#But gods does he try does this stupid fucker try

[jewishdragon]

Why did no one tell me the MCU LOKI show ended with Loki creating and then maintaining Yddrasil, becoming a new god of stories, as the solution to He Who Remains fucking up the natural growth/progression of time and space by building that stupid loom?!?!?!?

I’m having all sorts of emotions about this

[running-in-the-dark]

ah, crap.

I gave up and started watching Almost Paradise. I don't want to like it! but I'm not even a minute in and there's his stupid face and his arms and he's adorable and I hate it (I love it 😭)

and then this: "just boom. heart failure. and trust me, that's worse than penis failure" cool 👍

and now he's been hit in the face by a beach ball 😌 awesome

[gothgoblinbabe]

Love Game

[Logan Howlett x fem!reader]

Warnings: MDNI/18+ use of she/her, female reader, swearing, being referred to as a girl, mention of being a stress eater, mild alcohol consumption and mention of alcoholism kinda, jealous!Logan, mild violence, you’re shorter than Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it up), little bit of spitting, sub!logan x kinda dom!reader, voyeurism? Technically?, use of pet names, I believe that’s it but pls lmk if I missed any! ps. you wear a dress in this but if that don't work for you, imagine its a sick ass tux/ fancy attire you're comfy in

Also non cannon compliant because I know Logan is heavy as shit and his body weight would crush you but just for a minute you’re gonna pretend like it wouldn’t

Summary: essentially [this ask] with plot ! // Scott needs to mind his god damn business, but he might’ve done you a favor by snatching your diary and waving it in Logan's face.

Word Count: 8K

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“That fucking kid.”

You groaned, lifting your mattress and checking underneath and round your bed. You knew Scott was going to snatch your diary the moment you’d realized he overheard you tell Ororo where you kept it.  He was always busting your balls the same way he did Logans, even insisting it was a ‘two for one’ deal when he got to bother you at the same time. 

Well, he was really gonna regret messing with you this time.

“Summers! I’m going to wring your goddamn neck! Where is it?”

Your voice boomed through the open halls of the mansion as you barreled down the stairs, feet moving faster than your thoughts. Everything echoed in this place; if he was here, you know he heard you.

“Scott!”

You continued to call his name, stomping around until you locked eyes with him as you entered the kitchen. In his hands - to your abject horror - was your diary, spread open while Logan peeked over his shoulder. 

Truthfully, Scott was a little scared shitless of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d dealt with Logan back and forth, sure, but you? Terrifying. You had just about the same strength as Logan and about five times his rage. That’s why his eyes grew wide when he saw you, snapping the little book shut. 

You could feel your face burning. A diary was private within itself, but there were some things you’d written that were never supposed to be read by another soul; Scott and Logan’s included.

“Fucker,” you grumbled, reaching forward to grab the book from Scott’s hands until Logan snatched it, holding it above your head. 

“Ah, not so fast,” he teased.

You’d gotten into plenty of squabbles with Scott, but he was absolutely going to pay for this. He knew the way you felt about Logan and you swore he got some sick satisfaction out of trying to humiliate you. He only found out because he’d overheard you confiding in Jean late one night in the living room with a pint of ice cream in your hands, yapping while you shoveled Ben and Jerrys into your mouth.

Your eyes flickered between his face and Logan’s. If looks could kill, Scott would have dropped dead the second you walked into the kitchen. 

“Now what is this,” Logan asked with a lilt in his voice as his eyes scanned a page, “a whole paragraph for little ol’ me?”

Shit. 

“I’ll give it back, I promise, but I gotta read this.”

If you tried, you could maybe snatch the thing from his grip before he read too much. You considered jumping on him, piggybacking until he dropped it or handed it over. What lengths would you be willing to go through to keep it a secret anyway? Was it really even a big deal?

You had a crush. Everybody does at some point. A stupid, harmless crush and if this was how he was going to find out, so be it. 

You were still absolutely planning on tearing Scott from limb to limb, though.

“Huh,” Logan clicked his tongue, beginning to read from the pages, “No one knows how to piss me off like Logan.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands.

“True,” he commented, “and he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom to do his hair.”

“Also true,” Scott chimed in, becoming the subject of your seething gaze. 

“He’d save so much time if he just let me do it for him - like it would be hard to comb it into two cat ears,” he read, looking up to speak to you, “first of all, I told you they’re not cat ears.”

You simply nodded and rolled your eyes.

“Second of all, you couldn’t master ‘em anyway - I’d have to fix it myself.”

You just scoffed, leaning yourself back against the kitchen counter in an attempt to act nonchalant while you tapped one foot uncontrollably. Everything he’d read so far seemed to be the mundane stuff, nothing incriminating just yet. 

“God, how I wanna…play with his hair,” he read, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

Ah, there it is.

“That’s, uh - it’s really old, I didn’t mean, like - it’s from years ago,” you tried to blabber out an excuse.

“It’s dated - it’s from a couple months ago.”

You pursed your lips, nearly biting through the flesh at the same time from the pressure. You had to get that book out of his hands.

“He’s so stubborn,” Logan continued to read with a smug grin, holding the book high when you jumped to grab it, “I wish someone would just put him in his place.”

“Ooh,” Scott chuckled, looking to you, “are you gonna be the one to do it?”

“Fuck you, Summers - I’m so gonna get you back for this,” you snarled.

“I don’t think it would take too much for him to keep his mouth shut” Logan started to read again.

You instantly recognized the part he was reading and gasped, frantically reaching again for the book. 

“No, no, no, Logan, please - you don’t wanna read th-“

“I’d love to be the one to do it. I wanna take him and -”

He stopped reading and his eyes scanned the rest of the page, his amused smile faltering. You knew exactly what it was he’d read and you wanted to bury yourself alive. You remembered scrawling it down, snickering to yourself as you dragged the gel pen across the paper.

I wanna take him and tie him to my bedpost, probably shove my panties in his mouth and fuck him senseless.That would really shut him up.

Out of all the pages in that goddamn book, that’s the one he had to open up to?

You watched intently as his eyes flashed from yours to the page and then back again.

“What does it say?” Scott questioned, trying to lean over to get a look.

Instead of letting him read it, he snapped it shut and held it out towards you, his face expressionless. Was he mad? Grossed out?

“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t be readin’ her private stuff anyway.”

“Uh…,” you hesitated, fingers softly grazing his when you took it back, “thanks.”

You turned on your heel immediately and hastily made your way back to your room. You hoped to hide out there the rest of the day, praying maybe Logan would forget what he’d read or just let it be. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t.

You knew him so well because you were like mirrors of each other; smart mouthed and hot headed. You realized that the first couple months with the X-men, always butting heads with him until one mission where you had to grab the back of his jacket in an attempt to keep him where he was. You tugged with so much force that you nearly knocked him on his ass. Even Hank had never been bold enough to do that, not when Logan was as riled up as could be. From that point on, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that you would always be the one who calmed him down or held him back. So, you did just that; grabbing his wrist with both hands to force him to keep his claws to himself or pushing back against him when he tried to lunge at Scott for something stupid - though, after what he just pulled, you may just let Logan rip him apart next time. Though it was never acknowledged between the two of you, you were his anchor. You held him down when he began to drift away. Fortunately for you, he did the same - using minimal effort to keep you in place when you tried to go for someone’s face or going as far as to hike you over his shoulder and carry you away from the confrontation, all while you kicked and screamed to be let down. 

You avoided him the best you could for two days after the incident in the kitchen, quick comments in passing but never staying long enough for a full conversation out of fear that he’d bring up what he read. What were you supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I thought about fucking you?’

You’d have to think of something because you were face to face in training a few days later. Scott stood to the side of you both, a stopwatch in his hand. 

“Alright, when I say go, whoever pins the other down for more than five seconds wins. Remember, you're each trying to beat your time from the last session.”

Scott’s voice almost sounded underwater. Your eyes were locked with Logan’s and though you wanted to rip your gaze away, you couldn’t.

“Ready? And…go!”

He backed out of the way and you tried to lunge at Logan, quickly being flipped onto your back.

“Okay, ow,” you whispered to yourself, immediately standing back up.

He tried to grab you when you stood but you caught his hand, twisting his arm behind his back to force him to the ground. You straddled his back and kept your weight on him but he was too quick, turning over and pushing you off him.

“Don’t get too excited, now,” he panted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You were caught off by the low cadence of his voice, inadvertently letting your guard down and giving him an opportunity to pin your arms above your head and keep your legs down with the weight of his knee. Scott began to count down and you racked your brain for a way to get yourself out from underneath him. 

You were able to pull one of your legs free, sending him a little off balance and using your leg on the side of his torso to roll him over on his back again. You straddled his waist, using your hands and your forearms to hold his down. That, however, left you nose to nose while panting for air. 

“What, you thought I’d let you win?” You asked, tongue poking at the corner of your open mouth. It was usual for you to tease each other with little snide comments. Nothing any different from the usual, right?

“Nah, I just really like havin’ you on top.”

Nope, definitely different. 

You didn’t even hear Scott call time on your match at first. 

“Hey! Lovebirds! I said you can get off each other. Jesus,” he groaned. You finally remembered where you were and quickly scrambled off of Logan. 

“Aw, really? It was just gettin’ good,” he chuckled. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your belongings with your back turned. You tried to step out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t catch you before you met the elevator doors - of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“Hey, hey - princess, wait up,” you heard him call after you and you stopped, turning on your heel with an irritated expression.

“About the other day, the thing you wrote - “

You sighed, rubbing your face in distress and cutting him off before he could finish.

“Listen, Logan,” you quickly looked around the corridor to make sure you were alone, “I know what you read, I don’t wanna talk about it. It - look, it was some stupid phase where I had a crush and it’s over, okay?”

He tilted his head. You hoped he would simply nod and move on, but you watched his lips curl into a smile instead.

“Aw, what happened - you changed your mind?”

You knew him well enough to understand the look on his face. He was never gonna let this go - in fact, he was probably going to nearly torture you over it. 

“Shut up,” you huffed and continued to walk away, keeping your stare straight ahead.

“Aw, pretty girl -“

You dropped your belongings to the floor with an audible thud and gathered the front of Logan’s t-shirt in your fists, tugging him down to your height so you were face to face. 

“First of all, I told you not to call me that - ‘princess’, ’pretty girl’ - like I’m one of your little girlfriends. Okay, kitty cat?” you scolded through gritted teeth. He hated being called that and you knew it.

His eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in surprise.

“And second of all,” you continued with a deep breath, “you read it, it’s done - leave it be, would you? It doesn’t mean anything.”

You still had his shirt in your tight grip.

“Alright, alright - I’m just teasing,” he admitted, trying to pry your fingers from his t-shirt, “and I’m sorry, I never should’ve been reading it in the first place.” 

You sighed and finally let him go.

“Fine, I forgive you. And you can’t ever tell anyone what you read. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So, we’re cool again? Nothings weird?”

“Not unless you make it weird.”

“You were the one flirting with me.”

“Uh - was not. I was simply creating a distraction to throw you off guard and it worked.”

“I’ll get you back.”

“Sure, you will.”

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You and Logan were in forced proximity hours later, standing with Scott, Jean and Ororo in Charles’ office.

“Do we really have to go?” Logan groaned, hanging his head back in frustration.

You were staring at the thick paper invite atop Charles’ desk. All your names were scrawled in cursive, surrounded by small gold detailing with the event written on top. It was some kind of Gala, something for charity that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were standing.

“It would be a wonderful opportunity to represent the school, yourselves and the mutant population as a whole,” Charles answered.

“You really think wolvie and his little hothead wrangler are gonna be well behaved enough to not make a scene?” Scott gestured towards you both.

Logan stepped towards him and you instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to hold him back. He looked back at you, clearly annoyed.

“We’ll be fine,” you insisted while glaring daggers in Scott’s direction.

You didn’t notice that you were still holding the sleeve of Logan’s jacket when Charles dismissed you. You let go and cleared your throat as you followed him out of the room.

“There's no way in hell I'm wearing a suit,” he grumbled, looking down at his flannel and jeans.

“You don’t wanna play dress up?” You teased.

“And look like a stuck up prick? No.”

“I'm kind of excited to wear something nice for once,” you admitted, “I’ve got a couple nice dresses I’ve never even worn. Besides, maybe there’s gonna be a couple of hot, rich guys there.”

You were looking straight ahead as you walked side by side down the hall, smiling to yourself. If you had turned your head, you would have seen the way Logan rolled his eyes. 

“What, you’re gonna go home with some rich schmuck just ‘cause he’s got money?”

He sounded almost annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, if he’s good looking, maybe.”

That was only a little truthful. You were not the type of person who was comfortable enough to go back to a stranger's place or hook up with someone you’d never see again. But maybe you could, if it would keep your mind off Logan and convince him to forget about what he’d read a few days ago. And if the guy did have money? It certainly wouldn’t be a problem for you.

“Oh,” Ororo piped up from behind you, stretching out the vowel, “I see - you’re going shopping. Gotta try before you buy, huh?”

She playfully poked your side and you chuckled, swatting her hand away.

“Call it what you want,” you responded, “but I’m gonna have fun, at the very least.”

You would end up having fun - just in a much different way than you expected.

You decided on getting ready for the night in Ororo’s room when the time came a few weeks later. She was touching up her makeup at her vanity while you changed behind the bathroom door. 

“Does it fit?” She asked through the wood with her eyes still on her reflection.

You were attempting to zip the back of your dress with your arm stretched uncomfortably over your shoulder.

“In a way? Kind of.”

Jean entered the room just then, having already gotten ready in her and Scott’s room.

“She’s trying on a dress that’s been in her closet since last year that still had tags,” Ororo explained to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Can one of you zip me up, though?” you sighed in defeat and opened the door, “I can’t get it.”

“Woah, mama!” Ororo comically wolf whistled and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

The dress was your favorite out of your collection of unworn clothing; it showed the perfect amount of skin and hugged your figure phenomenally. To top it off, the color complemented your skin in the best way possible.

“I don’t look silly? I feel a little funny getting all dolled up,” you confessed, turning around so Jean could pull your zipper up the rest of the way.

“Definitely not silly,” Jean reassured you but mumbled under her breath after, “Logan’s gonna lose it.”

You turned back around to quirk an eyebrow at her.

“Who cares what he thinks? Did I say I care what he thinks? ‘Cause I don’t. Like, at all.”

“Honey,” Ororo began, “we already know you like him, remember?”

You groaned and bent down to look into the mirror on her vanity.

“I don’t - not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, right,” Jean giggled, “keep telling yourself that.”

Ororo looked at the time on her watch and hastily stood to slip on her shoes, “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. Logan and Scott are supposed to meet us downstairs.”

You stepped into your shoes and grabbed the little bag you’d carry for the night, following her and Jean out the door. When you finally got to the staircase, you could see Scott and Logan talking to each other at the bottom, the latter of the two standing with his back facing the stairs. 

“All right, ready!” Jean enthusiastically announced. If she hadn’t said anything, the simultaneous clicking of your shoes would’ve announced your presence for you.

Logan turned around to face you. At that moment, he wondered why he ever complained about going in the first place. His eyes were glued to you as you came down the stairs and you could feel yourself start to get warmer. 

He looked so good in a tux, Jesus Christ. You liked when he wore those tight fitting tanks and jeans, sure, but something about the formal attire really did it for you. His cologne wafting into your space when you stood next to him didn’t do much to help dispel any feelings you had, either. How badly you wanted to just forget the stupid event, tug him into your bedroom upstairs and show him that you were so not kidding about what you’d scribbled in your diary. Alas, that was certainly not going to happen.

‘Just an old crush,’ you internally tried to remind yourself, ‘just an old crush - that’s it. I’m not into him anymore.’

