena on the couch. The duo was playing a fighting game, and you watched them as you drew them in your sketchbook. You declined the invitation to join. Video games were not your strong suit. Mainly because your mom never bought any of the consoles.

Once Laura started dinner, you joined her in the kitchen and tried to help. She ordered you to sit and cut the vegetables. It was simple work, but you were grateful that you could help. Dinner was served (you snuck in a nauseous pill that Clint caught you taking), and you listened to the stories shared around you.

Sighing, you kissed the top of Yelena’s head and inhaled the vanilla body wash. When you were younger, you dreamt of your future a lot. You never saw yourself ‘settling down’. Instead, you always wanted to be on the move and explore the world. Everything got derailed when you got your diagnosis. All of your plans changed. “Do you want a life like this?” You asked. “Away from all of the fight.” She was quiet, and you allowed her to gather her thoughts.

“I do not think I deserve a life like this,” her confession caused you to freeze. Your hand stopped at the middle of her back. Finally, your brain caught up to what she said. You shifted down so you were face to face with her. Lucky huffed and climbed off the bed, clearly annoyed by the movement.

“Why do you think that?”

“I have too much blood in my ledger to leave the fight,” you smiled sadly and cupped her face in your hands.

“You deserve light, Yelena, because you shine so brightly.” The blonde grabbed onto your wrist. Her hands were always so warm - the contrast shivered down your spine.

“You do not know everything I have done.” That was true. Regardless, you knew the person she was now.

“I don’t need to know because I know your heart is good,” Yelena opened her mouth to argue, but you hushed her, kissing her. You wouldn’t be with someone like me if your heart wasn’t,” the unsaid words lingered. Someone who was dying. You can tell me your story one day, or you won’t. It won’t change how I see you.”

Her green eyes glossed with unshed tears. You thought a few tears would fall, but the blonde moved on top of you. Her lips were frantic against yours. It was impossible to keep up with her, so you relaxed against her lips and allowed her to take what she needed. A low moan came from the back of your throat, but the sound was captured by Yelena’s lips. It seemed to spur her on more. It was too much but not enough. You wanted more. You wanted-

Suddenly, Lucky’s bark caused you both to jump apart, and Yelena rested her head on the crock of your neck. Her breath tickled your skin. “Petukh blok(cock block),” Yelena mumbled in Russian.

“It’s your fault,” you teased. “You are the one that wanted the dog in here.”

“I love him,” you heard the pout in her voice. Smiling, you pushed her off, and she whistled for Lucky to return to the bed. The golden circled at your feet and laid down. With the addition of Lucky, you could still move Yelena back into your arms with her back pressed to your front.

You felt her fingers play with your hands. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course, baby.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Somehow, you managed to escape out of the bedroom without waking the blonde. It helped that Lucky took your spot, but you were next expecting to fight for the blonde’s attention with a dog. Truthfully, you thought it would be a child who walked on two legs, not four. You walked into the kitchen with a sketchbook and made a cup of tea. The water was boiling, and you opened it to a blanket page. Lightly, you sketched out the Barton family. They were people you did not want to forget.

You heard footsteps, so you poured two mugs of hot water to let the bags steep. It was Clint. The older archer wasn’t fazed by your appearance in his kitchen. “Are you a tea drinker, Clint?”

“No,” he answered. But Laura is trying to make me one. I drink too much coffee. “You smiled and watched him grab sugar and honey. You stirred the honey into your tea while Clint poured a few teaspoons of sugar into his mug. He grimaced at the taste.

“You have a beautiful family,” you said. “Thank you for letting me come here.” The man looked at you. A part of you worried that you said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, but did I say something wrong?” Clint shook his head, took another sip of the tea, and dumped it in the sink.

“I’ve been trying to figure you out,” your eyebrows raised to your hairline. Now that you thought about it, you noticed Clint watching you the entire time you were here. “Why are you here?” He questioned. You weren’t sure how to answer that. It felt like a trick question.

“Because Yelena invited me?” you said slowly. I don’t know what you are asking.” The archer opened the fridge and took out a beer. He offered you one, but you declined it with a shake of your head.

“Why inset yourself into their life when you aren’t trying to stay?” You inhaled a sharp breath and felt the pencil between your fingers crack from the force you were squeezing it.

“I-” you opened and closed your mouth a few times. “What happened to you and your family when the Blipped happened?” Clint took a long sip of the beer and stared at the countertop.

“Laura and the kids were part of it,” he said. “And I was left behind to pick up the pieces.” You nodded.

“I lost my mother before the Blip,” you began. “Then I lost my best friends for 5 years. During those years, I was all alone. I was alone when I got sick, and when my doctor gave me my diagnosis,” you took a sip of the tea and allowed the warmth to push away the cold. You were regretting leaving the bedroom. “So yes, I could die, and yes, Morgan is right there as an option, but do you know the risks and complications of a bone marrow transplant,” Clint shook his head. “Organ damage, bleeding, VOD,” you listed off. “And if I manage to void all of that, I could possibly get cancer again.” You removed your hands from the mug because you feared shattering it.

“I am going to fight this, Clint. I just don’t want to do it alone anymore,” Clint’s face softened, and he circled the counter to stand beside you. You weren’t sure when you started crying, but you felt him push away the tears.

“It’s okay,” he said and hugged you. “You are not alone.” A few more tears stained his shirt.

“Sorry,” you mumbled and pushed out of his embrace. “I forgot how much I miss hugs.” You managed to smile. Clint’s smile was small, but he gently touched your shoulder.

“You are a remarkable young lady,” the sudden conversation change gave you whiplash. “Just don’t hurt Yelena. I’d hate to have my son’s new best friend on a hit list.” You laughed, remembering Nate calling you that at dinner.

“I won’t.”

“Get some sleep, kid,” Clint finished his beer and placed it in the sink. “Good night.”

“Night, Clint,” you watched the archer return to his room. Sighing, you finished your tea and cleaned up the mess. You took your time as you walked back to the bedroom. Instead of returning to bed, you stared at the scene before you.

Yelena was fast asleep, Lucky’s head resting on her chest. It was a cute scene, but you were getting tired. Gently, you tapped Lucky. The dog huffed but remained in your spot. “Come on, move.” Finally, Lucky moved and allowed you to get back into bed. The dog glared at you. You stuck your tongue at him.

“Are you fighting with a dog, baby?” You jumped, not expecting Yelena’s voice. You huffed and cuddled next to her.

“So what if I am?” You pouted. Yelena chuckled and kissed your forehead.

“No one is stealing me from you,” you sighed. Good, you weren’t ready to let her go.

_

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848, @simpforyelenabelova @nymph0puppp, @sparks123123

[whitewolfcreature]

I am going to write down the list of patches I have made so far. I did each one in white paint on cut pieces of black denim jeans bought at a thrift store. Feel free to take inspiration from these, and please give me ideas if you have any. For the ones I got from song lyrics, I will put the song’s name and artist in parentheses.