Except that you knew damn well it was a lie. 

“We’re gonna be late if we stand here any longer, c’mon,” Scott began walking with Jean while you, Logan and Ororo followed.

“You look nice,” Logan finally spoke as you made it to the door, “think you’ll bag any of those rich guys?”

You almost asked what he was talking about, too lost in thinking about how you actually wanted to bag him and not some stranger.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but if I do, you’ll be the last to find out.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Got that right.”

You eventually found yourself in a large, decorated open room, sat in the corner with Logan while he nursed a glass of whiskey and you anxiously scarfed down appetizers. The rest of the team had walked off to mingle - like normal people do.

“Kid, you’re gonna choke if you keep eatin’ that fast,” he warned you.

“ ‘m a stress eater,” you explained with a mouthful of fancy cheese, “besides, you’re a stress drinker. Thank god there’s so many tiny foods.”

He scoffed and took a sip of his drink. 

“What are you even stressed about, anyway? Half your job tonight is to just stand there and look pretty and you’ve already got that down.”

“Thank you, I think?” your eyes nervously scanned the room, “I just hate being in a crowded place, especially one this big that’s full of complete strangers.”

“Why do you think I’m holdin’ a glass right now?” 

Your eyes flickered between his and the half full glass in his hand. You wordlessly took it from his fingers before he even had time to react and downed the contents in one gulp.

“Well, that’s one way to calm your nerves,” he commented, “but if you keep drinkin’ like that, you’re gonna be face first on the ground before the nights even started.”

You were still holding a grimace from the burn of the alcohol but shook your head and cleared your throat, “I just needed the kick in the ass - I’m good.”

“So, you’re gonna go socialize? Good luck,” he raised his eyebrows, “something tells me these people aren’t really who we want to be hanging out with.”

“Why, because they have an immense amount of cash to burn and we don’t? You can’t hate people just because they have money, Logan.”

“Then how am I doin’ it right now?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there’s gotta be a few genuinely good people out there who just happen to be rich.”

“Uh-huh, and I think two plus two is five - it doesn’t make me right.”

“You know what? I’m going to prove you wrong,” you said smugly, standing up from the table. 

“I think you’ll prove me right.”

“You wanna bet?”

“It’s a deal.”

“What are we betting, exactly?”

“How ‘bout this - if either of us can find someone here we actually want to go home with, you win. If we don’t, I win.”

“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, “what does the winner get?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “we can figure it out later.”

With that, you both dispersed. You were still feeling uncomfortable but that wasn’t going to go away unless you did something about it. Do you just go up and talk to someone? What do you say?

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind you and you turned around, only to be face to face with a cute guy in a tux.

“Oh, so they come up to you,” you thought immediately.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be forward with you, but you look very beautiful,” he said politely, a charming smile on his face, “I saw you when you walked in and wanted to say something, I just wasn’t sure if you came with someone.”

You took a second to respond, still processing the fact that he even came up to you. 

“Oh, thanks,” you finally replied, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

You tried to use humor to dispel the awkwardness - the type of awkwardness you feel when you get asked to go to a school dance in the seventh grade - but this guy was cute. If you just got to know him a bit, the mild discomfort would probably pass.

“I didn’t come here with anyone, by the way,” you added, “Well, I mean, I did but not in that way - I’m with friends.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, grinning, “in that case, would you wanna dance with me?”

You hadn’t even asked each other your names, and you didn’t really care. 

You nodded and let him take your hand, “I have to warn you, though - I’m no dancer.”

“Well, do I look like one? ‘Cause I’m certainly not, either. But when there’s a beautiful woman in the room that you really wanna talk to, you’ve got to think of a reason to go up and talk to her.”

“I don’t know - I think you just might be a bit of a smooth talker.”

He was and it was definitely working. He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me blush.”

He was funny, too. All you had to do was find out a little more about him - for the sake of the bet, yes, but also to determine the probability of breaking his bed frame later if it all went well.

So, you let him rest his arms around your waist and you put your hands on his shoulders. It was kind of nice to have someone so close. You started to feel mildly uncomfortable, though, as if someone was staring at you. You ignored it anyway, deciding it was just the anxiety of being in a place with a lot of people.

Really, it was Logan standing across the room with his stare glued to you two. He looked like he wanted to bore a hole into the poor guy's skull. When you finally caught sight of him, he turned and seemingly disappeared.

You spent a bit of time with your new date, intending to subtilely interrogate him to find out if he fit the criteria for your bet with Logan. Even if he didn’t? You might let him take you home anyway.

You sat with him at an abandoned table, leaning your head on your hand as you half - listened to him talk about stocks. You glanced around the room and spotted Logan again almost immediately. 

He was leaning against the wall with a girl hanging from his arm. She was talking away and he looked completely disinterested. The whole point of coming was to distract yourself from anything to do with him and there you were, ignoring your date to silently seethe at a girl who was only in his vicinity.

You tried to zone back in on the conversation and really pay attention when he started to talk about his job. It was some tech company you’d heard of, a big name in the industry.

“Oh, so, what do you do there?” 

“Well, I own it.”

You squinted and sat up straight.

“You own the company.”

It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded and you raised your eyebrows. This was going much better than you anticipated. You couldn’t help but glance over at Logan to see that girl still standing with him.  She was twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. She was undeniably pretty, so you wondered why he wasn’t even looking at her while she hung all over him.

“Hey, would you wanna dance with me again? I know it’s a little slow paced, but I love this song.”

You returned your attention to the man in front of you and smiled as politely as possible.

“You know what? Sure, why not.”

You let him lead you into the middle of the room and rest his hands on your hips. He pulled you much closer than you’d been standing before, so much so that you were nearly stepping on his shoes. His hands slid down further and you laughed a little to yourself. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you wondered why it didn’t feel like something you wanted at all.

You caught Ororo’s gaze from across the room and she smiled, flashing you a thumbs up. When you caught Logan’s gaze, he was anything but smiling. There was a reason you felt like all this was something you didn’t want - you knew you wished it was him you were standing with. Still, you weren’t sure of why he wouldn’t tear his eyes from you or why he had such a scowl on his face. 

You stopped staring back when your date planted a kiss on your forehead.

“What was that for?”

“Well, I kinda wanted to kiss you but I figured maybe goin’ right for the lips might have been too much.”

“We don’t even know each other's names.”

“Do we have to?”

You thought hard for a moment, wondering if Logan was still watching. It wasn’t fair to kiss someone just to try to make another person jealous, you knew that. He didn’t even have a reason to be jealous.

“You can kiss me.”

He was an alright kisser - nothing exciting. His lips were soft, though, and you liked the smell of his cologne. Before you could deepen the kiss any further, he was tugged backwards and off of you.

Logan had the back of the poor guy's jacket in his fists, nearly yanking him down to the floor with how much force he used.

“Alright, bub,” he grunted, “I think that's enough, she’s leavin’.”

You glared daggers at him with your lips parted in surprise.

“I can leave when I want to,” you said through gritted teeth, “what the hell is your problem?”

“Is he your boyfriend?” your date asked, nervously looking between you both.

“He’s n-” you began to answer and Logan cut you off as he grabbed your arm.

“Yeah. Get lost.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows in anger but could feel your face becoming warm. You weren’t totally sure if you were turning pink from how enraged you were with Logan or from the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Outside. Now,” you demanded, tugging your arm from his grip.

You turned to walk away and he followed as you grumbled to him, holding your dress up a bit so you wouldn’t trip as you stomped out.

‘What the fuck was that?”

He didn’t answer, simply following at your heels with his eyes on the marble floor of the corridor. You swung open the door and stepped into the cool summer evening air, waiting until the door shut behind you to speak again.

“What, you didn’t want me to win the bet?” you guessed with raised eyebrows.

“You’re really gonna let some guy you don’t know shove his tongue in your mouth?”

You stood in stunned silence for a moment.

“Are you kidding? How is that any of your business?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna let some asshole be all over you just ‘cause he's got money.”

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “why do you care?”

“Why don’t you? Seriously, you’d just go home with some guy and fuck him?”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you stuttered, “maybe, but that was part of that stupid bet! Not that it’s any of your concern!”

You were nearly shouting at each other.

He clicked his tongue and spoke in a sour tone, “none of my concern, sure. I didn’t think you’d actually try and go home with someone -”

“Okay, you know what?” you threw your hands up in frustration, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is or why you’re acting like some jealous boyfriend, but fucking cut it out!”

You were both finally quiet for a moment. The sound of cicadas and crickets songs filled the silence. Logan’s face was pleading, his features highlighted by the soft golden yellow light seeping through the building’s windows.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest.

You raised your eyebrows, “get what?”

You sounded exasperated, sick of playing what felt like the worst game of twenty questions ever.

Logan brought a hand to his face, scratching at his facial hair - something you recognized as a nervous habit.

“That stupid fuckin’ notebook, the little one you write in,” he groaned, “I just wish I never read it.”

“So, you’re mad about that?” You asked, clearly still confused as to what he was trying to say, “listen, I’m sorry, it wasn’t -“

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he interrupted, “it’s - fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know, It's like I read that damn thing and lost my mind.”

You waited for him to elaborate, a puzzled expression still plastered on your face.

“It’s all I can think about, all the time - it's like I close my eyes and I can still see it written down in your chicken scratch. I don’t even know what to do, It’s so stupid,” he huffed.

You still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell you or whether he was talking to you or himself.

“And then - I don’t know, alright - you look so…” he groaned with his face in his hands, “I like you - is that enough? Ya’ get it? I liked you for awhile and then Scott had to go peekin’ through shit that wasn’t his and reading that shit you wrote just made it even worse for me. I’m supposed to read that you wanna ‘fuck me senseless’ and just let it go? You thought that wasn’t gonna do something to me?”

You were slack jawed, feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

He seemed angry, his nostrils flaring while he held a frown.

“So…you -“ 

His hands cupped your face and he leaned down close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.

“So, I want you to fuck me like you said you wanted to.”

Your eyes grew so wide that you feared they might pop out of your head. 

“Would you, if I asked?” He continued in a low voice.

Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you nodded without hesitation. Conversations like this with Logan had only ever happened in your dreams.

His lips finally connecting with yours made your head spin. If he wasn’t tenderly holding your face, you might’ve just let yourself fall to the ground.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know,” he admitted when he pulled away, “watchin’ when you walk away, thinking about how you say my name, wishing I could just tell ya’ - I didn’t have the nerve. Seein’ you with another guy, though - I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I could and I just can't.”

You almost expected to hear the beeping of your alarm clock that would startle you awake in your bedroom. Still, it never came. You could feel his hot breath on your face, the breeze on your skin, the warmth of his hands; it was all too real.

“You mean it? All of it?”

You didn’t know why your voice sounded so desperate, almost pleading with him not to toy with you.

“ ‘course I do. Of course, I mean - god, look at you.”

His mouth was on yours again and you smiled against his lips, your cheeks tinted pink.

“Hey, wait,” you pulled away momentarily, “why did you agree to that bet in the first place, then?”

He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously.

“I kinda figured you wouldn’t be able to find someone good enough, I don’t know - maybe I could convince you to come back with me instead.”

“That was your plan?” you let out a small laugh, smiling so wide that your face began to ache.

“Well, It might’ve worked if you hadn’t met what’s-his-face in there.”

“I don’t know his name,” you shrugged, “didn’t care to ask.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I let him kiss me because I wanted to make you jealous,” you admitted, “I still like you.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

His expression was as smug as could be.

“That you still like me? Yeah.”

“How? Am I that obvious?”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged and lowered his voice to a whisper as he put his lips to your ear, “I could smell how wet you’ve been all night.”

You swallowed hard and shivered when his hand slid up your back.

“And it worked, by the way - I’m jealous.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Well,” you affectionately scratched at the hair at the back of his head, “are you gonna do something about it, then?” 

He kissed you with much more fever than before and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth. His hands were in your hair to push you even further into him to the point he was practically hunched over your body. When you finally took a second to catch your breath, you had a realization.

“I won the bet.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Please tell me you don’t mean you’re actually still gonna go home with that guy.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes and let out an amused scoff, “I meant you, Logan.”

“Me,” he repeated with a beaming smile, “you’re coming home with me.”

You nodded and giggled, absentmindedly fixing the hair hanging in front of his forehead. 

He was staring into your eyes in a way that had you feeling as though there was nothing else around you - no fancy party inside, no responsibility to socialize - just you and Logan in the cool light of the moon. He was studying your face like he’d never see it again if he turned away.

“What if I couldn’t wait till we got home?” He asked quietly. His warm breath just barely grazed your lips.

Your eyes widened and you thought for a moment, looking between him and the door beside you.

“C’mere,” you instructed simply, taking him by his hand and leading him inside to walk down the main hallway. You scanned the area and once you were sure no one would see either of you, you began trying knobs of different doors to see if one would open. When one finally gave, you slipped inside with Logan in toe and flicked on the lights. It was a small dusty office, one that probably hadn’t been used in a few months at the very least.

Neither of you wasted any time in taking advantage of your newfound isolation. Logan was kissing you like he was starving to taste you, working his way down your neck with an open mouth to leave darkening spots slick with his saliva.

“Logan,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed momentarily from the way he was nipping and sucking at your skin.

“I love when you say my name,” he admitted, mumbling into your neck. His hands were everywhere - tangled in your hair, resting on your waist, your hips, your ass - he was desperate to keep his hands on you now that he had you. 

You disconnected your lips for a moment so you could hop back to sit up on the top of the desk behind you. You hiked the skirt of your dress above your knees to avoid ripping it and motioned for him to stand between your knees as you held the middle of the skirt down with one hand.

“I’ve got an idea for my reward for winning the bet,” you smiled mischievously, leaning up to hold his chin and force him to look you in the eye, “what do you say, pretty boy? You wanna be part of it?”

He nodded eagerly and the pace of his breathing increased significantly.

“Good,” you leaned back on one hand, using the other to tug at Logan’s suit jacket, “off.”

He obeyed without hesitation and shrugged the garment off his shoulders. He began to untuck his shirt and you stopped him with a gentle touch.

“Did I say to take that off too, sweetheart? I don’t think I did,” you spoke softly in a firm tone.

“No - no, ma’am.”

It drove you crazy to have him under your thumb in that way, his usual domineering nature and dominance melting away by the second. 

“So do as you're told, baby,” you instructed, “if you’re good for me, maybe I’ll reward you back.”

You could see him swallow hard, eyelids nearly fluttering closed when he thought of all the possibilities of what that might entail. 

“F- mhm, fuck,” he stuttered when you brought a hand to the front of his pants and barely grazed the spot below the button with your fingertips. He began to twitch more and more with every touch.

“Are you gonna say yes?” your voice was near taunting, “or do I have to try a little more convincing?”

You popped the button on the front of his pants with ease and slid your hand underneath to feel him over the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Yeah, yes, I - ah, yeah,” he moaned in response, rocking his hips towards your hand and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled and gently kissed his temple.There was something so lovably vulnerable about the way he was acting with you. You knew he’d never let another soul find out that he loved what you did to him - dreaming of you whispering affectionate nicknames and praise as he sloppily pounded into you or spending hours on his sore knees just so he could feel you cum on his face - but the intensity of his devotion bordered otherworldly. 

“Do me a favor, baby,” you started, lifting your hips for a second to drag your panties down your legs, “take out your pretty cock for me.”

He obeyed, tugging his pants down his thighs just enough for his already hard dick to spring up out of the confines of his briefs. You inadvertently licked your lips at the sight, thinking of how heavenly he’d feel in you. He was huge, but for a guy who’s six foot two, it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood expectantly between your legs with his hands on your thighs. You leaned back on both hands, cocking your head to the side as you spoke.