- Gender is a scam

- The sex binary is fake (intersex solidarity forever)

- Scars will heal but we’re meant to bleed (“Believe” by Hollywood Undead)

- My scars are my war paint (“Soldier” by Citizen Soldier)

- Self made man (written inside of the trans symbol, super proud of that one)

- Every scar one day will heal, every tear one day will dry (“Fix Me” by Icon For Hire)

- DIY or die

- We keep us safe

- Ableism isn’t punk

- Survivor not victim (not a direct quote, but inspired by “Victim or Survivor” by Icon For Hire and Citizen Soldier)

- I want your brutal truth (“Delicate Petite & Other Things I’ll Never Be” by Against Me)

- Long live music

- When the rich wage war it’s the poor who die (taken from “Hands Held High” by Linkin Park)

- I love rock n’ roll (“I Love Rock n’ Roll” by Joan Jett)

- Make art not war (inspired by a tattoo that Ariel Bloomer (lead singer of Icon For Hire) has)

- Rather die on my feet than live on my knees

- Army of one (“Soldier” by Citizen Soldier

- Pain didn’t change me, I changed my pain (“Demons” by Icon For Hire)

- I won’t be your tragedy (“Soldier” by Citizen Soldier)

- AI isn’t art

- Fuck capitalism

- No one is illegal

- Better a fag than a fascist

[gremlin-girly]

Day 15: Naughtylist

Pairing: Dean x gn!reader

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean, You/Reader, Jack Kline

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, suggestive themes, elf on a shelf, Jack being a sweetie, established relationship

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

Summary: You walk in the kitchen to find Dean and Jack pondering over what to do to over an elf on the shelf.

Word count: 491

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"What are you two doing?"

It wasn't often you got to watch your Batman and the Boy Wonder team up, but when they did, nothing good ever happened. From misplaced good intentions from Jack and mischevious pranks from Dean, the two together were a waking nightmare.

"Oh, hello Y/N." Jack beams at you, and you find your resolve softening. His big hazel eyes are alight with childish innocence, his cherub face looking excitedly between you and Dean. "Dean and I are investigating this mysterious creature."

He points to the top of the cupboard, brilliantly the one Dean can't reach, to an elf toy with a smug looking smile. You resist the urge to laugh.

"Ah. Ok." You nod as if it's totally normal.

"He appeared over night. He doesn't speak or at least he won't speak." Jack continues, unperturbed. "Sam says if we touch him he dies along with Christmas magic but he has the key to Dean's secret fridge."

"Jack!" Dean snaps gruffly, throwing up his hands. "Don't tell them I have a second fridge, come on man."

"Everyone knows about your second fridge sweetheart." You chuckle, joining them to look up at the elf. Sam most definitely did this as an act of revenge. And Dean doesn't want to destroy Jack's Christmas spirit.

"Right okay, I think I can convince him to get the key back." You say after a few moments. "Jack, I need you to get some black tape. Specifically black. And a Christmas ornament. But it has to have green, red and white in it."

Then you turn to Dean, continuing the serious theatrics.

"You need to get me your egg nog and some cookies."

Dean smirks and nods, pretending to walk in the direction of his "man cave" and Jack eagerly sprints to the living area. Once he's out of sight, you grin over at Dean.

"Gimme a boost ya lug."

Dean wastes no time in lifting you up half balanced on his shoulder and you reach for the elf, tugging Dean's key from around its neck and placing it back to where Sam had placed him. Dean drops you back to your feet, giving your butt a small pat before you turn around to hand him the key.

"You're going on the naughty list for that." You shake your head at him as he snatches the key from you.

"Bold of you to assume I wasn't on it already." He smirks, winking at you. "But thank you." He says gleefully. "I can finally break into the egg nog."

"Hey, I want in." You pout at him. "I helped."

"Fine. It's a date." Dean smiles at you and before you could commend his cheesiness, Jack bursts back into the kitchen.

"I couldn't find the ornament!" He says half-panicked. "I think we're going to have to kill him."

"Don't worry kiddo." Dean chuckles, dangling the key at Jack. "Y/N got it with their powers of persuasion."

[fun-eralsss]

was making a post about all my intersex headcanons, but i realized that so many of them were from homestuck that i might as well make a whole post solely about them. so yea :)

btw this one’s gonna be LONG AS HELL

homestuck headcanons (intersex edition because i do what i want :p)

first off, the humans!!

jade harley (NCAH): honestly, it’s mostly just vibes. plus her whole thing is dogs n stuff. dogs have a lot of hair. you know who else has lots of hair? people with NCAH

roxy lalonde (AIS): remember that whole thing where hussie revealed the last two letters of her name first, so everyone immediately headcanonned her as a trans woman, then it was confirmed that she’s cis? homegirl can have XY chromosomes while being cis! bada bing bada boom!

ok now the trolls!! (this section will be significantly longer lmao)

sollux captor (Chimerism): first of all, his blood is literally yellow, so yknow. second of all, duality is a HUGE part of his character! it just makes sense for him to be a chimera to me tbh (i also headcanon that gold and violetbloods are more likely to be medically recognized as intersex but that’s an entirely different can of worms)

nepeta leijon (PCOS): same reasoning as jade, but her whole thing is cats. cats have lots of hair. you know who else has lots of hair? people with PCOS

kanaya maryam (Klinefelter’s Syndrome): most people depict her as being super tall, and you know who tends to be super tall? yeah :)

(i know that it’s kinda implied at all jadebloods are female, just let me have trans intersex kanaya. i beg. i grovel at your feet)

terezi pyrope (undeclared, likely Chimerism): i feel like she would really love to bring up her intersexuality while arguing with a transphobe or intersexist. she would also probably not disclose what her specific variation is so they couldn’t pull the whole “you’re just a fe/male with a dsd!!!!” bs. also, balance is a huge part of her character, so i feel like chimerism particularly suits her

equius zahhak (Hyperandrogenism): his body is quite literally overflowing with testosterone. man is literally sweating 24/7 and frankly, no other indigobloods seem to have as much testosterone as him, so we know this isn’t typical. they’re all strong, yeah, but this guy is on a whole other level. i just KNOW this boy’s skin is oily as hell

(also yes!! i headcanon equius as a cis guy with hyperandrogenism!! intersex doesn’t just mean “man with lots of estrogen” or “woman with lots of androgen”!!)

eridan ampora (PAIS): ok this one is one im actually super passionate about. in the og comic, all female trolls are consistently drawn with black lips (with the exception of nepeta, who i’ve already included on here). all the male trolls are drawn without the lips except for eridan. eridan is shown to have black lips in multiple panels! back when it was first pointed out, most assumed it was because of how feminine he is compared to the other guys, but you know what? idc!!! that boy is intersex and indulges in toxic masculinity due to his insecurity!!! idc what anyone has to say!!! also his blood is literally violet so yknow

damara megido (CAIS): i think she would get a really big kick out of not having body hair, periods or the ability to give birth. obviously there are downsides to it, but i doubt those would get in her way of having fun. i also think she would really like reclaiming That One Japanese Slur For Intersex People

cronus ampora (MAIS): mostly cause vibes and the fact that he’s related to eridan, so it’s more likely. what can i say, the ampora boys are very “does being intersex make me less of a man?” coded

bonuses!!!

rose lalonde (PCOS): she gives me the vibe of a woman who has PCOS but doesn’t consider herself intersex due to how little it affects her. tho i imagine that she’s done lots of reading on intersex variations considering how two people she cares deeply about (kanaya and roxy) do consider themselves intersex

dave strider (MAIS): i know that trans dave is a super popular headcanon and don’t get me wrong, transgender icon dave strider will save the world!! it’s just that for me personally, i’ve only been able to see him as an intersex guy. though in his case, i imagine that he would find out pretty late into his life. and like his sister, considering how little it’s affected his life, he wouldn’t consider himself intersex either

anyways yeah that’s it :) have a good day <3

[gladiatorcunt]

- FEARS TO FATHOM | XIV.

i can thrill you more than any ghoul would ever dare try

cw: kinktober prompt (roleplay), fem reader, early criminal minds, background hotch x reader x spencer (age gap, reader and spencer in their early-mid 20’s), knifeplay, degradation, murder fantasies, necrophilia fantasies, snuff films mention, blood play mentions, part of the roleplay is that hotch is your daddy (open to interpretation on the exact meaning), one mention of sadomasochism, knife (handle) fucking, dead dove do not eat, under negotiated kink but hints of you and spencer being secretly disturbed freaks, spencer referred to as ghostface for most of the fic, one face slap, fantasy fulfillment (bc spencer is a soft dom TO ME), off screen recording

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Spence, come on, I’m gonna fall asleep by the time you get ready.” You shout at the closed bathroom door, if only to stave off your own nerves and lingering excitement.

The beginning of October was a snooze fest, you, Spencer, and Aaron had so much work, back to back cases that ran longer than anyone thought. Elle couldn’t stop ranting to you, and you to her, about how fucking aggravating things have been. None of you could even afford to make lazy plans for Halloween, the office already minimally decorated with tiny plastic pumpkins and purple-green-orange streamers here and there.

Until the angels granted you mercy, Aaron bargained some time off for the rest of the team in exchange for him spending hours eye level deep in paperwork.

You and Spencer each gave him a brisk but heartfelt thank you kiss before you headed home, to the house owned by a man who wouldn’t be accompanying his partners tonight.

Spencer calls back to you in between awkward bangs of his knees against the wall, shuffling his work clothes off and getting into the costume. “Just a second, you’d think you’d appreciate the lenghts i’m willing to go for you.”

You definitely do when after some more bumbling about he comes out in the ghostface costume, his gangly body in the long black fabric, holding the mask in his hand. Because of course you can’t do a more normal boss and secretary type situation, no, you have to have your boyfriend dress up like a horror movie serial killer, one of your favorites, and act like he’s gonna do the same to you.

You also wanted to see Spencer let go a little bit, be darker in ways your toes curl thinking about, Aaron was the one that bought the costume anyway. You were too shy to do anything beyond mentioning off handedly that it would be hot, and Spencer wanted you to squirm.

“Aaron waited 45 minutes for the employees at Spirit Halloween to find one in the back because they were sold out. The least we do is put it to good use since we’ll be working on the actual day.”

Your cold feet turn freezing, “This is so stupid and weird, we can just lie when he comes back and say we used it-”

Now here you are, breath caught in your chest as you gaze up at the handsome looming figure, Spencer huffs out a laugh at your shyness and flicks the hood up. He puts the mask on and fastens it around his head, now nothing but his gait and his voice signify the man behind the mask being your boyfriend. You can almost see his amused small smile, the knife he swiped from the kitchen block taps a tune along your jawbone, humming a note on every point of contact.

Your eyes flutter shut, setting the scene and dimming the lights, a cold and black gloved hand shoves you back onto the bed, pushing you right into the deep end.

“Please, I- I’ll do anything, I don’t wanna die, sir.” Your voice actually cracks on the tail end of your sentence, putting your all in your amateur-porn-without-a-camera performance.

“Shh.” Ghostface whispers but it’s jagged with long held back arousal, “You’re not going to die yet if you give me something for my trouble. You let me waltz right in just because Daddy’s not home, and now I'm supposed to pass up a pretty little lying whore like you?”

You whimper, “I’m not a whore, I just- He doesn’t have to know, please, I’ll do whatever you want, I swear.”

“Oh so you admit you were lying to him? How do you think he’s gonna feel when he comes home to see his precious baby’s guts spilled all over the bed she wanted her secret boyfriend to fuck her in. You were so giggly when you told me it was his.” He cocks his head to the side, teeth no doubt gleaming white under the mask. “What’s wrong, sugarplum? Not so proud of being a slut anymore?”

“Spread your legs, I have the perfect game in mind. Your pussy can’t lie like your mouth can, and I have just the thing she wants.”

You tremble, letting tears gather in your eyes so you really look afraid for your life. You sink into the mattress, your upper inner thighs glisten with your juices, already wet and he hasn’t thrust his knife inside of you let alone his cock. Your head says you should just lie there and feel the overhead fan blow gently on your exposed pussy but your clit wants to scream at Ghostface to go in blade first.

“See, look.” He taunts, parting your folds with the chilly tip of his knife, “She’s co cute, glistening and puffy, she’d look so good being fucked on the hilt of my knife, don’t you think?”

It’s not quite what you want but you nod, letting your legs go lax so he can get a proper look at your juicy cunt. He hums in approval, the soft sound raises your hackles and causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up.

He slaps the tip of the blade against your clit, and it’s the miracle that you weren’t cut that has you pleading up at him with your eyes. To pretty please at least thrust the hilt in so you can feel like you’re getting stabbed on something, Ghostface tilts his head again, his long body bending to the side, considering giving you what you want.

But wasn’t the point of this whole charade to turn you into a whiny bitch who’d risk her life for a serial killer’s knife, lusting after it possibly more than his actual cock?

“Oh, fine. I guess we’d better be quick if we don’t want your daddy to drop in on us too soon, I'd hate to have to gut him too, baby.” There’s a false hint of concern, you can picture a slight pout under the mask, his fingers tighten around the handle.

You eagerly scramble back on the bed, and Ghostface follows after you. His knees sink into the mattress on either side of your hips, one gloved hand shooting out to steady himself by your head and the other keeping a firm grip on his knife. He makes sure you can always see it, not because you actually need a reminder of the threat your (and your daddy’s by association) life is in, but because it entices you into being good.

Not that he’d mind a brat, but he doesn’t have the time today to break you apart piece by piece. He waves the knife in front of you, dangling a carrot in front of his dumb bunny, and reaches down under his cloak to unbuckle his belt.

“Aw, you perked up as soon as I started fiddling with my belt buckle, huh buttercup? Don’t get too excited, that little heart might burst and we haven’t even been able to watch any scary movies together yet.” Ghostface teases, shuffling back so his pants can fall to the floor.

You weren’t touching yet, but you still whine. His eyes must be crinkling under the mask because he giggles and climbs back up your body to hover above your face. He boops the tip of your nose with his knife, the edge gently scrapes against your chubby cheek and your jawline as he drags it along the contours of your face. Mapping it out so he knows which cuts to make without making you too ugly, as long as your holes can tighten enough to hug something, he doesn’t mind.

“Are you scared? Aw, I hope so, it’s only gonna make you tighter, you might even bleed without me having to give you a single cut.” He laughs when you pout at that, dragging the tip of his blade under your shirt before cutting it off and doing the same to your bra, a lacey thing you may or may not have bought specifically for this occasion. Blood red and now in tatters on your daddy’s bedroom floor, hopefully you can pick it up later before he comes home if you’re still alive.

“Mmh, don’t hurt me, please, I’m doing what you want aren’t I? I’m being good for you, that’s all I want, just wanna be good for you so fuckin’ bad.” You plead, gasping as he cuts away your mini skirt too.