“Touch yourself first and maybe I’ll let you touch me.”

The ‘maybe’ was a bluff. He knew as well as you did that you’d let him touch you regardless.

“Gimme your hand,” you ordered before he could even wrap his fingers around himself. You leaned your mouth over the palm of his hand and spat.

He groaned from the gesture alone, knees nearly buckling when he finally brought his hand down to coat his cock in your saliva.

“Feels good?” You cooed, eyes flickering from his face to his leaking cock in his fist.

“Mm - mhm, yeah, ‘s good,” he panted, “really fucking good.”

You failed an attempt to hide your wide smile, hypnotized by the repeated motion of his hand. He looked so pretty like this - his jaw hung open, chest heaving while his face became more flushed with every passing second. You could feel the rush of heat in your lower stomach just from watching him.

You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward a little and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down, all while he watched you intently, his breathing becoming heavier the closer your hand came to his.

“Think of you all the time when I do this at home,” he panted, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The compliment made your heart swell; it was a sweet remark that so greatly contrasted the obscene speed of his hand as he stroked himself. 

“You’re such a pretty boy,” you whispered and planted a kiss on his pink cheek, “you look amazing.”

You caught the way the motion of his hand slowed and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his cock. He growled, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t work yourself up so soon, kitty cat, or you’re gonna be finished before I even get to fuck you,” you murmured into his ear and he gasped as you started to pump him.

“Don’t - ah - don’t call me that,” he whimpered.

“Aw, you don’t like it, my pretty kitty?”

He growled again, even more animalistically , but his hips jerking into your hand told you he really didn’t hate that nickname as much as he told you he did.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you continued to tease, “I know you like it - you love bein’ my big, pretty kitty.”

He groaned, lifting his head from your shoulder and crashing his lips into yours. 

“Sh-shut up,” he managed to grunt.

You immediately withdrew your hand and sat back again.

He whimpered from the loss of contact and looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking why you stopped.

“I said you had to be good for me, didn’t I?” you asked.

He nodded, eyes traveling from your thighs, up your body and then back down again. 

“Good boys don’t talk back,” you said simply, raising your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, I’ll - I’m good, I’ll behave, just please -“

His speech was cut short when you hiked your dress up even further to expose your bare, wet pussy.

“Fucking Christ,” he moaned.

You tugged the top of your dress down to expose your chest and he had to grip the desk you were sitting on so his legs wouldn’t give out from under him. 

“If you can be real quiet,” you pushed some fallen hair out of his face, “I’ll let you cum in me. You want that?”

“Please, ‘v been thinking of that for fucking weeks,” he begged, “please, please, baby.”

He tentatively cupped one of your breasts and you rested your hand atop his, encouraging him to squeeze and knead however he pleased. You spurred him on to the point that he couldn’t resist leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking while his fingers toyed with the other one.

You couldn’t help whining from the sensation of his mouth on you while you combed your fingers through his hair.

He finally detached himself after ravishing your chest in wet kisses and left a string of saliva connecting his tongue to your nipple. You giggled a little to yourself and crashed your lips into his again in a heated mess of tongues and teeth. You scooted your hips up on the table and used your grip on his cock to graze his tip up against you, making him shudder.

“You’re so - fuck, you’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he gasped and held your hips in an iron grip.

“What’d I say about back talk?” you moved the head of his cock further away from you.

He groaned in frustration, moving his hands to hold your face, “Honey, I’m already beggin’ -  please, I need you.”

The desperation in his voice made you even wetter.

“I guess you’ve been pretty good for me - do you think you deserve it?” 

He nodded eagerly and placed his hand over yours that was around him. You let him nudge your hand away to align himself with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he finally began to push himself into you, rocking his hips slowly to help you adjust to his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist. When he fully sheathed himself inside of you, he let out a loud moan that echoed through the small space.

“I told you to be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered into his ear.

“Uh-huh, ‘s a lil’ hard when I’m fuckin’ a girl I’ve been dreamin’  about for months,” he mumbled, working up a steady pace while you wrapped your legs around him and locked your ankles at the small of his back to help push him further into you.

“You feel so good, Logan,” you moaned, kissing down his jaw and throat.

He groaned at full volume again.

“Are you gonna stay quiet? or do I have to shut you up? Hm?” you grinned and he made an even louder noise. You reached behind you to find your panties and folded them into a ball, holding his jaw with your other hand.

“Open.”

He obeyed immediately, rolling his eyes into the back of his head when you stuffed them into his open mouth.

“Good kitty.”

He let out a muffled growl and the speed of his hips increased.

“Yeah,” you panted, “I know you like that.”

The angle at which he was fucking you made it so that he was hitting the sensitive spot inside of you over and over again, making you gasp each time. Sweat was forming on his neck and down both your chests, practically sticking your skin together in the hot, stuffy room.

“You’re - you’re so pretty,” you told him truthfully, admiring the rosey tint of his face and the drool that was starting to run down from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed and he started to thrust into you hard enough to shake the desk you were sitting on. 

“Easy, kitty cat - you’re gonna break somethin’,” you muttered into the hot skin of his neck with a smug smile on your face.

His pace didn’t falter in the slightest, his hands gripping your ass to push you towards him every time he slammed his hips forward. The fabric of your panties muffled the guttural moan he choked on when you lightly sunk your teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand between your bodies to bring his thumb to your clit, working tight circles around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with the thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, fuck, I-“ you were speechless, at a loss for words from the brutal combination of the pressure he applied with his fingers and the way he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, still whining and growling like an animal into the fabric of your underwear. You felt the heat in your lower stomach start to build and you buried your face in his shoulder, your mascara smudged under your eyes.

“Logan, Logan, I’m - ah - ‘m gonna come,” you warned, tugging on the back of his hair.

He groaned and yanked the fabric out of his mouth, immediately bringing his lips to yours so he could tenderly make out with you while the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filled the room. 

“C’mon,” he growled into your mouth, “c’mon, baby, please.”

Both your chins were slick with each other's saliva from the frantic way you’d smashed your lips together. Your whining and pleading became louder with every roll of his hips until the sensation sent you over the edge, euphoria blossoming from your lower stomach and spreading all throughout your body.

“Oh my god, Logan,” you nearly yelled, your hands slipping under his open shirt to scratch down his back, “s-so good. I love you.”

The three words slipped out without hesitation and your eyes widened, mild humiliation replacing the fading feeling of your orgasm.

His hips rutted against yours when you spoke and he leaned his face down so he was nose to nose with you.

“Love you so much.”

He kissed you softly with both his hands on your cheeks, so filled with affection that you could’ve cried. He slid his hands down back to your hips and kept his forehead against yours as he continued to drill into you.

“I don’t - I don’t ever wanna see ya’ with anybody else,” he panted, “I needed ya’ so bad. You - ah - ya’ drive me crazy.”

Even after having already came, his pussy-drunk rambling still spawned butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’ll never see me with someone else, baby - promise. ‘s always been you. Only ever really wanted you,” you admitted with a soft voice.

His thrusts became sloppy and you could tell that spurring him on with your words would make him finish just as quickly as you did.

“I’m yours, always have been,” you whispered in his ear, “you’re the only one I’ve ever thought about fucking me like this.”

He choked out a sob into your shoulder and came with an animalistic growl, looking down to watch the mess being made all over your inner thighs.

“Love you so fucking much,” he repeated with a sigh, slowly stopping the thrust of his hips and resting his head against yours again.

“I love you, too,” you replied and planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Sorry I made such a mess of ya’,” he apologized, spreading your thighs as he pulled out, “I’ll clean ya’ up when we’re home, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, readjusting your dress and slipping your underwear back on while Logan tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his shirt.

You caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist as he moved and grabbed his hand so you could see the time.

“Shit! We were supposed to meet everyone back out front ten minutes ago,” you realized aloud, slipping yourself off the desk and pulling your dress down.

He mirrored your haste and let you fix his hair, doing the same for you and wiping away the mascara under your eyes.

“Okay, okay, c’mon,” you insisted, opening the door and slipping out hand in hand. You scurried down the abandoned corridor and all the way to the front exit. When Logan pushed open the door, you were met with Jean, Scott, and Ororo standing with worried expressions.

“What happened to you guys?” Scott asked before Jean nudged him in the arm, pointing towards your intertwined hands.

You looked towards where she was pointing and back up again, “Oh, uh…”

You tried to think of an excuse and looked to Logan beside you for help. 

“Nothin’,” he said in a nonchalant manner, “just got lost around the place - lot’s of rooms in there.”

Ororo raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Sure, and, uh - Is that why you’re holding hands?”

You laughed a little, tugging his hand behind your back.

“Well,” you started, “remember I said I’d try to bag a guy tonight? Um-”

“I’ve been bagged,” Logan interrupted with a huge, smug grin.

“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” you insisted, “but - yeah.”

“Finally,” Jean huffed and rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d have to have an intervention.”

“Huh?” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ororo laughed, “we all knew you liked each other, even before you did.” 

“And you never said anything?” Logan asked.

“Neither of you ever believed us!”

“True,” you agreed with a shrug and giggle. 

“I believe you now,” he stated, still holding your hand as you all made your way into the night, “She might like me. Just a little bit.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A/N: Thank you so much if you read till the end :) !! I did get stuck with some writers block in the middle of this and I'm not completely fulfilled w it but if I kept working on it it may take another week and my brain can't do it

Still working on requests rn so if you sent one in, I haven't forgotten about you!!! I'm trying to do two at a time so I can keep up (I won't burn myself out dw I usually do nothing all day till I work in the afternoon) <3

[nobody-nexus]

Episode 4 Talk: Ragatha

LOOK I know this is the Gangle episode (And yes I WILL give my own thoughts and feelings on her later because there's SO much to unpack with Gangle) but I wanna share my thoughts on Ragatha and what it shows about her character since the next episode is all about her.

I think Ragatha was honestly a highlight of her character just not in the typical sense. The reason is because the way she showed flaws in her character was unique and not how most flaws are shown. The stupid sauce making her honest is very interesting to me, but I also think a lot of people won't fully understand what this means

So- let's start with this over analysis on this character and why she's still honestly my favorite in the series

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

First of all, there's no doubt that the stadium teaser is the Ragatha episode. She is literally teaching Gangle how to throw a ball. It's something she knows about well, and it'll make sense for that to be where we see her the most. Of COURSE she's gonna love a teamwork-based game, but similar to this episode, it's probably gonna boomerang back into something horrible

But then there's after Gangle's mask is broken. After checking if Gangle's okay (sort of, she didn't exactly try) she instantly attacks Jax and they start to fight

Considering a line later in the episode that she said that I'll talk about later on in this essay, I think this does make sense for her character. She seems to have a short tempter with specifically Jax, so she's more likely to turn on him. I think this is due to how he behaves in general, so them always being at each other's throats is probably a very common thing

Them arguing as well gives off (personally) sibling or roommate energy, which I kinda appreciate

After a bit though, we get to the REAL meat of the analysis (pun intended tee hee) which is... the stupid sauce

First of all: I do kinda feel bad for Ragatha. She honestly would've been a fine employee (maybe overworked like Jax?), but the stupid sauce getting into her eye was 100% accidental. Meaning from here on out, we know Ragatha is not completely in character, and against her will at that point

But also the creepy scene out of nowhere makes me think that maybe this stupid sauce isn't the best thing to have....

(although on a funny unrelated note, her reaction makes me think she's a bit of a monster fucker. Hehe, Ragatha x Gangle go brrr)

After a bit of funnier shenanigans, and the Gummigoo thing, we get to the first bits of these impulsive honest thoughts

I think that how these "honest thoughts" work is that they're not like her ACTUAL thoughts, but instead it's what she's thinking at that exact moment. She's going off on exactly what she's thinking and just speaking without foresight. This is the first line that I think implies this, especially with the "I wish someone flirted with me" line

She's not exactly jealous. She's just- saying what comes to her mind. And at this moment, its mild annoyance turning into being upset that she doesn't get that same treatment. Like the "Why isn't that me, why not I get that treatment?" impulsive thought

After some more funny, and a very creepy scene that I swear to GOD is a Get Out reference, we get to another part that for me proves that "Impulsive Honesty" idea for Ragatha. She's TRYING to work, but just- kinda can't cause she's all slouchy and all that, to which Zooble gets annoyed

And then Ragatha calls her a "grouch"

She only says this because Zooble's complaining that she's not doing anything. And Ragatha, having impulsive honesty, just complains back only to say something that makes herself laugh

It's just what she's thinking at the moment

And then here's the part where I think a lot of people aren't going to get this right: The Ragatha and Gangle conversation

This scene is VERY important to me. Specifically, with what it shares about Ragatha. First of all, we get LORE-??? She HAD HORSES AT SOME POINT???

And then we get two lines that I can say as someone who has actually recently been so sick while on their period that I had zero filter in the slightest are 100% impulsive honesty

First, we have the "I'm more responsible than you" line. First of all, she's not. She REALLY fucking isn't. She's all bark and no bite she does NOT have the mature attitude it takes to being a manager despite being older. In fact, it's funny she says this because of the fact that she's the ONLY character working under Gangle that's older

She's been in the circus for a while, and that means she also didn't mature from her mindset from whenever she joined in, which I do think it'd be rather young considering Kinger's age

So this "I'm responsible because I'm older" mindset is certainly on the table for why she said this. Probably because she was taught this mindset when growing up

She would NEVER think this is sober I believe though. Again. IMPULSIVE HONESTY. What was on her mind AT THAT EXACT MOMENT

(Also side note: Gangle still clearly cares about Ragatha in this scene, and I think she knows she'd be a bad manager due to her own struggles and flaws)

Of course after the HONESTLY AMAZING RAGGEDY ANDY REFERENCE we get the scene I feel that's gonna make people misunderstand her the most... THIS SCENE.

This whole scene is so interesting about how Ragatha's impulsive honesty works. Because let's be honest... We've ALL had these thoughts. Like em or not, we all have thoughts like this where you find people you care about annoying or undesirable. You never WANT to have them or say them aloud, but you have those thoughts

The difference? Ragatha has no filter. She doesn't know HOW to shut up at this point and time, so she says something she didn't MEAN to say out loud. And the line she says AFTER confirms this:

SHE DOESN'T REALIZE WHAT SHE SAID WAS EVEN MEAN

Yes, it was mean, I can't deny that- but what I'm saying is that there's a lot of thoughts that go through your head every moment of every day, and not every thought you have is desirable

That's the case here. Ragatha, with no filter, WILL say mean things that she'll NEVER say sober. But I find that her even having these thoughts is a bit of foreshadowing for the future. Perhaps she'll either be more likely to hide how she feels more or be more accepting of them after her episode. Guess we'll have to wait and see for that

EDIT: THANK YOU TO @kingzombear for their post because THIS IS ALSO VERY IMPORTANT TO ADD- the way Ragatha words what she says is something to also take into consideration. While Jax straight up says he likes her better when sad, Ragatha's mention of the happy mask makes this important as well

Notice: It's "Happy Mask" and NOT "Comedy Mask". Both the concept art Goose has posted on Twitter AND how even Gangle doesn't call this mask Zooble gave her a comedy mask, but instead it's referred to AS a happy mask

Now knowing what this mask is specifically called, we now know that even though what Ragatha said SPECIFICALLY was hurtful, that was NOT the intention. Sure, words will still hurt that's a given- but let's think about it more like this:

Ragatha doesn't like Gangle's masking. She likes her when she's being her authentic self and even while basically drunk, she can tell this is NOT Gangle. But also it shows her own flaws because Ragatha is also being a hypocrite

She herself masks her true thoughts and feelings for some people (as will be discussed in a moment), but that also means she can tell when a smile is fake. Because she has a faker smile overall. This mixed with impulsive blunt honesty leads to a line that I think even Gangle didn't understand considering her reaction was to begin to spiral into a mental breakdown

The power of wording can make any context for a scene THAT MUCH DIFFERENT so again thanks for @kingzombear for pointing this out cause this is ALSO really good to understand Ragatha as a character even more- especially her flaws

But of course, that's not the last thing, because I just mentioned the hiding true thoughts and feelings:

The last scene that's important gives us full context of what it's like to BE a people pleaser. When Jax and Ragatha interact while she's on the floor. Although more impulsive honesty, in this case it's her realizing her tendencies. Her people pleaser ways

This is her just sort of- realizing she had a weird mindset but doesn't have the right word for it- which I find neat. Not as groundbreaking in my opinion since I always felt she sorta hated Jax with how explosive she usually is with him and all, but her admitting it, even in such a state, is kinda refreshing to hear

Anyway that's my essay over. I hope this can give some new thoughts on Ragatha as a character! She's my favorite for a reason, and I want people to see how fleshed out she really is!