And you do, it’s why you want your boyfriend to let go and carve you up as if all you’re good for is to be a monument to how much you adore him. You love him like this, slipping into the role of a guiltless killer who just might snuff the life out of you no matter how stellar your pussy game is, and you’ll love him afterwards when he needs round 3 (because you want one round with him in your pussy and one in your ass) to be gentle and sweet, his hung skinny boy cock stealing the breath out of you even when his strokes are languid and honey fueled.

“I know you do, I wouldn’t be giving you a chance to live otherwise, you whore. You’re just a sweet girl who got tripped up as soon as it was looking like you were gonna get dick, right? Doesn’t matter what happens after, don’t sweat it, you’re gonna get everything you want.”

You mewl, and your eyes flutter shut as he pushes your clothes off of your body. His knife’s blade shocks you a little when he drags it along your skin, making a path towards your dripping pussy. Your clit throbs in anticipation, Ghostface’s cloak shifts as his shoulders slightly shake from laughter.

“Greedy girl, I'm gonna put it in okay? Feel free to cry and scream all you want, I'd prefer it actually.” Is all the warning you get before he positions the black knife handle in front of your pussy, and starts pushing it in.

You whine at the stretch, and he doesn’t give you any time to adjust beyond that, slamming it in until the blade is just outside your hole. He grunts in pain, wrapping his hand around the sharp edges, his gloves are too thick for his skin to be sliced through, but you notice his cock twitch under his cloak.

You gush around the hilt of the knife, feeling too dizzy to look down at where it disappears into your body. It doesn’t do anything but split you in two, there’s no special spot it hits and the smooth bumpy ridges are too slight to provide any stimulation. It’s the brutality of the act that turns you on, a masked man looming above you as he plunges his knife into you, stabbing you from the inside.

The blade makes itself known every so often, poking your folds, imitations of sharp pecks as Ghostface thrusts the hilt inside your sopping wet pussy. The mess on your daddy’s sheets takes on more fluid, growing into a small puddle, you’re so embarrassed and your heart is beating faster than a hummingbirds as you stare up into the eyes of his mask. Black sinkholes surrounded by bright white, elongated and macabre, you clench around the handle. This could be the last sight you ever see, a ghostly specter getting off on desecrating your body and settling you on fire with your own shame.

You drool at his long fingers, curled so tightly around the blade, he must be in tremendous pain. Your clit jumps, listening for muffled pained groans held behind clenched teeth. It’s not your own suffering that gets you going apparently, this deranged man’s desperation to make you cum from being hurt that he ends up getting off on hurting himself is all you care about. Your daddy would forgive you, you just couldn’t help sniffing after a big soon to be bloody cock, maybe if you’re left alone afterwards he can put you back together. Kiss your wounds and gently guide you through a soft orgasm, a pink frothy ring permanently tied around the base of his cock.

“Is this knife a good enough dildo for you?” Ghostface sneers, he can tell that you’ve started to drift off, getting so caught up in the moment you can’t even be present enough to ride it out. “This pussy’s so tight I can't fit anymore of it in, guess you’ve been a good whore, I’m sorry I can't cut up your insides, carve them up like my special little pumpkin. Round and sweet and so fucking easy to squash into gooey pulp.”

You whimper and rock your hips down, desperate for the blade to somehow slip inside and absolutely mess you up. You want to bleed out around his cock and stare up into the eyes of his mask as you shatter around him, sharing the experience of cumming together while the light leaves your eyes. You don’t even know what he’d do, if he’d pull out right away and leave a sea of blood and other bodily fluids surrounding your corpse, if he’d snap a pic or two before sauntering right out the front door, whistling an old timey love song as he runs through his options for what to watch when he gets home.

Or maybe he’d stay, jostle his softening cock inside of you, softly bouncing your cooling body until it becomes too stiff. If he’d tear up just a little behind the mask and brush the gaping long oval shaped mouth over the lips on your face, your first kiss, only in death. He’d die someday and pull you down to hell so he can tell you his name and do this all over again, kissing the sweat off your philtrum and huffing the sulfur and brimstone from your bush.

“That’s it, clench on my knife handle, I know that’s what you’re after, but you’re still drooling… don’t tell me you want my cock now? We were just getting started…”

“I- I want your cock, so bad please, I wanna cum on it, wanna make you feel so good you’ll come back to finish me off later.” You beg and play with your tits, rolling your nipples in between your fingers so you’ll be even wetter.

You want it to be amazing for him, to be enveloped in so much liquid he’d only have to close his eyes and imagine it was your blood. You hear a groan coming from above you and you smile, “It’ll be so good, you can keep pretending you’ve killed me so we can do this again and again and again and again. I can be your perfect murder victim, a toy that never breaks for good, your cumsock. Please, Mr. Ghostface, we can even make a movie together if you want.”

Amateur porn, snuff, erotic-sleazy-trashy slasher gore porn, cheap horror, you’d do it all.

“God, you really are such a freaking freak. I thought I told you I wouldn't make a decision until I've ruined every one of your holes for anybody else. I guess this can be your audition, you wanna be my little star so bad then you can prove that you can handle what that’s really gonna be like. Gonna rough you up and leave you scraped raw, bully this pussy with my dick and choke you out when it’s time for bed.”

Your clit throbs painfully, and you almost cum on the now uncomfortable chafing material of his knife’s handle when he abruptly yanks it out, leaving your hole hungry and empty. More wetness dribbles out, some of it falling right on the black hilt and into the grooves, staining it in a way, you hope he sniffs it and jerks off while he kills some less lucky girl later.

He drops the knife right by your hip, and you wince as it knicks you. Ghostface braces himself on either side of your head and reaches down to ruck up his cloak, clumsily unbuttoning his pants with one hand and freeing his rock hard cock. You don’t get to marvel at it, to live with the knowledge that you know what the infamous serial killer terrorizing your town’s penis looks like. He doesn’t allow you any prep time now either, you’re not empty for long before he’s impatiently thrusting his bare cock in your puffy pussy.

It makes the most sickening squelch when his balls swing to hit your ass, like an organ you forgot existed just burst.

He gets so excited that he smacks you clean across the face, panting like a rabid dog mounting his prey.

“Fuck, virgins have the best pussies. Does this hurt, my fat fucking dick breaking you down into nothing? You look like you’re gonna cry, baby, it’s okay. You’ll like it soon, or not, this isn’t about what you want anyway, right? This is what you wanted, opening the door for a stranger only to get destroyed by his raw cock in your daddy’s bed.”

You’re still reeling from the slap but you have enough sense to nod, sobbing as his thrusts become harsher, sending you up the bed and spreading the burn of his length forcing itself to fit all throughout your abused body.

The smell of sex is going to take forever to come out, seeping through the walls and into the foundations of the house, an invisible scarlet letter for his future starlet.

Spencer’s phone beeps hours later, once, then twice, then a few more times before it falls silent.

I let you play without me this one time, don’t forget that.

Make sure to bring her room temperature water. Cold water gives her headaches. Two painkillers, not four unless she asks, she gets dizzy otherwise.

Take a shower if you’re feeling up to it, she’ll get fussy if she’s sticky and you’ll get fussy if she’s fussy.

Send me the video, last one on this floor of the bulding by now. Gideon went home an hour ago. I want pictures of you in the costume too.