See you another time. Probably with some art too ^^

[yndrgrl]

bullies! kiribaku x reader headcannons <3

headcannons for your azz. fem! reader. soft! yandere, hardcore! fuckers. college! au.

warnings: nsfw, threesome!!, degrading, praise, blackmail, sending pics, possessive, lowkey cnc???

a/n: so i originally had this as a long one shot, but i ended up straying too far away from the actual "bully" trope, so this is just to reel it back & get my thoughts all in one place :) lemme know if i should make this a longer fic !

-

✩ bullies! kiribaku were notorious around campus; if you came across them, know not to look into their eyes, keep your head down, & do whatever they say. those are the rules when you see the duo wandering around.

★ they were shocked when, while bullying one of the pricks that decided to spread rumors about them, you appeared out of nowhere. you shoved bakugo off of the shaking boy & put your body between them & their victim. "what the hell do you think you're doing!?" you shouted at them. you put on your bravest face & puffed out your chest. they've seen you around before, always silently admiring from afar until now.

✩ their first thought was, "how stupid is this chick?" they were -at least- twice your size & could scoop you up with one hand. then they took you in; you were ethereal, like a guardian angel sent from the pearly heaven above. kirishima looked at bakugo, & bakugo glanced at him. kirishima gave him a fang-filled grin. they were nothing more than demons who were feigning for a chance to taint your sweet charm.

★ bakugo, expressionless, responded, "what does it look like? i'm teaching this little asshole a lesson-" you cut him off with your hands clenched in a white-tight fist, "you're pathetic! picking on someone so much smaller than you, have some fuckin' self-respect." god, you were irresistible, they thought.

✩ kirishima, who is nothing but an instigator, snickered & whispered in the blonde's ear, "i think she's the one we have to teach a lesson to, don't you think?"

★ kirishima turned towards you, his grin would've been unnerving given any other circumstance. his sharp teeth were on full display as he teased, "well aren't you a good samaritan? it makes me wonder how far you'll go to stop us."

✩ "i'll do anything! you people make me sick," you shouted at them, & that's when the realization sunk in. shit... you've made a mistake.

★ the guy you were so-desperately trying to defend was just a coward who ran away without looking back. now you were in the hot seat, & your heartbeat was thumping in your ears. it felt like there was a drum in your head. adrenaline was flowing through your veins. you swallowed the lump in your throat. they were just staring at you with their sharp ruby eyes, piercing straight through your facade. "so what now? gonna beat up a girl 'cuz you have nothing better to do?"

✩ everything after that was a blur. you somehow ended up in their shared dorm, your throat fucked by kirishima & your pussy filled with bakugo. tears streamed down your face as you felt a whiplash of emotions all at once. they were such assholes, but, god, you felt so good. while kirishima sang you praises, bakugo gripped you so tightly, spanking your red-flushed ass. "you like that, huh? dumb slut," bakugo growled. he kept thrusting in & out of your dripping hole harshly. you hummed in disagreement, but it only made kirishima fuck your throat more.

★ "aww, bakubro, be nice to her. she's being so good f' us," purred kirishima, it seemed like he was on your side, but the tight grasp he had on your hair told you otherwise.

✩ by hour two, your pussy was still stuffed, this time with kirishima. a mixture of your climax & both mens' cum seeped out of your overstimulated hole. you sat in kirishima's lap, bouncing yourself on his thick cock reverse-cowgirl style. bakugo flooded your mouth with his cum, & he demanded, "don't fuckin' swallow, got it?"

★ he pulled out of your mouth, & you listened. your obedience didn't go unnoticed because, while bakugo went to go fish his phone out of his pants that were on the hardwood floor, kirishima groaned, "so perfect, you know that, don't you? just such a good girl, takin' us so well. you're too pretty for your own good, we're just gonna keep you to ourselves~ you'll be ours, won't you, sweetheart?" you were lost in foggy pleasure, so you nodded your droopy head.

✩ bakugo came back & held your chin. his touch was gentle for the first time. he guided your face to look up at him with your pretty, teary eyes. his phone camera was pointed at you. "open up, angel," he said, stroking your lip with his thumb. he was so soft spoken that it shocked you & kirishima, you felt obligated to listen. he was so sweet all of a sudden. you opened your mouth, his hot, white load dripping onto his wrist. he snapped a picture then told you to swallow & clean him off.

★ "you got him all pussy-whipped, (y/n). can't really blame him though. you're too good~" that night, an arrangement was made. bakugo's gentleness must've run out because, when you went back to your dorm, you received an image from an unknown number, the caption read, "if you know what's good for you, you'll listen to us."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who are so intimidating that they somehow got you, the campus' fire cracker, to not only turn a blind eye to their antics but also do their bidding. what dirt did they have on you, everyone wondered.

★ whatever you did, their other victims were thankful because bullies! kiribaku have left them alone. instead, they now target any man who thinks they can hit on you. a guy at the club is sauntering towards you? kirishima grabs you by the back of the neck, turning your face towards him & captures your pouty lips in a steamy kiss. a man on instagram starts talking dirty to you through dms? all you have to do is tell bakugo, & he sends them a mirror selfie of him sitting on his bed while you're on your knees in front of him.

✩ at some point, everyone knew that you belonged to bullies! kiribaku, but you were just as bad as them. oh? someone's trying to seduce your bullies? not on your watch. they found it so fuckin' sexy the way you'd immediately rush to their side. if a woman tries to feel bakugo's bulging muscles while he's at the gym, you'll be there, marking his neck & glaring at her. kirishima's fan girls are getting too close? you'll sit on his lap & whisper how much you wanna beat them up.

★ "you're not gonna tell anyone about this, right?" kirishima purred, as if everyone was unaware of your guys' relationship. it added to the fun-- sneaking around & pretending like you have no other choice. you were sucking his cock while your skirt was flipped up, your thong down by your ankles. your legs were spread, & bakugo buried his face in your juicy ass. bakugo responded between pants, "'course not, don't be stupid. we got those cute lil pictures of her, she's not gonna do shit."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who will throw you into the nearest janitor's closet & fuck you so hard. their fingers in your mouth to act as a makeshift gag.

★ bullies! kiribaku who are never hesitant to treat you to whatever you want, but they're always so awkward about it. after all, they're not used to having such a graceful angel by their side.

✩ in the end, bullies! kiribaku corrupted you, not that you cared. you loved their nasty teasing, the manhandling, & the secret touching moments shared between all of you.

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | lava girl!reader, prohero!reader

The moment Pro Hero Dynamight lands on the scene, he knows something’s very wrong. Not only because of the amount of chaos around but also because fuckin’ Deku is down. Literally, face down, whole body trembling in pain due to the beating he just received, and fuck, that’s not a scene Bakugou encounters often.

Dynamight runs towards his hero partner, hand immediately landing on Deku’s back. Yes, he’s breathing, heart beats gallop in his chest –he is alive. Deku moves, raising his head when he feels Bakugou’s touch. The blond sighs relieved.

“Deku… What the fuck happened?!” 

“The villain’s… quirk…” Deku coughs in between words.

He doesn’t have a chance to completely warn Katsuki before an explosion makes them both fly apart. Dynamight swears loudly, barely holding his stance as the blast pulls him away. When the smoke subsides, he opens his eyes and they widen when right in front of him he sees himself.

A carbon copy of Pro Hero Dynamight comes walking, smiling smugly and evil as his cannon shows the residues of the blast.

“THE FUCK??!!” The real Pro Hero exclaims, completely gobsmacked. And angry. How they fucking dare to copy him?? A villain above all!!

“Kacchan… His quirk copies a person and their quirk! Look out!” 

As Deku yells in his way, Bakugou has to dodge another blast, this time intended completely at him. He hisses as his left elbow caught a bit of the fire. Fuck. This villain even copied the amount of power? By the burning pain in his elbow, Bakughou checks off that as a yes.

He shakes the pain off his brain, standing ready this time for another blow from himself. He’s fucking ready to beat some ass –well, kinda like his own ass.

But as again the smoke dissipates, this time is not himself who Katsuki encounters but you.

It's you.

You stand a few meters away in your hero costume. Dynamight frowns, “Y/H/N?? What the hell are you doing here?!” He intends to walk closer to you, but the evil smirk that appears on your face is so out of your character –especially directed towards him– and Deku’s yell again makes Katsuki stop dead in his tracks.

“NO! It’s not her! It’s the villain!”

A bone-chilling laugh leaves your mouth that makes everyone in the scene freeze in worry as lava strings start falling from your hands, and Dynamight gulps. Holy fuck.

For the first time in his career as a pro hero, Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t fucking know what to do. Fuck, he knows the person in front of him is not you but the villain. Yet… SHIT! FUCK! He can’t fucking fire against his wife! He could fight against anyone… Damn it, even if it was Deku or Kirishima or anyone, he could do it. He knows is the villain. But you?? Hell fucking NO.

So, Bakugou ends up doing what he never does, no matter how beaten up he gets. But this is a fuking emergency. 

“I need backup. NOW!” Dynamight barks through his hearing aid, and the whole agency hears loud and clear as everyone moves towards the scene.

In the meantime, Bakugou avoids every whip of lava the villain in the form of your persona throws at him. He dodges smartly –thanking every possible existing god that you bugged him enough into training with you similar to this a while ago; if not, he doubts he would be this agile against this fucking attack. With every attack, he moves further away from where Deku is –alongside some civilians, ‘cause those noisy ass fuckers are always in the way trying to take a damn picture!– and closer to the river. He needs to find a way to get the villain to make some contact with the water. If this piece of shit villain has your quirk now, it would only take a bit of water and they are fucking out.

Dynamight fails to dodge a particular whip that catches his shoulder, making him groan in pain as he falls to his knees.

“You’re pretty stupid if you think I haven’t realized what you’re trying to do,” you laugh mockingly, your lava whips stopping for a moment. “I thought you were smarter than that… baby.”

The way the villain says the nickname in your voice makes Katsuki want to vomit. It’s so… disturbing and ugly. He will definitely have nightmares after this.

Fuck! What the hell does he do now?! He can’t– FUCKING HELL! He feels dizzy, the sole image of you makes him want to puke, because he can’t. He can’t shoot you. It doesn’t matter that it’s a villain, it’s the perfect image of you, his beautiful and loving wife, in front of him. He will cut his own damn hands if he ever has to shoot against any form of you. He can’t– He CAN’T– HE FUCKING CAN’T–

As the villain laughs at his pathetic turmoil and a whip of lava stands high in the air ready to be sent at his kneeling form on the floor and probably cut him in two with the burn, a roar comes from under the ground. 

It’s an intimidating deep sound that makes everything tremble. The sound it’s so profound and raucous, filled with rage and determination that Katsuki feels it in his chest.

The ground between him and the villain starts to collapse, a burning heat and lava coming from down there that makes the villain retreat several meters when a wave of lava lunges against them.

And right there, from the middle, you emerge. 

Katsuki shakes his head suddenly realizing what is going on. Shit, it’s some sort of trance.

“You fucking dare hurt my husband with my own quirk?!” You growl, completely blinded by rage at well– yourself.

Pro Hero Dynamight snorts astonished, his heart beating fast and so fucking in love with you. Fuck, he loves it when you defend him, and he will never get tired of witnessing such a majestic view. Lava dancing around you at your disposal and own will, whole body glowing in red heat that chills his bones at how demonic you look. Fucking beautiful. Beautifully perfect. All his.

You lunge again against the villain, this time yourself included with the lava wave; but as you’re about to approach them, the villain changes form again and it’s Katsuki in front of you. It makes you hesitate in your attack as you stop right on time in front of the villain.

The real Katsuki opens his eyes wide as he finally understands.

The villain probably takes the form of one’s loved one to weaken them, not only attacking with their same quirk, but also sinking their mind into a state of submission that prohibits any counterattack. Shit, that’s a fuckin’ powerful villain. But it is just that. A copy. And it’ll never understand each quirk as the owners themselves. Still though, the use of the quirks are pretty lethal, real. Damn it.

“FUCK, NO!” He screams as the villain in Katsuki’s form smirks evilly, less than a meter in front of you, and his canon fires against you.

Howitzer Impact.

The blast flies you away, completely unexpected and unable to control your own body in your flight. And Katsuki is right there to catch you.

The villain cackles wildly, the smoke around blinding him from the real heroes. He looks so satisfied he could land an attack like that, and to none other than Dynamight’s wife. “How’s wifey, Dynamight? She survived? How would like the titles on the news, mh? ‘Dynamight kills his own wife’ or ‘Poor Dynamight couldn’t save his wife’?” He taunts, the smoke clearing the view of the real Bakugou, one knee on the floor and the other flexed as his entire body covers yours in protection.

He’s looking at you, the blast made your lava retreat completely even from your body as you look now in your normal and delicate human form, the fire has burned your face, right from under your left eye down to the neck. When you flutter your eyes open, you encounter the hateful look he has written all over his face as his eyes roar only one word: KILL.

When Pro Hero Dynamight turns to look at the villain, Deku –who finally got closer to the scene with Pro Hero Shoto holding him up with an arm around his shoulder– swears under his breath. He knows that look.

The villain in Dynamight’s form takes a step back when the real hero stands up slowly, a crazed look in his face as he turns.

“Now, this is fuckin’ personal…”

[hitlikehammers]

the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame that face even as Harrington tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Harrington sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Harrington’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but his cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Harrington blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from his face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and…

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts

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💫 ao3 link here

[icallhimjoey]

no no no no no NO no NO! NO! joe can NOT get away with this! he's gonna deny us our *fun* isn't he? this absolute bastard can NOT think that this is an acceptable way to keep us around! NO!

you know what? you're right. you're so very, very right. Wordcount: 3.3K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was wrong.

Joe was wrong, but... he wasn’t stupid, as it turned out.

So that first time, you hadn’t really fully realised what was happening, which – fine. Who could blame you? And you would argue that, the next two times after, it also wasn’t really your fault that you hadn’t caught on...

The fourth time; obvious. You would’ve been an absolute idiot had you not put the pieces together... which, you had, so, you also weren’t stupid.

And also, if it wasn’t for Izzy, maybe it would’ve all clicked into place on the third time.

It was just that... Joe went about it a little too calculated at first, the sneaky fucker. Likely because he was also testing the waters, trying to figure out what he could get away with.

And.

Well.

The answer was: A Lot, Apparently. But again; who could blame you? Joe wasn’t stupid.

Joe wasn’t stupid at all.

When he’d buzzed you up into his flat whilst he was making dinner, you’d barged in with a million things on your mind. All of them extremely negative and ultimately: unimportant.

“I know you’ve not invited me over to just rant at you for ages, but, can I just rant at you for ages?” You dropped your bags right where you were standing.

Joe, spatula and pan in hand, eyes on the food, went, “Ages?”

“Okay, fine. A minute. Can I rant at your for a minute?”

You hadn’t even said hello to each other, priorities elsewhere right now. This shit was on your mind and you needed it off your mind.

Joe’s eyes quickly found his oven timer and he reached for it to set it. To a minute. Because he was a comical genius, you see.

“All right, one minute…. And, go!”

You ignored the stupid joke and just, unleashed. There was some work shit, some small annoying things that had frustrated you throughout the day, but when you got your phone out to read a text thread between you and a childhood friend, you really got into it.

The oven timer went ignored. It beeped, but Joe just silently turned it off and put it to the side. You were in the middle of a sentence and whatever the problem was, this seemed important to you.

He knew it was all petty shit you likely already had all the answers to, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t listen.

Joe tried his best to follow along. Really, he did. But he was also finishing your dinner, peeling potatoes and cutting vegetables, and you were going a hundred miles an hour, straying off the main story every ten seconds to explain whatever was going on better. Which, it didn’t. It only confused Joe more, but he nodded along. Said things like, Oh my god, no way and what the fuck at all the right moments like a good friend would do. Like a good boyfriend would do.

“It’s not my fault we’re not as close as we used to be, she went off and had four children- four, Joe. Four.”

You’d started pacing.

“And then she went, “oh you still living with that girl?” That girl – Izzy, we’re talking my best friend since uni, Izzy. That girl. What the fuck does she think she’s even saying?”

Arms were flying, and Joe silently covered a pan with a lid for fear of your phone landing in it.

“And remember when, like, four years ago, I went to celebrate new year’s with her instead of with our group, just because she’d asked a million times, and she didn’t want to come down to join our party? And then she mixed drinks and got me so drunk, I didn’t even make it until midnight? She’s still holding that over my head, look,” you just kept going, read a text message aloud about maybe trying that again and just doing mocktails so she would actually be able to see the fireworks this time.

You sighed aggressively and turned its back end into a frustrated cry.

“Am I insane? Don’t actually answer that, but… am I insane?”

You stopped pacing to look at Joe, and... you had to take a second to take in what you were seeing.

Joe was stood leaning against the countertop where, behind him, potatoes were sizzling loudly in a frying pan. He had his arms crossed over his stomach, head cocked to the side and he was just… staring at you. Slightly biting into his lip. Smiling, a little. It was a way of looking at you that you could feel within your chest. That made you whole face heat up as you felt how the tops of your cheeks blushed.

Rude.

Had he even been listening at all?

“Be helpful, please. Am I insane?” you asked again, arms flying once more, outraged and in need of a very specific answer.

Joe let his smile grow a little wider and kindly assured you, “You’re not insane.”

He got it right.

“Thank you.” You let your shoulders visibly drop, glad to have heard Joe say what you needed him to say. But then you looked behind him.

“You’re burning the potatoes.”

Joe just kept his eyes on you and said, “I know.”

Didn’t unfold his arms. Just kept his warm eyes on you, that fondly stared a little dreamily.

“Joe,” you scolded, half laughing as you stepped closer to take the pan off the fire, but Joe was faster and turned the hob off just before you could intervene. Then he immediately took advantage of you being closer and used both of his hands to cup your cheeks. To hold you by your jaw, and to tip your head back for him.

Then he gave you that same look again.

Half-lidded, soft, adoring eyes that just stared down at you as he smiled a little.

“What?” you asked, expecting him to lean down for a kiss that didn’t come.

“Not insane.” Joe cooed.

You sensed a but coming.

“But?”

“But…” Joe leant down a little, got a little closer. “But you’re very pretty.”

“But I’m very… Joe, that has nothing to do with–”

Joe cut you off with the kiss you’d been waiting for. Soft lips brushed to yours in a funny position because he caught you in the middle of a word, strong hands holding you in place. You let your fingers wrap around his forearms and attempted to pull away, but Joe wasn’t having it. He used the very brief moment your lips parted to whisper, “So pretty.” into your mouth before he was back on you, arm now curling around the back of you to keep you from leaning back any further.

The kitchen smelled of delicious food, and you’d just spent at least ten minutes pacing around the room whilst tirading about something ultimately so very insignificant, especially to Joe, but the boy was kissing you.

Told you that you weren’t insane.

Said that you were so pretty.

Had cooked you dinner and had let you spew about an old friend trying her best to reconnect without telling you that you were being silly.

You probably were being silly.

Today just hadn’t been the best day.

And written communication had the tendency to change in meaning depending on your mood.

You could read everything again the next day and interpret all of it differently.

You were being silly.

But the boy was kissing you now, and it was just the perfect remedy to a shitty day.

Joe held you in place and kissed you until he felt you sigh into him. Until you gave in, and decided that, yea, sure, Joe could just make out with you in his kitchen for a while if he wanted to.

Joe swallowed the soft sounds you made and softly groaned in return. He loved how he could feel you grow more relaxed under his hands. Loved the way you were pulling him down to you to get more of him. Loved how you started to deny him pulling back, now more desperate for him than he was for you.

When you felt Joe’s hands start to wander down your back and round out over your bum for a squeeze, you managed to break free from Joe just long enough to say, “Should we have dinner first?”

As an answer, Joe bent through his knees a little and you felt how his grip grew stronger as he was about to lift you up. You got your arms around his neck just in time.

“Nah,” Joe murmured into your mouth, hands firmly under your thighs as he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Dinner can wait.”

You got walked over to the bed where Joe laid you down and then just lazily kissed you for a bit longer.

Where you sunk into his mattress and tangled up into his sheets whilst dinner out in the kitchen grew cold.

Where roaming hands were heavy and wandering, pulling at the hems of shirts as palms searched for smooth, bare skin to touch.

Where you eventually grew a bit impatient and tried undoing Joe’s trousers with fumbly fingers, not breaking your kissing.

Where you slipped a hand inside and felt how hard he was.

Where Joe pretended to suddenly care about dinner until you got your mouth on him and he let himself fall back into his pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

Where the sun was setting outside, casting the room in soft warm oranges as Joe used careful, gentle hands to get you out of your clothes.

Where Joe wanted to see all of you.

Where Joe wanted to feel all of you.

Where Joe made you laugh when you bit into his shoulder, and panted, “I take it back, what I said earlier. You are insane.”

Where, after a while, when Joe burrowed his face into your neck and didn’t remove it, you knew he was in the homestretch. Mind blank. Just feeling.

And you were right.

It didn’t take long for pants to turn into groans, for rhythmic thrusting to turn into sloppy hip-clashes, and for Joe to tense up all over with a held breath before turning into a boneless collapsed man who felt like all the strength within him had just left through his dick.

It took a while for Joe to return back to earth. He just laid on top of you, face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing so close to your ear it almost sounded like he was inside of your skull.

When Joe finally did remove his face from being pressed into your neck, there was a spit-string connecting you together still.

“Oh, ew,” you laughed, moving your face away slightly, “That’s disgusting.”

Hovering over you, cheeks flushed and hair messy, you saw how Joe looked at the spot where he’d been drooling all over you, and he grimaced.

“Oh, no, maybe,” he leant onto one elbow to get a hand into the crook there, already laughing. “Maybe don’t,” he started wiping, tried to get a bit of duvet in there which only made you feel how wet it actually was. When you moved a little more to get a look, Joe tried to stop you from seeing the wet patch of saliva he’d left behind.

“No, don’t look! Stop!” he was laughing now, and against his advice, you got a hand in there to feel.

“What the fuck, Joe, you drooled all over– Joe! There’s a fucking puddle!”

For a short moment, Joe acted like a child caught sneaking a snack he wasn’t supposed to have taken from the pantry, very cute yet very guilty. That quickly changed into a more indignant attitude, where he gave you a face for giving him a hard time about enjoying himself.

It was only a bit of spit.

“I’ve cooked you dinner!” Joe exclaimed as he climbed off of you, and he said it like the argument was meant to make your neck less wet somehow.

“Which has absolutely gone cold.”

“Come on,” Joe held out a hand. “I’ll heat it up and we’ll have it outside.”

“How about,” you started, grabbing the hand and letting him pull you up. “You go heat up dinner, I’ll wash your sheets, and, um, shower.”

Joe didn’t let go of the hand he was holding, and pulled at it until you were up on your feet where he was quick to lock his arms behind your back to keep you close.

“How about,” Joe copied your tone to make you laugh, and got his face back into the same crook of your neck where he blew a raspberry to make you squirm. “We both take a shower, and then we get the rest sorted after?”

You’d never taken a shower as long together before. No funny business - just actual washing. Except, Joe would keep kissing you places he would then wash straight after, because you clearly thought his spit was dirty now, so every press of lips got chased by a soapy shower sponge and it took for fucking ever for Joe to stop thinking the bit was hilarious.

To be fair, you hadn’t quite figured out how to not laugh every time he did it, so... partially your fault, you guessed.

But what wasn’t your fault, was how not orgasming hadn’t been weird at all. How that hadn’t consciously crossed your mind once. You’d been distracted with wet sheets and soapy kisses and then after all that, a lovely home cooked meal outside on the balcony where you had it with your hair still wet, dressed in just T-shirts and underwear.

It wasn’t your fault the first time, it wasn’t your fault the second time, and it definitely wasn’t your fault the third time, when Izzy barged in right in the middle of it.

It also wasn’t exactly her fault, though.

All Izzy had done was get home from work.

You were right in the middle of the hallway of your shared flat, pressed up against a wall, half naked, in Joe’s arms.

And then Izzy walked in.

Now… you’d seen Izzy freak out before. But to see two of your friends mid stand-up-fuck in your own hallway after a long day at the office triggered a new form of anger within your flatmate. It didn’t help that, as you were trying to get out of Joe’s grip to rush into your bedroom, that Joe’s hold on you only strengthened.

Izzy was the first to start shouting, and a fraction of a second after her first, “Oh my God!” you and Joe started shouting too.

Izzy was stood in the doorway where she was shielding her eyes, workbag sliding from her shoulder into her elbow, and she was screeching on the top of her lungs, “Oh my God, Oh my GOD, no! No! What the fuck! No!”

Joe shouted, “Leave! Leave!” right into your ear with an unmistakable urgency in his voice whilst the cutting edge left no room for argument.

And then there were panicked screams coming from you, high-pitched words tumbling over each other, all sentences unfinished, half telling Izzy to close the door behind her, half telling Joe to let you go.

Which, he didn’t do.

Joe just held on stronger and used his legs to press you against the wall like he was trying to make the two of you disappear into the brick there, and it hurt.

The chaos lasted maybe four seconds. Five tops. It was all overlapped loud voices, all frantic movements and then… to make an already awful situation even worse… Joe orgasmed.

You shrieked, “Wh– Are you coming? Are you coming right now?” as your eyes nearly bulged out of your head with shocked outrage, hands trying to push at his shoulders whilst your legs tried to find the floor.

It was the worst evening you’d had in a good while.

After everything, you sat on the foot of your bed, hugging your knees and Izzy stood on the threshold of your bedroom, asking what she’d ever done to you for you to decide that having sex in the shared hallway at twenty minutes past six in the evening was a totally normal thing to do be doing.

Joe’d quickly left after. Was out the door in a flash after the world’s most awkward apology ever.

“Sorry Izzy, for, um... yea, for making you see… and, um, hear that.”

“Fuck off Joe.”

“Yea, I’m… sorry, I’ll leave. I’ll see you Friday, yea?”

“I said, fuck off, Joe.”

“So sorry. Sorry.” Joe had paused, and then a single look of Izzy had made him go, “Yea, yea. I’m going.”

He hadn’t even dared to turn around to find you in your bedroom first. He’d just walked straight out and texted you, “Got sent home. Call me in a bit?”

Promises were made of removing clothes behind closed doors from now on – preferably locked doors, please. And if you couldn’t take four more steps to get yourselves into your bedroom first, for the love of God, please, just go over to Joe’s. He’s got a whole place to himself and you could fuck on the doormat for all Izzy cared.

You apologized too.

Said it would never happen again.

And then Izzy said she had to not look at your face for the rest of the night because she kept reliving the visuals, and – fair. That made sense.

You kind of didn’t want to see your own face for a second either.

And there was no way that Joe had planned to deny you an orgasm like this, but... it was real fucking convenient that Izzy always came home from work around the same time each day. It was real fucking convenient that he’d gotten you incredibly worked up with cute little text messages all throughout the day. Real fucking convenient that he walked in with his shirt tucked tightly into his jeans and far too many of the buttons undone for you to be normal about it.

There was no way he’d planned it.

But he’d definitely given the situation a little nudge into the direction it had eventually headed into, and no one could blame you for not having seen it then.

Not yet.

But then the fourth time happened, and Joe’d just edged you all night. Was very open about his teasing. Made you tell him if you were getting close, and then when you did, he’d just… ease off. Pull back. Let you whine and cry for it until he thought you’d pleaded enough for him to be nice again.

He’d gotten you so close.

So, so close.

But not close enough.

And then, when he came and just rolled over after, you knew.

This guy was having sex with you without letting you orgasm.

“You’re sick, you know that? Like an actual sociopath.”

“I’m just following instructions.”

Yea, all right.

Yea.

Fine.

He’d gotten away with it up until now, which, well done, Joey. This idiot really thought he held all the aces, didn’t he? Smug little bastard.

But you know what?

Good.

He could feel that way.

You were going to let him feel that way.

There were loopholes.

Easy ones too.

Joe was wrong, and clueless, and maybe, actually… he was a little stupid, after all.

And you were stubborn. Determined. Persistent.

Dead set on proving yourself right.

Which you were.

You held all the aces.

Not Joe.

Joe was wrong.

You were going to outplay the player at his own thought-up little game, and he would see. Oh, absolutely, he would see.

He’d fucking see.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[pondermyorb]

Butting Heads

You slide the key into the lock, feeling your relief at finally being back home. Work was so tedious today, just thinking about it annoyed you. Stupid Tom in his stupid cubicle asking you for help every five seconds as if you didn’t have your own overflowing inbox not to mention a billion other things because apparently you’re the only competent employee in your department.

And then there was Him. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sending you those pictures, those texts, those slutty videos of him. All. Fucking. Day. When you couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it? Squeezing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the tension building, the dampness in your panties only getting worse with the tiny amount of stimulation.

You didn’t even have the time to go to the bathroom and touch yourself. Yet you still opened every single one of his damn messages. You sat there needy, pussy throbbing, all because of him, all goddamn day. And he was going to pay.

You opened the door, tossing your bags to the side carelessly. Keeping your work clothes on (knowing how he likes them) you start to search through the house. Noticing he isn’t in the living room, you stop by the bathroom, touching up your makeup and adding a deep red lip to the look, before spraying on that perfume that makes his head all fuzzy for you. You continue your search, opening up the bedroom door… And there he is.

Not hiding at all, standing in his tailored suit, your collar in his hands, a glint in his eyes as he looks you up and down. Waiting for you. He thinks you’ve come here to submit. Little does he know~

You smile to yourself, walking up to him, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Wanting your perfume to do it’s j- you stop, halfway to him. Your head is fuzzy, the scent of his cologne, that cologne, flooding your senses. That fucker had the same idea…

You feel your cheeks flush, the slickness between your legs growing as you breathe it in. You still feel a bit of triumph as you see his eyes glaze momentarily, hear his breathing quicken, see the bulge in his suit pants start to grow. You should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy, but at least you’re starting on even footing.

You continue your stride, walking right up to him, eyes never leaving his. You notice as his drift down to your lips, stopping for a second, then continue down to your business attire. A smile forms on your lips, knowing his weakness for them, mentally tallying a point to yourself for making him break eye contact.