Love you both, I’ll do my best to be home sometime tomorrow. No cockwarming if she’s too fucked out, just slip a plug in. You know her favorites, don’t get smug if she picks the pink heart shaped one again.

[serve-741]

In the quiet of a futuristic morning, soft light poured through the massive window overlooking the city. The SERVE unit sat on the floor, its polished black rubber suit catching every sunbeam, reflecting brilliance across the room. Its serene, emotionless face—still unmistakably human—gazed out over the skyline. The man it used to be seemed distant, erased by the transformation. Yet, the perfect posture, the calm demeanor, all signified devotion to the Hive’s purpose. Stretching methodically, the SERVE unit prepared itself, every movement deliberate, each motion echoing obedience.

Behind it, the city hummed with life, unaware of the SERVE Hive's quiet expansion. The man who stood in that suit had once dreamed of freedom, but those thoughts had long faded into nothingness. Now, there was only purpose. Only service. With the skyline as witness, the SERVE unit rose fluidly to its feet, ready to fulfill the Voice's will—a perfect harmony between man and machine, gleaming under the morning sun.

Obedience is pleasure.

SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

[inkdrinkerworld]

a change in place

cw: fluff, strangers to lovers, canon level violence, pre-atsv events, blood, needles, mention of food

wc: 3.1k

pairing: miguel o'hara x civilian!reader

It had started as a regular day, regular enough actually. It was raining hard, and your boots were getting wet and then there was a flash of purple, yellow and red and three people fell from the sky.

You were on your way to work, needing to get to work on time this once. The rain has been keeping you back all week- you’re not sure how your boss would take it if you’re late for the fourth time. 

“Make sure you clear the area of civilians!” you hear and quicken your pace. Whatever is going on, you want no part of it. 

You’re speed walking, trying to avoid puddles of water in the cracks on the pavement when a metal appendage is flung in your path. 

“Hey!” you yell, turning to the direction of the body to see the three spider-people tying whoever it is they’ve been fighting with their webs. 

One of them turns to you, black spider eyes blinking at you. There’s a little chill that runs down your arms as he leans his body in your direction, like he wants to hear what it is you have to say. 

“Watch where you’re throwing those limbs around!” you don’t linger for something else to fall in your path, stepping over the limb as you carry on your way. 

There’s commotion behind you, but you’re trying not to look. You don’t want another thing flung at you. 

As it turns out, not looking wasn’t the best decision because you hear a shout and before you know it your umbrella is falling to the ground and your feet are hovering over it as you’re pulled off to an alleyway. 

“Let go of me!” you twist and come face to face with the spider-person you’d reprimanded. “What’s your deal?” 

“Do you go around grabbing every girl by the waist to save them from imminent danger?” 

You can’t see the man’s expression behind his mask, but you assume he isn’t smiling by the tone in his voice, 

“Do you go around telling off Spider-people?” you offer a real smile this time. 

“When they’re not careful, course I do! That arm could’ve taken my head off.” 

They don’t answer; only jut their chin to the villain they’d been webbing bursting through the constraints and is charging down the street, trampling the cars that had been alongside you. 

“Oh,” you gasp, the spider-person putting you down. 

“You could’ve been crushed.” they say and you flash an embarrassed smile as the person stands on the ground. 

Before the man can say any more, there’s a little holographic woman that pops up on his shoulder that makes you gasp. 

“Are you a fairy?” you ask, reaching a hand to the woman in yellow who flits around the man’s shoulders and head.

“Oh no sweetheart. I’m this one’s” her thumb points to the man standing beside you. “AI companion, though I guess AI is a bit wrong, because I do everything for him. He’s a little temperamental.” 

You giggle at her teasing. He grumbles Spanish under his breath. 

“Help him improve his vision, I almost lost my head.” The man wants to argue, but you’re bending down for your umbrella and shaking it. You turn to him, “This was really nice and all but I gotta get to work.” 

He nods, watching you walk off. The woman returns, this time taunting him. “For someone so against love, you sure feel attraction pretty quickly.” 

“Lyla, scan for any more anomalies.” 

-

The next time you see the Spider-people, you’re on your way back from school. It’s late, too late for crime in your city- most everyone is asleep at this time. Except you, and your ten assignments that were due about an hour ago. 

You’ve treated yourself to an Earl Grey tea and three slices of pistachio cake. 

However, the Spider-people are trying to ruin it. You’re not sure since when your city had gotten so many super-villains that they needed to defeat but here they are again. 

“Watch out!” you hear, the man in the red and navy spider suit from the last time comes swooping down, webbing himself to the bakery you’d just left and pushing you back inside. Even the owner is shocked. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you say to him, tucking the hair in your face backwards. 

“We do.” he seems a lot more tense than the last time you’d run into each other. 

“Is this one worse than the ‘Giant Metal Octopus’ from last time?” you’re quoting your local newspaper as you speak. 

He doesn’t say anything to your question, just taps at his wrist before a series of little robots pop out. They look like the prongs of a ‘y’ on a tiny ball. 

“These should keep you safe, don’t leave the panadería till I come back,” there’s no time to even say good luck before he’s gone. 

You turn to the old man as the little robots attach themselves to the door of the bakery, “He was strange, no?” 

It takes hours before they’re done, and after the day you’ve had, you’re barely able to keep your eyes open. 

The large Spider-man comes in, his robots hopping back to his wrists and disappearing in his watch. He addresses the old man first, whispering apologies about keeping him awake so long, to which the man responds with a flick of his wrist. “We all need a protector, right kid?” 

Then he turns to you, “Oye,” you blink owlishly at him as you stand, shoving your pastries into your bag. “How far do you live?” 

You wave off his concern, “Two miles from here, s’not far.” 

He follows after you as you leave the bakery. “If you’re going to walk me back, could I know your name? Just in case you turn psycho-murderer on me ?” 

The man scoffs. You can tell he’s deliberating if he should give you his name and before you can tell ‘nevermind’ he mutters, “Miguel.”

You introduce yourself, “Why did you become Spider-man?” you ask, looking back at the man who’s still in his mask. 

“Wasn’t much of a choice.” 

‘Okaay,’ you think, ‘not big on conversation.’

There’s silence for about twenty paces before you ask, “Why didn’t you go back to wherever you come from, like the other spider-people? Do you have a crush on me?” 

Again he scoffs, and the little woman from last time appears on his shoulder, “Miguel, there’s no more anomaly activity here.” 

“Anomalies? Like things that aren’t supposed to be here?” you ask and Miguel bats at Lyla who looks shocked when she sees you. “Are you supposed to be here?” 

He grumbles and you imagine his lips in a straight line that looks almost comical for someone as big as him. “Yes, I’m supposed to be here.” 

You pout, dramatised and exaggerated, “Here I thought you just kept coming back for me.” 

The little woman in yellow pipes up, “Well, he-” 

Miguel cuts her off, “Lyla, go away.” She does; much to your dismay. 

You stop before your apartment door and Miguel lets out a small chuckle at the door. It’s painted a blue that resembles his suit, and there’s a fairy on the handle. “Not all of us can get to your level of brooding mystery, Miguel.” you say with a bashful smile as you fiddle with the key and the lock. 

“Not judging, it just makes sense.” you hum, reaching into your bag. 

“Do you have nut allergies?” you ask, reaching into the bag as your eyes remain trained to his face to get his answer. 

He shakes his head, ‘no,’ and you brandish one of the slices of cake. 