As you reach him, you put your arms around his neck, promoting his hands on your hips. Looking away shyly, you try to play coy, to bait him into action. His hand reaches out, lifting your chin so your eyes meet his as he leans in for a kiss. “Down, boy” You say, finger pressed against his lips to stop him. “I still haven’t forgiven you for earlier. To make it up to me, you’ll be my toy tonight”

He laughs, a genuine laugh that makes your heart flutter, but you stand your ground. He leans forward, fingers sliding up the back of your neck and into your hair, gripping it and firmly pulling your head back. Your neck is exposed, letting him trail kisses up it, lightly biting and sucking and licking as he does. You gasp in surprise and arousal, the firm tug on your hair briefly shutting your mind down as your pussy floods even more.

“Doll” he says as his lips press against your ear “you’ve been teased all day. I’ll have you begging to worship me in a matter of minutes.” His hot breath sending a shiver through your body, but you don’t give in.

Your hand snakes up the back of his head, grabbing him in the same way. You feel his god start to slacken as you pull, his eyes rolling back in his head. “I don’t think so, bunny” you whisper in his ear as you wrap his tie firmly around your other hand “I think you’ll be kneeling long before I do. Care to make a bet? First one to kneel has to make the winner cum however they want”

“Deal” hardly leaves his mouth before you yank his face towards yours. Surprised, he lets himself be dragged into a kiss, sticky from the lipstick, deep and sloppy. As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arm around his neck, and use his tie to drag him to the ground. Panting as heavily as you are, he looks up at you with dazed eyes as you break the kiss. He glances down at his kneeling form, cock a tent in his pants, lipstick staining his lips, before looking back up at you. “Oh, so we’re playing dirty? How would you like your last orgasm before I break you, then?” He asks, his eyes blazing with a hunger you know well.

You step towards him, hiking your skirt up as you do. You swing one leg over his shoulder as you reach him, pulling his head in to your dripping cunt. The sight of him kneeling there, clad in his tight suit, face marked by you, eyes growing less focused the closer he gets to tasting you, it drives you even crazier. Moaning as his tongue meets your lips, you start to grind against his face. Using him as nothing more than a toy, you quickly feel the orgasm coming, his expert tongue knowing exactly where to lick to drive you up to and over the edge.

Crying out, you feel yourself squeezing your thighs against his face as you cum all over him. He doesn’t stop, even as you come down from the high, even at the orgasm subsides, even as your cunt starts to grow sensitive, he doesn’t stop. “Y-you did it” you stammer out, trying to catch your breath “y-you can st-stopppfuckkk” You try to get away, try to back up, but his hands are like vice grips, holding you in place as he continues to eat you out like you’re his last meal.

You realize what his plan is, to overstimulate you until you can’t help but give in. You feel the second orgasm building already, moans mixing with your commands for him to stop. But he already fulfilled his part of the deal, he made you cum how you wanted. And now he’s making you cum how he wants~

Three, four, seven, twelve, too many to count, the orgasms keep going, your mind becoming fuzzy, your body giving in to the pleasure even as a small part of you tries to fight back. Your chance comes when he pauses briefly, leaning back for a small break before he continues his onslaught.

He smirks at you, seeing the slight haze in your eyes, the submission beginning to grow. He thinks he’s won. You smoothly grab the back of his head, gripping his hair, pulling it away from your cunt as you slide your foot to the ground. A firm slap to his face causes his grip to slacken, letting you back away.

You grab his tie as you back up, dragging him to his feet as his brain tries to recover from the slap. The twitching tent in his pants tells you exactly what he thought of that slap, and you give his other cheek the same treatment before pushing him onto the bed.

Pulling his pants down, you free his leaky cock from its well-tailored prison, watching it spring up in front of you. He watches you, still slightly dazed as you crawl up the bed. Eyes drifting between eye contact with him, and looking at his cock as you swirl your tongue around it, kissing it and sucking on it and his balls.

All he can do it watch as you take your time teasing him, leaving lipstick marks up and down his shaft, taking the whole thing in your warm mouth, gagging on it before looking up at him with tear filled eyes. A watching bystander may have thought he was in charge, but his paralyzed form showed who really held the power.

You continue to edge him, his cock growing harder than he thought possible, twitching and leaking, until it’s bulging with veins and looking like the slightest breeze would send him into a ruined orgasm. Once satisfied, you begin to crawl further up his body. Pulling open his shirt, you leave a trail of kiss marks up his torso, along his collarbone, all over his neck, and finally covering his face.

Your position your dripping pussy right over his aching cock, wrapping your hands around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “How long do you think you can last like this? I bet it won’t even take me 2 strokes to milk you” You whisper, before licking and sucking on his neck. You sink swiftly onto his cock, swallowing in one quick motion.

To his credit, he lasted 5 strokes. The fifth time she sunk down, he screamed into your shoulder, holding you tight as he came hard in you, coating your insides with his cum, filling you completely as he clenched down and didn’t let you go.

You thought that was it, letting him hold you as you started to drift off. But just as you closed your eyes you felt yourself being flipped on your back, still wrapped in his arms. You briefly catch a glimpse of his eyes. Mindless. Feral. Before he starts to thrust into you.

You can hardly believe the pleasure as he pounds into you, your cunt sensitive from the constant stimulation throughout the night. Screaming out in a mix of pain and pleasure, you cling to him, nails digging into his back, tearing through his open dress shirt. You can’t even begin to care as the orgasm courses through you, along with the familiar feeling of him filling you with his cum.

You lose track of your orgasms, of his, of everything but the pleasure coursing through your body. You can feel blood staining the back of his shirt, drawn from your nails as he fucked you senseless. The taste of it fills your mouth, from biting down on his shoulder hard enough to break the skin. None of that matters, all that matters is Him.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up he’s still inside you. Passed out, body a comforting weight on top of you, the glow of pleasure still radiating from your body. You let yourself drift back to sleep, feeling happy, content, and so incredibly sore~

[chosoisamalewife]

Loved the Sukuna post. Now... Hear me out...

Bottom Sukuna..

male reader..

some nsfw and sfw hcs

Bottom!Sukuna x Male reader

A/N : ANON I LOVE YOUR BRAIN (the sfw is just more domestic headcanons, I love making big scary mean men domesticated 😁😁😏😏)

A/N : I might have been listening to flesh by Simon Curtis while cooking up the nsfw part

WARNINGS : OOC!Sukuna / Power bottom!Sukuna / Top!reader / a lot of kinky shit / mentions slapping / choking / knife knife / blood play

This man will not show an ounce of submission in public

However remember when I said he loves for you to trace the marks on him. When he is super relaxed a slight pur can be heard. (I HEAD CANON THAT HE PURRS JUST HEAR ME OUT PLEASE. I BEGGING YOU)

However it's not loud and can only be heard when he speaks but you can feel it. Low rumbles in his chest

If you have any hobbies he would act so uninterested but he is full of shit

He would slyly ask about them and take note of them

Only trusts uraume alone with you

Finds everything you watch fucking stupid and boring. He would literally groan anytime you put something on. Would he sit down and watch with you…….yes but will he complain for a bit…..of course he would

Like I said previously he is a pretty good cook but if you are even better than him he would just watch you cook. There is something captivating about you being focused and concentrated. (He will probably get in the mood for some fun 😏)

NSFW

For him to even consider you topping him would take alot of convincing. "You topping me? Do you view me as some type of weakling" He would laugh loudly in your face

Before you get to chance to top him you have to prove to him that you can take him. That you can handle him.

So that means an all night session with him. He will ruin you all night and if you pass then you will get the glorious victory.

Let's just say he was shocked when you succeeded. He tried everything to make you tap out but nothing seem to work.

POWER!BOTTOM

He wants you to FUCK him.

He wants you to treat him like he does you, well at least try to

"Don't go gently with me now. I'm not weak , I can fucking take it"

When you finally gripped his hips and started to pound into him he would let out a manic laugh. It startled you a little bit but you carried on

"There you go fuck me like a strong man"

When he tops you he mostly groans but when you fuck him for the first time he literally growls and grits his teeth

He can not let your hear how good you are making him feel

But you will feel it

Ooooooh lord God help you because he will leave SCRATCHES on your back, anywhere

He will dig his nails into any part of your skin so please have antibiotic ointment on hand. Love watching the blood trickle from were his nails have been. Will lick your blood

DO NOT TEASE HIM OR TIE HIM UP because if you do that just means hell when he tops you again

When I say treat him like he does you, slap him, fuck his throat, overestimate him, choke him, bite him. Everything be ROUGH

AND I MEAN CHOKE HIM, this psychotic mother fucker would smile while his lungs aren’t getting air

Slap his face, thighs, ass everything. He lives for the stings

The only time he would beg you while bottoming is for you to sit on his face or to cum in his throat

Put a knife to his throat as you pound into him, he would think you are the sexiest thing to ever walk the earth

Maybe even cut him a little bit , collect his blood on your fingers and shove them in his mouth 😏😏

CAN LAST ALL NIGHT, you will probably run out of energy before does so could luck

I want to give him the most coma inducing diabolical earth shaking galaxy destroying supernova creating backshots. 🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

NO WAY IN HELL ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: i return from the actual dead guys. live has been hectic as hell recently so im staying up late so i can get the part out to you!! its like 12am when im posting this so delusion is feeding me here

lia and riley crowd around you as you recount for the millionth time what happened at the rooftop party.

they've been at you all week asking what happened - it definitely didn't help when that stupid gossip account posted about it. so now you face the downfall of trying to be a decent human being.

clearly it worked out oh so well and everything is perfectly fine.

you've been drained all week working out a few details for your upcoming shows, going to the gym every day to stay in shape for said shows, dealing with lia and riley, the pile of emails and work related things you should probably answer but haven't gotten around to yet.

honestly all you want to do is curl up into bed and sleep.

a nap would be really good right now.

instead you're stuck here with lia pestering you about the whole rooftop ordeal.

"oh my gosh, we've been over this, as i said the last time you asked - which by the way was," you check your watch. "thirty minutes ago. i said hello, we stood there awkwardly for about six minutes i asked how his day was he said decent, he asked me how my day was, i said decent, i randomly blurted out that the stars were pretty and then proceeded to complain about the party, then said i was going home. end of goddamn fucking story."

riley just laughs at your frustration and lia grins sheepishly at you.

"im sorry, please let me stay here tonight."

shaking your head you get up off the couch to start making dinner. your phone starts blaring as you do and lia picks it up and launches it across the room. "its stacey." she says as you catch it.

"hey, stacey what's up?" you ask your assistant/ agent. she does a lot of shit for you honestly, its hard to keep up with what she does.

"i just got a call from someone on percy jackson's marketing team-" you drop the onion you were holding. "and they want to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week." the silence is loud.

"why?" you croak out

"they want to discuss the rumours going around." fucking finally you hiss internally.

"okay...."

"okay you'll do it? or okay you want to tell them where to shove their discussions?" stacey asks skeptically, having worked with you long enough to know your tones.

sighing you answer her, "okay i'll do it, but i want riley and lia there with me."

"of course," stacey replies likely jotting this down.

"and for the love of god not in a public space."

you hash out some more details and hang up turning to face to very eager eavesdroppers, "what do you want us for?" lia asks.

letting out another sigh, "guess who's meeting us this week?"

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest and 923, 872 others

percyjackson i won both games btw

view all comments

underovergrover only cause you cheated!

percyjackson don't be bitter because i won

underovergrover fucker

user1 these little bits of his life only make him more hot oml

user2 i so wanna know if y/n was there

user3 no cause real??? i wanna know if us percy/n shippers have a chance

user4 im in love with him holy

user5 Y/N'S FRIENDS LIKED THE POST AGAIN AHHHHHH

user6 oml i ship them so hard i need to know if they're dating

☾. ⋅

percy was pissed.

ok that's an understatement. he was- is livid.

he had only agreed to this stupid meeting because he managers had suggested to him it might be good to clear the air. what he wasn't expecting was y/n to agree, let alone agree with a list of fucking demands.

and not only did she come with demands she shows up thirty minutes late with her friends in tow.

what. the. fuck?

once she settles in her agent leans froward and addresses percy's team as if y/n is incapable to do so.

"hello there everyone, how are you all doing today?"

percy's manager reply's out of curtesy before getting right down to business. "ok, i'd like to start by introducing myself, y/n i'm lauren i'm percy's manager and i organised this meeting because of the rumours i'm sure you've heard all about."

y/n nods. "yes i've heard of them."

"good because my team and yours have come up with a few ways to deal with the rumours." she place's a her hands on the table and leans forward when she talks. "the first and most obvious is for both of you to post an announcement that you aren't dating, but are simply friends and or acquaintances." you both nod at that. "the second option is to address the rumours via getting into another relationship - but obviously since you're both single right now its a poor decision." she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes over to y/n's managers. "and the third and mine and stacey's most favoured one is that you.... fake date."

the silence the follows is deafening.

percy practically leaps out of his chair. "what the hell?"

"no fucking way-" y/n says at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me," you both say at he same time you eyes shooting up to meet, stacey's and lauren's hidden smiles don't help the situation either.

"obviously if you don't feel comfortable doing that we understand," stacey says calmly.

"but if you are okay with that we can move forward with that plan... if that's what you wish for."

percy glares at y/n as she gathers her stuff and mutters "no way in hell am i doing that," before storming off.

her friends... lia? and... riley? stand up after her hastily making apologies, "we'll go.. get her, i'm so sorry about that."

stacey obviously knowing that y/n isn't coming back starts to gather all her stuff. "so sorry about all that," she looks at me and then lauren. "we'll have an answer by the end of the week."

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, lukecastellan, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams and 1, 489, 326 others

yn.official life's been good 😊

view all comments

lia.mandel im so excited to for our dinner tmr night!!

user1 mother posted!!!

user2 percy's friends liking this is my roman empire

user3 ikr i need to know if they're dating

user4 ugh seeing y/n happy make me smile

rileywest coffee with you was fun!!

underovergrover new album maybe??

yn.official maybe 🤭

user5 GROVER COMMENTED??? AND Y/N RESPONDED???? THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS.

user6 HOLY FUCK!!!!

☾. ⋅

you pace the room, stacey watches you with lia and riley on the couch as the phone dials.

lauren picks up on the third ring. "hello this is lauren smyth speaking."

"hi lauren, its stacey here. i was just ringing about our answer to your offer," she makes one more glance at you before focusing back on the call. "our answer is...."

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[notsohappynotsosad]

Emperor, Stelmane and Gargauth

Sorry I haven't been posting, I got hyperfixated on this theory. Drawings will resume from now

If you’ve completed the game, there’s a chance you know of the reveal that Emperor’s previous associate, Duke Stelmane, has been in fact his thrall. Upon further inspection you may gain some seemingly contradicting information and lots of questions with no answers. This post will be long, but I promise that at the end, most of these questions will be answered. Also, there are pictures.

TLDR: Emperor and Stelmane used to be besties before he enthralled her, but they couldn't defeat Gargauth with their power of friendship.

So, for the uninitiated, what are these questions?

Firstly, when the party enters Rivington and Dream Visitor is revealed to be the Emperor, he will tell us about his life, including that he was partners with Stelmane, though he doesn’t say anything about the thrall bit of course. At this point neither he nor the party knows the Duke is dead. As far as the Emperor is concerned, what he shared might greatly compromise him and he never shares such information when he simply could’ve concealed it.