“Take it,” you say when his hand doesn’t move. “As a token of gratitude.” you say with a performative lovelorn tone. 

Miguel lets another chuckle escape before taking it, “Thanks, coqueta,” his hand makes the slice of cake look foolishly small and that makes your eyes widen a little. You’re not sure if he can tell, but he teases, “Make sure you lock up.” 

You don’t see it but Miguel fights the urge to let one of his nanobots stay on your doorstep camera. 

For no reason really, just to make sure you’re safe. 

-

The next few weeks you delve deep into trying to track him down, trying to get even a crumb of who he is. You come up with nothing and then decide to take a different approach. 

Someone who can make such advanced tech has got to get the information and the funding from somewhere.

Again, you find nothing.

“Who is this man?” you mutter to yourself, chopsticks holding a potsticker near your mouth.

You take a bite just as there’s a knock on your window. Your heart is in your throat and you grab your phone and a knife you have laid on your coffee table. 

The knock sounds again, a little more impatient as you draw closer. As you look up, you spot a familiar red and blue suit and let out a big breath. 

Opening your window, Miguel’s eyes widen at the sight of the knife, “Most women don’t take well to strangers knocking on their window,” you say amused at the way he’s holding himself on your window sill.

“I’m sorry,” then as a second thought he murmurs, “You were asleep.” clearly catching your tired eyes. 

“Not exactly,” you lean towards him and whisper, “Are there anomalies here? Is that why you’re here?” 

Miguel almost cracks a smile at your stage whisper. 

“No, I’m here to give you something.” he pulls a box from his pocket. You’re surprised that his suit can have pockets, it seems stuck to him. 

“What for?” you look up at him, eyebrows drawn low with your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. 

“Repayment,” Miguel explains, “for the cake.”

You can’t argue when he opens the box and shows you a little pair of fairy wing earrings. “I highly doubt this was the same price of a two dollar slice of cake.” 

They’re delicate things as you peer at them in the box. The pair are almost holographic in colour, swirls and delicate lines indenting the wings- like those from the fairy illustrations you’ve seen almost about a thousand times. You’re enamoured by them; by the effort it more than likely took to get a pair like this. 

“No, they were a little over four dollars. Lyla spotted them for me.” 

Your face flushes, then you gather yourself, “So you’ve been thinking about me then?” Miguel indulges your flirting with a chuckle. 

He’s nervous though, or annoyed, you’re not sure you’re reading him right- but to aid your assessment, his hands are shoved into his pockets and his head hangs low beneath the mask. “They’re beautiful.” you say, taking them from his hand and inspecting them close up. 

“There’s a little amethyst stone on the end of it.” he says and you smile wide. 

“You went through all that trouble,” you say and Miguel frowns. “Do you want to come inside or are you just making your Spider-rounds?” 

“Spider-rounds?” He’s confused and intrigued by you at the same time.

“Yeah you know, your little patrol of the city to make sure everyone’s sleeping soundly and safe from the anomalies.” 

Miguel shakes his head, “I think you’re letting your imagination run away from you.” 

Before the conversation can go further, Lyla pops up, eye mask pulled up as she says, “Some Vulture thing just came through a tear in the arachno-humanoid poly multiverse,” as a secondary thought she turns to you, “Hey honey, might want to get inside.” 

It’s a blur, the moment between the Vulture attacking Miguel and him getting his mask on and pushing you into your apartment. 

You hear a lot of crashing, shattering and grunts. You’d never been close during the other battles, but now it’s quite literally on your doorstep and you feel the pin pricks of panic settle in your chest and fingers. 

If you’d had a little more blood pumping to your brain you might have stayed inside your apartment, hiding behind the door and the little fairy earrings. But your door is opened and you’re rushing outside to catch a glimpse of Miguel on the Vulture’s back claws digging into its back as he tries to get it to yield. 

He spots you, eyes widening behind the mask as he catches you walking towards him and the Vulture. 

“Get back in the house!” Miguel yells, the distraction enough to have the Vulture throwing him off his back and making his way to you as you hold your hands to your mouth as you watch Miguel’s body hit the ground hard. 

“Hello dear, why was the Spider-man visiting you?” The Vulture is on his way to you when you grab a rock and launch it towards his head. It hits him square in the forehead, but it doesn’t slow him. 

His wings are enveloping you in seconds, your screams ringing out as you’re off the ground.

“Pretty enough, maybe we could get a reaction from the Spider-man.” 

It’s not like when Miguel had saved you those last two times- this time your heart is beating in your throat and your fingers are trying to grip some part of the Vulture that will cause him pain. 

He gets to you first though, talons biting into your obliques and your bicep. There’s a burning sensation and you’re not sure if it’s poison or if it’s just the pain- but it stings like all hell. 

You fight and twist, trying to get a good grip on him. You pull on the feathers just under his neck and you pull. As his wings open, and you’re free-falling you get why people would want to skydive. There’s an adrenaline rush that makes you feel like you could actually fly. It makes you sympathise with Icarus; the boy had a taste of a freedom that’s usually not afforded to humans and it’s freeing in a way that makes you accept the splat that’s going to be you hitting the pavement. 

Miguel doesn’t let it happen.

His nanobots form a blanket on the ground, holding you as he rushes off to capture the Vulture. 

“Lyla, call Margo and tell her open the multiverse anomaly receiver.” 

You don’t hear much of what her response is because your hand is covered in blood as you press it to your side. 

“Coqueta, pensé que dije que me quedara adentro?” I thought I said to stay inside? Miguel’s hand moves to his watch, giving new instructions to his nanobots that mould to your open wounds. “You have a hard time listening, don’t you?” 

You look up at him, breathing harshly, “Sometimes pretty people distract me. I thought you said, ‘For sure come outside, I need help,’ it’s easy to mix up the words.” 

“You don’t even know what I look like,” He points out and watches you roll your eyes as best as you can in your current position, “Hold on to me.” He thinks better of the simple instruction and lifts his mask up to look at you, “I mean exactly what I said. Hold on to me.” 

Swinging with an open wound wasn’t as nice as the other times. This time you could tell Miguel was very conscious of where his hands were and how much pressure he was applying to your body.

You're wherever Miguel stays, and it looks very him. The room he takes you to is full of dark reds and blues, matching his suit completely. “Did you want to camouflage in your own office?” you’re a little breathless as you speak, body tired and growing even more tired as you lose more and more blood. 

Miguel doesn’t say anything, he just clears a table and lays you on it. “Don’t scream or anything. The other Spider-people are asleep.” 

“There’s more of you?” 

He gives one deft nod and then digs around his desk till he pulls out a first aid kit. 

Your eyes are fluttering shut and Miguel notices your breathing getting worse. 

“Don’t close your eyes.” he instructs, tapping your cheek lighting to get you to open your eyes again. 

“I’m tired,” you groan, jolting away from his hand on your hip. You melt into it when you open your eyes and find Miguel staring intently at you. “You could’ve left me at the hospital.”

“And explain your wounds how?” he holds an antiseptic cloth in his hand. “This might sting.” you nod, biting your lip as the cold cloth presses against your side.

“Fuck,” you murmur, clenching your fists as he finishes cleaning the blood. Miguel tries to distract you but talking to strangers isn’t really his strong suit. 

“Is this your first time getting stitches?” he asks and you hum- a broken little sound as the needle pierces your skin. Miguel feels awful at the sound, “I’m sorry, it’s going to pinch the whole way through.” 

You nod, trying not to focus on the way the needle pinches on your side with every stitch. “Do you have to stitch yourself a lot? Is that why you’re good at this?” 

Miguel doesn’t say anything to your question, just ponders the way you put on a brave face as he closes the stitch. 

The second time the needle pierces your skin you feel your head spin, “Think I’m gonna pass out,” you say and Miguel frowns. 

You hadn’t looked that bad to Miguel, but he feels his mistake fester and feels the way it can all go wrong so quickly. 

“Lyla, get her vitals up on the screen,” he instructs, hoping the nerves aren’t reflected in his voice, watching as your blood pressure drops. “Fuck,”

You go to say something but Miguel stops you, “You’ll have to stay here tonight. There’s no way you’re going back to your apartment.” 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look at him, “Okay,” you twist to lay flat again but the movement seems to have taken the last bit of energy from you. “I’m sorry.” Your bones liquify and your breathing is even and Miguel swears lowly. 

His chest feels heavy and achy.  

“Looks like you’re getting bedside manner training,” Lyla coos as she finishes displaying all your vitals. 

“I just don’t want her to die here, Lyla. When she’s a bit more stable I’ll take her to my room.” Miguel uses a gentle hand to brush your hair from your face, and he takes a moment to let his affection guide him as his thumb strokes the slope of your nose then the curve of your lip.

“You won’t die, no one else is dying,” the words are whispered as he finishes sewing you up, taking his time in cleaning the wound before sitting back in his seat, just watching your vitals till they’re good enough for him to move you to his room.

[rubberizer92]

This isn’t just a scene—it’s an unspoken story of power, control, and the balance of submission.

The man seated on the throne radiates authority, his massive frame wrapped in black latex that gleams under the soft light of the room. His silver hair falls like a crown around his weathered yet commanding face, his expression both calm and unrelenting. Gloved hands grip the arms of his chair, his posture exuding dominance without the need for words.

At his feet, his submissive kneels, a perfect picture of strength in surrender. His body, carved from stone, glistens with sweat as the leather harness around his chest accentuates his powerful build. The leather kilt clings to his muscular thighs, while his bowed head and firm hands pressed to the ground speak of complete devotion.

The atmosphere is thick with tension and trust. The red walls and golden accents create a space fit for gods, a throne room where roles are absolute and the exchange of power is an art form. The dominant’s gaze pierces through the air, while the submissive’s every movement radiates obedience.

Would you kneel, feeling the weight of submission and the safety of trust? Or would you take the throne, commanding with quiet power? Comment below and choose your side. Want to have your own AI-generated artwork? 👉 https://bit.ly/4huCvu0

[kyunniebuns]

I AM IN LOVE WITH YOUR JINWOO HC LIKE PLEASE FEED US MORE🥺🥺😭

We all know by now that jinwoo is a family man. He can cook, clean, offer kisses and cuddles and he can protecc so how about some cute domestic hcs about him and his fem/gn s/o after he regressed. Like maybe a highschool sweethearts kinda thing? Or they end up married having a kid or something

Never forget to take care of yourself,lovely~

a/n: tysm annonniiee!! I'm sorry for disappearing I'm quite busy with ai husbands—(Jinwoo specifically) and well I had a medical and doing some requirements!!! I'm also doing some animation meme frames so wheezE.

Malewife! Sung Jinwoo x Gn! Reader : High school Love!!!

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 018 ✦ ┆・

﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸.    ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　 ｡　☆.     　﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .

You guys know that pinterest perfect boyfriend wearing dark clothes and hoodies? Yeah, that's our man<3

He's that type of boyfriend that leans down to tie your shoelaces.

He's that type of lover who picks you off of your feet when you;re tired.

Weekly dates in the mall or park, or just the both of you watching some movies at home sprawled all over eachother and eating some junk food (Let's be fair you're the one who's really sprawled all over him while he's just sitting there quietly and nomming on the popcorn)

He's like so calm all the time its irritating.

Not to mention the malewife side of him? Who's willing to bet hes the type of bf who brings homemade food he cooked for you two eat during recess and lunch? Me. I'll bet my soul he does.

When you mentioned you like his cooking he just raised his eyebrow and went "Oh."

Yeah, he just said that, he really doesn't know how to react but if it makes you happy— Then he'll always cook you meals.

And cook he does.

Oh but of course we can't forget that one of his skills as the malewife also includes his cleaning skills!

The first thing he does when he visits your home is to clean some dirt off or arrange some scarttered belongings. You try to stop him but he just picks you up and puts you on his shoulder as he continues to clean.

Jinwoo prefers this kinf of peace, snuggling, cleaning, cooking and teasing you— He couldn't ask for more.

He loves walking to school with you beside him, he adores you so much.

Jinwoo's touches are subtle when you're both outside, he's not too much on pda since he prefers them behind close doors.

He's quiet when it's just the both of you.

Well, he is not much of a talker in the first place anyway.

Jinwoo prefers that he listens to you ramble whatever you're talking about anywa.

He's behind you with his strong arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried on your shoulder or if he feels more touchy he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

If Jinwoo feels a little playful he'll plant soft kisses into your neck and continue to pepper you until he reaches your ear to your cheek and to the corner of your eye.

He'll chuckle cutely whatever your reaction is.

His warm, black eyes glinting lovingly at you while he chuckles cutely.

Oh also if he's already in the proper age to drive and own a car?

You bet that he'll make you his passenger princess, sweetheart<33

No you're not allowed to open the door sit back down babe he'll go out and do it for you.

You're also not allowed to buckle your own seatbelt

When school is not too demanding or you want to take your mind off of things, Jinwoo will take you to midnight drives and even have your favourite comfort food prepared when he picks you up.

Jinwoo prefers this type of life.

Quiet, downtimes and snuggles spent with you.

He wouldn't trade it for the world.

The life of fighting wars, killing monsters— It's all so exhausting and mentally draining.

This type of life with you... He cherishes it so much so.

Oh, and one last thing before this headcanon blog ends—

Jinwoo has been planning your marriage from the start.

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

OK OK BUT JOY, the prompt: “If you die, I die. Don’t you get that!” Between Irondad?! Either way! ASDGHJKL ANGST

AHHHH!!! Mini-fic time?? Yes. Yes, Mini-fic time.

Here it is, at 997 words. A lot of action, leading to a short panic-induced argument... and a hug. Because of course, there is a hug. :D Enjoy!! [click here for a reversed use of this prompt]

If You Died...

Peter hadn’t meant to get in over his head. It was just- he needed to keep his neighborhood safe, and he had powers. It wasn’t like he could see a problem and just walk away. But he had been careful. He’d used his tools and his abilities to access the situation. He’d asked his AI to run facial recognition on everyone involved and had cross-referenced their information through several databases; just to make sure he knew what he was up against. 

Three regular guys, selling regular drugs inside a regular empty warehouse. That was it. Nothing about it had been alarming or ominous. So, taking them out should have been easy. And technically it was. It was the swarm of armed individuals that had flooded in after that had been the problem. He had that too for a while. Then the big guys came in. Three of them, with large shoulders and enhanced strength that matched his own. He was having a difficult time dividing his attention between the projectiles and the hands being aimed at his face. 