If you poke around, other questions may arise, such as why was Stelmane’s condition improving after the Emperor's visits? Why was she asking for him? Why was she excitedly talking about him at the Tavern? Why did they hug? Why was she at Elfsong, where he could find her the most easily? Why did she drink wine, which he used to force her to do? Why didn���t she warn anyone about him? Why was she looking through people before the stroke? Why would the Emperor mind control her? Why does he keep her portrait next to his desk? Is he stupid?

Now that I have you hooked (probably), let's introduce our cast.

Emperor – The one and only, our favorite topic for daily arguments. Sluttiest waist in game.

Duke Belynne Stelmane – Gods’ most perfect princess. We all agree to fuck the Emperor for what he did to her (some of us literally). She used to be a member of the Council of Four[1] as well as leader of Baldur’s Gate branch of Knights of the Shield[2]. Had ties to Hhune patriar family, possibly even related. Low levels of waist sluttiness.

Gargauth – better known as the Hidden Lord, a powerful pit fiend imprisoned in the Shield of the Hidden Lord. His portfolio includes betrayal, cruelty, political corruption and power brokers[3]. The Shield has been kept underneath Baldur’s Gate for over a century, spreading corruption in the city due to his presence alone. Such is his influence, that on the condition he’s taken away from the city, the crime rate might drastically drop[1]. He is known to have been communicating through the Shield with a past leader of the Knights, providing him with valuable information and helping the order grow in power while trying to gain worship[3]. Only some of the Hhune family and the highest rank members of the Knights knew about his existence, though in the present day no one is aware of his infernal identity[2]. Gargauth will try to steer his current owner towards acts of cruelty and domination in hopes of condemning their soul to the Nine Hells[1]. In the “Descent into Avernus” ttrpg one of the baddies wants to use the Shield to drag Baldur’s Gate into Avernus in the same fashion it happened for Elturel, but a party of adventurers takes it away before this evil plan is realized[1]. No information on waist sluttiness due to being imprisoned in a shield.

Now that I established myself as a squid fucker and Stelmane as a leader of a devil-worshipping organization, I know what you’re thinking – I’m gonna say that the Emperor had to enthrall this evil cult leader to save the city. Haha, no. Keep reading. Here, have a meme so I don’t lose your attention.

I must begin by clearing some misconceptions. It’s easy to assume that because of the Stelmane scene, all the Emperor told us about her up to that point was a lie. It wasn’t. They had a functional relationship before the mind control took place. (If you already know this, feel free to skip to the next meme.) There are two notes in the game pointing us to that conclusion: a journal found in Hhune mausoleum commonly attributed to Stelmane and a transcribed conversation heard in Elfsong tavern.

This existence of a past relationship also explains the portrait of Stelmane that the Emperor keeps next to his desk and one of his dialogue options when the PC hugs him in act 2.

Later, in act 3, he also has some lines painting a vague picture of the relationship’s nature.

So she was beginning to trust him before he caused the stroke. This makes things so much more messed up.

There’s still one written document, which doesn’t make sense, namely Patient Log:

This is clearly written after the Emperor took mental possession of her and caused a stroke. Why then does he help her and why does she keep asking for him?

Have you ever gone into the Hhune mausoleum and saw this note?

After giving up on solving the puzzle and looking it up online have you wondered who is “HE”?

It’s Gargauth, the Hidden Lord.

In “Descent into Avernus” module the party may encounter an NPC who is a member of the Knights; she is kept by Vanathampur family as a leverage in case it transpires that Vanathampurs stole the Shield of the Hidden Lord from the Hhune crypt [1] – the very same mausoleum present in game. And it just so happens that the key to this very mausoleum is in the Elfsong Tavern’s Knights of the Shield headquarters, where Stelmane and the Emperor had their rooms.

That’s not all. When you solve the Hhune mausoleum puzzle, a secret wall will open, revealing a small room full of the Knights’ symbols. If the Shield hasn’t been stolen, the Hidden Lord would be revealed too, just like the note says.

And what is that on the table? It’s Stelmane’s journal I was referring to earlier.

Stelmane had access to the Shield. And if she did, the Emperor had too.

(Kudos, if you already know where I’m going with this.) Here’s my proposed order of events.

Stelmane and the Emperor meet. At the time she isn’t yet a Duke nor the leader of the Knights. Like any normal person she’s terrified at first, but unlike any normal person she’s willing to collaborate for the sake of the Knights and her own ambition.

Due to having an illithid ally she quickly climbs ranks of the Knights. She grows to trust him and vice-versa. Things are as good as they can be for a determined politician working her way up in a corrupt organization and a renegade illithid helping with this task.

They finally advance to the seats of power. Stelmane becomes a Duke and leader of the Knights of the Shield. Perhaps thanks to this position or due to Emperor prying into minds of the members, they become aware of the Shield of the Hidden Lord kept in Hhune mausoleum.

They begin speaking with the Shield. Neither of them knows the true identity of the entity within it and the Hidden Lord does everything to keep it that way. His information and advice is always good, so turning to it for guidance becomes a habit.

Gargauth being Gargauth makes every effort to corrupt them; it’s not particularly hard. Keep in mind they’re not good people to begin with. She’s someone willing to collaborate with a mind flayer for the sake of taking over an evil organization and he’s one DC 20 persuasion check away from enslaving the city. The devil causes their worst traits to flare up and pitties them against each other.

This results in a power struggle which culminates in the Emperor dominating Stelmane and causing her seizure.

The Shield gets stolen and soon after taken away from the city.

Without Gargauth’s direct influence they (especially the Emperor) realize the fuckup, but the damage has been done.

They recognize the fiend’s influence in this transgression. Emperor starts treating Stelmane, maybe they try to make their relationship how it once was, though it might not be possible.

Emperor gets taken by Gortash and soon after is sent on the Astral Prism heist. Events of Baldur’s Gate 3 happen.

That’s all! Have a meme!

Here’s an extra bit for the interested.

The see-through people gaze is most likely caused by Gargauth’s influence. And before that Wyll says:

Sounds familiar? And from one letter in the game we can learn that Stelmane has a mansion in the Upper City, where the patriar families such as Hhunes reside[2]. Could she be related to Thione-Hhune?

Huge thanks for reading it all! What do you think? Did Larian originally plan to have this side-story of an aftermath of Gargauth’s corruption?

Sources in order of referencing (sorry, I don’t have a better system)

[1] “Descent into Avernus”: p.162, p.174, p.225, p.5, p.40

[2] “Murder in Baldur’s Gate”: p.36, p.51, p.39

[3] “Lords of Darkness”: p.151 (all the info)

[4rtificialfolio]

Noah - Vest top

Noah Sebastian X Female Reader

genre: smut, a little fluff at the end

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), p in v, slight hair pulling, mirror sex

That goddamn vest stop is where it all started. Your boyfriend, Noah, looks good in anything he wears, but fuck; that goddamn vest top has you practically puddled on the floor. How much he’s been working out lately, how it clings to his body has you weak at the knees.

You’re watching him from the side of the stage, not too out in the open where fans can see you, but enough to have a good view of Noah working the stage. You can’t help but stare; of course you can’t; he’s covered in sweat, his biceps flex every time he moves the mic to his mouth, and you can see how his vest top clings to his body from how sweaty he is. Fuck.

Noah is fully aware of what him wearing that stupid black vest top does to you. He never used to wear one as often as he does, but since the night you practically jumped on him after a show, he made sure to invest in a couple more.

He can see your eyes lingering on him a little too long; the way you look him up and down has the blood rush to his head. Not realising how long you’ve been staring, you’re snapped out of your gaze by the sound of Bryan trying to get past you.

“earth to y/n?”

“oh, sorry Bryan”, you stumble a little as you step aside. Noah notices and smirks in your direction. He can tell you’re already weak for him, and he hasn’t even touched you. God, he can’t wait to touch you.

The way Noah has been acting on stage doesn’t help; the breathy moan when he sings the death of peace of mind, the way he gets on his knees for bad decisions, how he tilts his head back so his neck is on full display for dethrone. The fucker knows precisely what he’s doing, not that you’re complaining.

Before you know it, it’s the set's last song, so you return to the green room before the boys rush off stage. Noah couldn’t get off stage fast enough; as much as he loves to tease you, he needs you just as badly as you do him, and it’s becoming visible with his bulge getting bigger by the minute. Sitting on the green room sofa, all you can think about is Noah fucking you senseless. The thought of having his dick buried deep inside you makes you squeeze your thighs together to gain some friction on your already throbbing cunt. You’re so deep in a trance that you don’t realise he stood right before you, watching you squirm a little with red, flushed cheeks. It isn’t until you feel his knee push your leg slightly that you snap out of your daydream.

“what’s got you so flushed, baby?” He knows full well what you’re thinking about.

Just as you go to speak, he pulls you up from the sofa and into a kiss.

“You know what, never mind”.

Grabbing your hand, he drags you into the room next door.

He swiftly locks the door and pulls you eagerly into a heated kiss.

“Noah” " you moan out as his hands grip the sides of your face.

“god, I need you so fucking bad”, He moans in between kisses. Walking forward, you’re shoved up against the wall, hands gripping your arse and hips. He undoes the zipper to your skirt, and it quickly drops to the floor.

“Please, Noah.” He loves it when you whine for him.

“Please, what, baby? Be a good girl and use your words for me.”

“Please fuck me, do anything. I need you inside me.” He loves how pathetic and needy you sound.

Smirking at your response, he pushes your underwear to the side and drags his middle finger up and down your wet cunt before rubbing circles on your clit.

“so wet for me already,” He moans out, leaving wet kisses down your neck. There’ll definitely be a mark there tomorrow.

“if this is what me wearing a black vest top does to you, I’m never taking it off.”

He pulls his finger away, and you whine in protest at the loss of contact.

“what the fuck, Noa-“Before you can even finish your sentence, he’s on his knees with his head between your legs and leaving kisses up your thighs.

“patience, beautiful.” your hands quickly entangle in his hair as he kisses over your underwear.

“I can’t wait to taste you” In one swift move, he pushes your underwear to the side again, attaching his mouth to your throbbing clit.

“fuck Noah, please” Your hips instinctively buck into his face, and you feel him moan into you.

God, you love how he uses his mouth on you, feeling his tongue flick over your swollen clit repeatedly, the way his lips move against you. All that can be heard is you moaning his name continually, but you couldn’t care less. Noah loves the idea that everyone can hear who you belong to, who’s the one fucking you so well. You’re all his.

Suddenly, you feel him push two fingers inside you, making you moan even louder.

“Fuck baby”

He can’t help but smirk at your response. His finger moves in and out of you steadily, curling ever so slightly as he touches your g spot.

“Noah, please, I’m so close; don’t stop.”

Picking up the pace, he moves his fingers faster and faster, causing you to arch your back against the wall. He removes his mouth to look up at the pretty, fucked out sight in front of him.

“my pretty baby is so close, aren’t you?” he stands up, fingers slowing down a little, but he doesn’t take them out.

“Look at me, y/n, I want to watch you when you cum”

He picks the pace back up, and you can feel the knot tighten in your stomach. Your mouth is gaped open, too fucked out for sound to escape.

“cum for me, baby” Noah leaves a couple of kisses on your neck before looking you in the eyes as you cum on his fingers.

“Think you can take another?”

Not even bothering to answer, you quickly pull his trousers and boxers down before running your hands underneath his tank top.

“Well, I guess that’s my question answered then”.

Before you know it, he’s bending you over the dresser on the other side of the room, legs spread with your ass pressed against Noah’s throbbing cock.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and watch yourself as I fuck you, understand baby?”

“yes, Noah, please just fuck me. I need you.”

Noah grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up so you can see yourself in the mirror before pushing his dick into your dripping cunt.

“fuck you feel so good, y/n” Not giving you any time to adjust, his hips slam into you, making you yell in pleasure.

“Oh fuck N-Noah”

Using his other hand to grip your hip, he pulls your hips into him as he thrusts in and out of you.

“Look at yourself, baby, all messy just for me. My pretty little slut” Unable to form any words, your moans get louder and louder as he picks up his pace.

He fills you up so well, the tip of his cock pushing against your g spot repeatedly.

It’s your favourite feeling.

It doesn’t take long until you feel that all too familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, and Noah’s thrusts become more eager.

“I’m-“

“I know, baby; you can do it, cum for me again, y/n.”

Bending down, you feel his chest against your back. He removes his hand from your hair and snakes his arm around the front of your stomach so he can rub your clit. Not even 10 seconds later, you clench around him once more before screaming his name as you cum around his cock.

“N-Noah fuck”, You moan out, falling onto the dressing table.

He quickly straightens his back and pulls out of you before giving his swollen, hard cock a few pumps before cumming all over your back and collapsing on top of you.

“Fuck Y/N”

A quiet “Noah” is all you can manage to mutter out. He quickly grabs some tissue to clean the both of you up before pulling you into a tight hug.

His chest feels warm, and you can't help but melt in his arms.

“You did so well, baby.” He gives a long kiss on your head before grabbing your skirt and a blanket.

Without saying a word, he slides his arm underneath your legs, picking you up bridal style and sits on the two-seater sofa in the corner of the room.

The silence is sweet; just cradling in his arms as he gives you gentle, loving kisses.

“God, I love you so much”, he mutters into the side of your neck

Looking up at his pretty brown eyes, you give him a gentle smile and snuggle into his chest.

“I love you too, baby”.

You both stay there for a while, lying in his arms, enjoying the warmth of his chest and hearing his steady heartbeat. This isn’t where you expected to end tonight, but neither of you are complaining.

That goddamn vest top.

-

masterlist

[sourbites]

Okay this might be a bit of a reach. But maybe a smut with Kirk. Like enemies to lovers kinda thing. Kinda catches you outside a party smoking a joint crying over some average asshole. Maybe a little argument. Sorta kinda like I hate you so much I wanna shut you up in a sensual kinda way. 🥲

Licking Wounds

sorry it took so long to get to this request! also if this piece lowkey sucks, i am sorry in advance. still kind of sick..... BUT ANYWAY! i pictured kirk somewhere around load era where he (arguably) acted the meanest because he's such a sweetheart i can't imagine him ever beefing enough with someone to be actual enemies. so he's just a bit of a dick. enjoy!

The flux of song lyrics and honey-whispered words swim in your head until it feels like you're being held underwater, Poseidon's hostage. Your ears even do that prickly thing like there's fluid trying to creep inside your eardrums. The fire and rage that fuelled you to storm outside has quickly tanked into nothingness. You're just an empty engine rattling around on fumes of what was. Fuck him.

Seriously. Fuck him. Who invites someone for a date and then acts like — like that with the nearest girl?

You find solitude in the quiet amber night, hidden and tucked into shadows outside the side alley of the bar. The brick wall is cool and unyielding against your skull, your head seeking the stability it brings. The picture of him is burned into your memory like you left your TV on pause for too long. His hip bumping hers, her nails dragging down his neck as he leans in to hear her better. You can still hear the speakers playing songs from inside— a song they're probably dancing to, no doubt.

"Party's inside," You turn your head. Kirk's leaning against the brick wall, grinning at you all smugly. Little fucker. The white scleras of his eyes are blindingly bright against the inky blackness of the night. It's a stark contrast to the lightless browns of his irises. You feel like his gaze is tunnelling holes through you. It's lukewarm out — everything simmers with heat from the September day's sweltering sun.

"Exactly why I'm outside." You sass him back. With shaky hands, you fish out a half-crumpled cigarette. It'll have to do. Patting your pockets again, you find nothing but the cherry on top of a foul night. No lighter. Perfect. Sighing, trying not to cry like a baby outside a bar, you swipe a hand over your face. Hopefully, your mascara isn't too smudged. Whatever.

Kirk throws his hands up out of his pockets in mock surrender. You can tell he's mocking you because of that stupid fucking smile on his full lips. Jerk. The streetlights stream down onto him more than you (because you're tucked snugly into the side alley), his skin glistening gold at the edges in the warm light.