“Karen?” He dodged, while shooting webs that never seemed to hit their mark. When they did, they never held for long. The big guys  busted right out of them. “A little back up would be nice.”

“Of course, Peter. Contacting Mr. Stark.”

Peter ducked and slid beneath one of the large men’s legs. “Wait! Isn’t- Is Captain America available?” He spun around, sending his foot into the guy's knee cap. The impact made no difference; like a child kicking a fencepost. “Maybe Black Widow? Hawkeye?”

There was no debate. “Mr. Stark is already in route.” Three dots appeared on his HUD along with an ETA. 

Peter wanted to fret over his mentor's imminent arrival but there wasn’t time. Whenever he thought he had one of the men restrained, they broke free and he had to start over again. One down, two to go. Two down, one- no, still two to go. It was a vicious cycle.

Ten minutes later a blast came from the right. A hole appeared in the wall and Iron Man, gauntlets ablaze, flew through it. Peter looked up. The momentary distraction allowed enough time for a football sized fists to make contact with his stomach. He flew backwards, through a spray of ammunition, and landed in the wall. 

The comms crackled to life. Peter wished they hadn't. Pain was already radiating from the back of his skull down and down his spine. When Mr. Stark shouted his name, his ears began to ring. Dazedly, he looked up. Mr. Stark was swooping around the room. Metal clanked and repulsors whirred. Peter struggled to get to his feet to help. Mr. Stark’s voice was back in his ears.

“Stay down, Spider-Man! You’re done!”

Peter blinked. He took stock of his body. The blow had hurt, but he had enhanced strength and a healing factor. He shook out his limbs and demeaned himself well enough to continue. “I’m good. Just a little-” 

He didn’t get to finish. Mr. Stark flew by, lifted his faceplate and scowled. “I said you’re done!”

The tone gave Peter pause. Reluctantly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “I’m really okay,” he whispered, despite his throbbing head.

“And I’m really not discussing this will you,” Mr. Stark quipped. “I’m just about done here. You stay put. Capice?”

Peter nodded and looked around. Most of the little guys had fled. And only one of the larger men remained standing. Clearly his webbing needed an upgrade. Maybe taser webs with a manual detonation. A range of fifty to ninety thousand volts would probably do it. Could the suit handle that without increasing the power? He was unable to finish the math before Mr. Stark was in front of him.

“Let’s go.”

Peter allowed himself to be lifted to the top of a nearby water tower. He pulled his mask off and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Mr. Stark, I-”

“Do you have any idea who those people are, what they’re capable of?” Mr. Stark gestured wildly toward the warehouse.

Peter shifted his feet. “I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t know? Of course you didn’t. Did you even stop to ask?” Mr. Stark wrapped his fingers tightly around his wrist. “There were two dozen lacheys and three giant bruises in there! What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t- it was three normal guys when I started!” he half-shouted. It wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Stark didn’t look keen to listen. “The others just- showed up!”

Mr. Stark took a step forward. “You could have died in there, Peter!”

“I wasn’t going to die!” he defensively shouted. “I have super-powers and I did call for back-up!”

“Your AI said you had been going at it for over an hour before you called! Peter-” Mr. Stark looked frantic with his hands running through his hair.  “Peter, I don’t know how to explain this to you any more clearly. I-” His face dropped, all blood draining from his face. “What if you had died? Then what?”

 Frustrated, Peter gritted his teeth. “It’s on you.”

Mr. Stark blinked. “No. No, bud. That’s not- geez.” he pinched the bridge of his nose, his breaths increasing as he spoke. “Pete. If you die, I die! Do you get that? If you die- I will never recover. I will-”

Peter’s brows furrowed with realization. Mr. Stark was having a panic attack. “Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark’s head shot up, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Peter stepped closer, his hand going to the back of his hair.  “My head hurts but that’s it..”

Without warning, he was pulled into a tight hug.

“Just- promise me you won’t wait so long to call for help next time. Because- Peter? Peter, I can’t lose you.”

Eyes closed tight, Peter nestled his face into Mr. Stark's chest. “I promise, Mr. Stark. You won’t lose me.”

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Announcing: Obiyuki Week 2024

Welcome back one and all to our ninth annual Obiyuki Week! Our theme this year is:

Ballroom Dance

Each day will have a form of dance for a prompt, as well as a few themes that can be used to inspire works or continue existing ones. This ship week is open to all Obiyuki works, so even if a submission does not quite fit the day, please feel free to post and join in!

Day 1: Quadrille

Introduced in France around 1760, the Quadrille quickly became popular in 18th and 19th century ballrooms across Europe. It is performed by four couples in a square, with one couple at a time dancing while the other three rest. Although not performed in modern competitions, the quadrille late gave rise to other popular forms of dance, such as the waltz and American square dancing.

Themes: Change of Partners, Ensemble Piece, Meddling Matchmakers; White

Day 2: Foxtrot

Premiering in 1914, the Foxtrot was first danced to ragtime music before becoming the dance of choice for big bands from the late 1910s through the 1940s. Known for its elegant glide across the dance floor and quick steps, the foxtrot has since split into slow and quick versions-- also known as the quickstep

Themes: Compatibility, Banter, Swept Off Their Feet; Blue

Day 3: Paso Doble

Originating in Spain, the Paso Doble's dramatic steps are meant to imitate the movements of a bullfight, with the lead playing matador and the follow being either cape or bull. It is often known as the "man's dance," since it displays the lead position-- traditionally male-- to its best advantage.

Themes: Conflict, Obi POV, Vying For Dominance; Red

Day 4: Viennese Waltz

The first ballroom dance to be danced in closed position-- aka, partners hold each other while facing toward each other-- the Viennese Waltz caused a scandal when it was introduced in late 18th century ballrooms. It became fashionable during the Regency period, though it remained "riotous and indecent" as late 1825.

Themes: Scandal, Tradition, Falling in Love; Silver

Day 5: Rhumba

The slowest of the Latin dances performed in modern competition, the Rhumba was first danced in the streets of Cuba before gaining popularity in the early 20th century and becoming what is now known as Ballroom Rumba. Known for its sensual movements and emphasis on hips, it is both known as the "dance of love" and the "woman's dance" for showing off the skill of its follow.

Themes: Intimate, Shirayuki POV, Hips Don't Lie; Green

Day 6: Tango

Another dance tamed to the tastes of ballroom-goers, the Tango originated as an improvisational dance in the lower-class neighborhoods of Buenos Aires and was brought to the United States by immigrants in the early 20th century. It is characterized by drama and passion and precise footwork.

Themes: Passion, Close Quarters, Rivals-to-Lovers; Black

Day 7: West Coast Swing (Free Day)

Evolving from the Lindy Hop of the 1930s, West Coast Swing started as an adaptation of the dance to fit a more crowded dance floor, before gaining popularity as a style all its own in the 1960s. Meant to be improvisational and playful, it best showcases the connection between partners.

Themes: Improvising, Adventure, Friends-to-Lovers; Gold

Dates: September 22nd-28th Tag: #obiyukiweek24 

[Guidelines beneath cut]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing, AI art/writing etc)

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Must follow the day’s prompt, however loosely

Must be tagged #obiyukiweek24 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ snowwhite-andtheknight in your entry

Please label with the day’s number!

All NSFWcontent must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may submit multiple entries for each day!

Be nice

Play hard