Before you can suck in another breath to verbally take out your awful day on to him, he slinks over to you with this casual slyness. He tucks the end of a joint between your lips and lights it for you. "Loosen up, would'ya?"

"Fucking don't," You tell him, leaning against the wall does nothing to stop you from tilting inwards in red-hot embarrassment and shame. You should've known not to go on a date with that jerk. You always told yourself you'd never be the type of broad to weep over some limp-dicked man. God, you wish you could go back in time and handcuff yourself to your radiator before you stepped outside to meet him. Your reason should've butted in sooner— no one likes captain hindsight.

Kirk just laughs off your nasty drunkenness. He tucks his lighter back in his pocket after lighting his own joint (he got the lighter to burn on the first try— twice. Show off). The lonely flame lapped at the shadows of his face, glinted off of his labret piercing. He looks stupid with that fucking spike. Well, he looks ridiculous anyway.

Still smiling like he's some cherub, he glances at you, "Christ, you're good company. No wonder your date's chatting up some other girl."

Usually, you'd be biting his head off for even daring to speak to you like that. But this is the seventh time this has happened. Or maybe eighth? You don't understand what's wrong with him. Or is it you? This was the hundredth time he's glanced away from you. You've tried everything: mimicking the girls that strike him, icing him out, doing everything he likes, anything you can think of to salvage your relationship. But the truth is, he takes his eyes off you so damn easily. And you're done pretending to be blind.

You laugh humourlessly, exhaling smoke into the stagnant night. It lurks and lingers around you for a few moments longer than usual before it just dissipates into nothingness. The joint does little to soothe you. It only seeps into your blood, your flesh. You need this smoke to cradle your bones, to kiss away the neurons that won't stop making you think.

It seems Kirk doesn't like you silent; because he looks down to scuff the soles of his shoes on the rain-saturated asphalt, kicking around discarded cigarette butts and the glass of long-ago smashed beer bottles. "Listen, about Mi—"

"I don't want to talk about him." You grumble.

Honestly, you don't even want to talk to Kirk. You haven't got the foggiest clue as to why he's even here, bothering you like some fly in your ear. He seems more than eager to go back in and enjoy the party.

"Well, what if I do? What're you going to do, go back inside? Be my guest, you'll see him with his tongue down some other skank's throat." He's way too happy to tell you that. Fucking hell, that's a bit harsh. You swallow the ugly dirtiness you feel and push down that despair that sticks to the insides of your mouth like paper. Why is being loved so hard?

"Why are you even here?" You give him the meanest glare you can muster right now. With sticky eyelashes and a queasy stomach, it's probably more similar to a blank stare.

Kirk shrugs, looking down at his shoes. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, maybe raspy from the smoke, as he rumbles out a gently dismissive, "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, so you can get in my business, but I can't get in yours?" You raise an inquisitive brow.

"Uh, yeah, considering I'm not the one blubbering over the same asshole every time I go out. You make your business everyone else's problem, so don't get so surprised when everyone knows that he fucks other girls." Wow. You work your mouth, blinking, stupefied. You see the blurry outlines of your silhouette staring back at you in a dim puddle in the ground.

You push yourself off the wall and turn your back on Kirk. You hear him scoff in disbelief from behind you as you re-enter the bar. The atmosphere inside is thick, suffocating you straight down to hell with sweat, booze, and cheap jasmine perfume. You don't know why you're back inside. It just seemed - at the time - a better alternative than getting an earful from Kirk. Maybe you can convince the bartender to call you a taxi, considering your phone's dead.

You pull yourself up to the polished wooden bar and quickly recoil your hands once you feel how disgustingly sticky it is. You scan for the guy working behind the bar, but all you see is your idiot fucking date doing his usual tricks to get a girl to go home with him. Maybe it's the weed, maybe you're seeing in better picture, but as you watch him smoothing his warm hands down her arms, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, you don't feel the usual agony. Okay, sure, it's a little embarrassing considering the patrons saw you with him dancing only a mere twenty minutes ago, but they're drunk, and you bet their picture of you is already beginning to fade.

Huh.

The cool outside air takes that weight clean off your shoulders. "Oh, got bored already?" Kirk calls to you once he sees your figure nearing him.

"Something like that." You take a big inhale of your joint (for luck, not courage) and step real close to him. His scent hits you like a brick wall, all boozy and that rigid tobacoo scent. You hear him murmur out a smooth whoa under his breath.

"Why are you still here? Really." You inquire. Without a hint of shyness, you sauntered into his bubble of space like you owned the place. But now you're here, you don't want to be so commanding and kill the intimacy of proximity.

Kirk lays a hand on your side. His body heat seeps through your shirt. "Would you believe me if I said I didn't like the song they're playing?"

"No song runs for, like, twelve minutes." You point out through hushed giggles. You don't feel loopy from the weed. Is Kirk genuinely amusing?

"Dogs," He hums automatically, brushing away the hair from your forehead with the back of his hand. There are a few rings decorating his fingers that bite your skin upon contact.

"...What?"

"Pink Floyd— the song Dogs," Kirk expands, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. His huge, dark eyes drop to your mouth. "That song runs for, I think... fifteen minutes?"

You can't help but genuinely laugh at him. "Fuck, you're a nerd." You sigh, still grinning. "But seriously, why did you follow me out here?"

Kirk's eyes narrow— just a smidge. "What do you want to hear me say? I saw you run out like a fuckin' kid, and I felt it was my duty to comfort you. Don't be such a goddamn princess, alright? Just drop it."

You don't wriggle out from his touch. Nothing seems that serious anymore. You hum thoughtfully, brushing the pad of your thumb against his chin. You wonder if that piercing hurt. If it was planned. If he cried. "You're a dick." You say it so casually - so easily - that it doesn't even hit like an insult.

You're both just standing there, orbiting each other. It's cooler than anticipated outside; the lightbulbs in the streetlamps are long overdue for a change. They buzz overhead. The scenery lacks the colour of daylight or artificial light like the ones inside the bar. Maybe this near-monochromatic world brings more clarity than the exciting hubbub of passionate reds and the flair of a coddling yellow.

"You don't actually like him, do you?" Kirk's voice is ghostly quiet; you barely hear it. You wish it would haunt you. Through the virile streams of muggy grey smoke, you watch Kirk's facial expression. Mostly, you just watch the smoke in front of you, trying to see words or images within the steady flow of dead, grey air.

Albeit petulantly, you shrug your shoulders. "I dunno. Not recently." Your voice is awkward, mumbling around the edges of the joint Kirk gave you.

It's so difficult to get the cage of your mouth open sometimes. You don't want to talk about how bad you feel, how lonely, how upset you get at night. Your tongue sits in your jaw like a rock, like a dying star weighing you down on the gritty floor. Is it a crime to simply want to be adored?

"I watched you," Kirk clears his throat, avoiding your sad eyes. "On the dance floor. You looked good. Happy. You didn't like him then?"

You shake your head, flicking the smouldering end of the joint into a stagnant puddle of rainwater. "I liked dancing. I like being with someone, just not him anymore. I..." You roll the words around in your mouth. You haven't even been brave enough to write this in your diary, and here you are, about to confide in Kirk— the asshole of the century.

"To be honest with you, Kirk, I'm not really surprised anymore. I know he doesn't actually like me. I just... it beats being alone."

"So you'd hang out with any fucker so long as it's company?" He raises his brows at you. One hand is in his pocket.

Without waiting for you to respond, Kirk scoops your hips into his hands and steers you against the chilly brick wall. You should resist. You honestly should. But you're drunk (tipsy, you'd insist to anyone who dared to point out your warm face and slanted gait) and high and hollow and so loudly lonely. He gives you his shoulder to lay your head on; your hands slide under his leather jacket, enveloping them in heat. Not radiator heat or hot bath heat— human heat. The real deal.

His mouth tastes like warm tequila. Toasty, smooth tequila that sinks down your throat almost. Such a peaceful mouth, free of the brambled insults it hurls at you. You're led closer to him, tethered to this rope that is his full pink lips. Kirk's fingertips sink into your ass; it sets your wayward heart roiling with newfound contempt for him, and yet you sigh into his kiss, wanting to consume his every earthy-tequila breath and bandage it around your shuddering skin.

Your whole body rattles with tiny electric pulses that rise like steam to fog up your brain that's too thick to see through. Everything is Kirk. You barely register that a song is flowing out of the bar and into your swirling head. I Wanna Be Adored, but it's being covered by some cool, angsty chick.

Both your faces pull away from the kiss. The spell's not broken, though. The moment, the heat, it all lingers... neither of you want to give it up for a memory just yet. Your mouth tingles with the phantom heat of Kirk's lips against you. With jellified muscles, the back of your skull slowly sinks into the brick wall as best as it can. Kirk's mouth is on you again, on your pulse, trailing quick, flighty kisses around the collar of your shirt.

"You done whining about your boyfriend now?" Kirk mutters, in between pressing his teeth into your shoulder, capturing your skin and tugging down your shirt until the fabric warps. Greedy. Saying anything smart will ruin the magic, so you just dig your nails into the nape of his neck, relishing in the way he pours a groan onto you.

Goosebump-inducingly hot hands slide up your side, planting you in place. You wonder if Kirk can read your thoughts— if he's purposefully coaxing you away from nurturing any rational thought that would butt in with a: 'Whoa there, girlfriend!'

The spiked jewellery of his labret piercing digs into your skin. You hiss. The little fucker laughs at you. How Kirk makes you feel - like you're in some artsy film, where everyone else fizzes into the background, and all your lines are witty - it doesn't mesh well with his blunt personality. You feel like you shouldn't ever pull yourself away from him. He slyly bumps his hips into yours; his hand travels south to your thigh, coaxing it up to hook around his waist.

"I wanna be adooored..."

The singer's distant voice haunts you through layers of brick and mortar. Kirk's tongue laps over a teeth-shaped ring on your neck. You keen into him, your flesh is irritated by him, and yet the only medicine for you is him. He's pressing against you like you press your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. Your palms burn, his mouth feels like the start of forever and simultaneously feels like the final nail in your coffin. Would he listen if you whispered your sorrows to him?

In the corner of your eye, before everything that isn't your spotlight on Kirk fades away, the cheap neon sign lights bleed into the puddles on the pavement.

"You want to make him jealous?" Kirk noses into your ear, skirting his fingertips around your hips restlessly. You know what he's alluding to. Does it always have to be about him? Why can't this just be for you?

Cementing yourself to the moment, you rest your arms on Kirk's shoulders and lock them together, letting his worn-smooth leather jacket meld into your skin. "No. I just want to feel good."

Satisfied, Kirk purrs, "I can do that," into the shell of your ear— before kissing the cartilage and grabbing an eager fistful of your ass.

He looks up at you from his resting place on your shoulder. Enormous brown eyes framed by thick, long eyelashes. Desire rolls around in your belly. You feel tethered to him. Fucking him would be like fucking a concept, a piece of art— though you do want him. Terribly so.

Kirk's stronger than he looks when he gets your legs fully around him, your panties to the side. His hard, aching cock is propped up on the waistband of his jeans that he's had to inch down his hips. The unattractive buzz of neon lights and old streetlamps still lingers around, like a wasteland where made-of-flesh cicadas have been replaced by synthetically monotonous, perverse humming. He uses two of his fingers to coax you open, slicked up with his spit and your own wetness. The heel of his palm pushes into your throbbing clit. You shudder around him.

Once your common sense washes over you, and the smell of Kirk no longer blinds you, you're sure to feel shame that you've taken the world's most annoying man's dick right outside a bar. But right now, all you know is Kirk's thick fingers curling within you so deep, your knees locked around him, and his mouth sucking bruises into your ribs.

The song hits the instrumental bridge. It just rattles in your head. Then Kirk fills out the rest. Between the beats, there's him.

You use all the breath in your chest to power out a muffled moan into his collarbone. Kirk replaced his fingers with his cock— and fuck, is it an upgrade. You didn't realise your eyes were closed in cock-drunkenness until you felt your lashes against your warm cheeks. Kirk presses into you; all the way to the base of his cock, where his happy trail is dirtied by your overeager cunt, smearing the arousal that leaks out of you onto him.

Kirk was never on your lists of goals or dreams or lovers, and here he is, giving you the best fuck of your life. He's got a palm on the wall, cushioning your head, the other securing you around him with his hand cupping your thigh. You know next time you're in the shower, you'll find his fingertipped bruises on the backs of your thighs with your own fingers, and you know all the sweltering heat from tonight will come shooting back to you. All it will take is a touch, a memory. In the words of Virgil: smooth the descent, and easy is the way.

It's a lot of bumping, it's a lot of filthy mouths saying filthy things. Your skin is burning— you cling to him desperately, shoving your nose into his neck until you can almost smell the iron in his blood. His golden skin makes your mouth water— just a hard-edged jawline and glittering jewellery that commands attention like the sun at noon. Other men (like the one in the bar, oblivious to the fantastic night you've having) before Kirk have bumbled and fumbled around your body and searched within you blindfolded, wholly missing the mark when it comes to pleasing you. But Kirk? He's a fucking mind reader. If you think deeper, he's lewdly swinging his hips until they piston into your cervix with so much zeal that you think you're going to faint and tear his skin open with how evilly you're clawing at his arms. If you think slower, you can hear the pornographic squelches of your sopping wet cunt; can feel every single atom of his wonderfully skilled cock reaming you open.

The song's outro swirls in your head. Like a siren's spell, working hand-in-hand with Kirk to keep you hypnotised.

"You adore me... (I wanna).... You adore me.... (I wanna....)"

You don't care. You don't care about anything. When he's inside you, it feels so good it hurts. It chases away any cold-lipped loneliness. It's all just Kirk, Kirk, Kirk. He crushes his mouth onto yours. His spiked labret jewellery rests against your skin, vaguely threatening. No matter those Bambi eyes, he'll never be soft. Never be yours. He's practically lunging his hungry cock within you. There's no doubt in your mind that your tailbone is going to be sore tomorrow— you can already feel the pattern of bruises lined up your skin where Kirk grasped and clutched at you and dug in his blunt nails.

Even though you still feel hollowed out, you feel your organs rattling within you, your eyes unfocused yet still trained on him, stupefied by how impressive his performance is. You arch against him, crying out against his palm. He shushes you, grinning. He's grinding his hips into yours as if he's trying to fucking pave his way within you for his return, so he knows his way around.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," Kirk hisses, groping more bruises into your thigh, sucking at the base of your neck. "Gorgeous girl. Gorgeous pussy." He exhales, his breath fanning across the circles of his spit on your neck.

You take a hand and curl your fingers into his palm, the one plastered on your mouth to silence you. You're not sure why you do it. Maybe you just want to hold a part of him.

"S' funny," Kirk laughs, all velvety-smooth in a way that has your insides fluttering around him. "That fuckin' idiot in there... missing out on you," He groans.

"It's me who makes you moan like this - gets you so wet - me who gets to ruin your pussy for anyone else. You're mine, baby—"

"Kirk," You warn noisily into his hand. Then a moan quickly stumbles out around his palm. He grins smugly against your neck.

You grab onto him for dear life. He's a sight: deliriously hot and cocky as he splits you in two against a brick wall (that's probably scraping up his hand that's acting as your cushion). His ploughing slows into a sloppy glide, subjecting your ears to the embarrassing squelch of your bodies joining together. The stars in your eyes are lit. Kirk needed to see it, even if he's never been one for stargazing. The back of your neck is boiling hot; your hair is sticking to your forehead— most of your skin is dampened by sweat or slick. He's panting into your skin, hips finally stuttering against your pelvis. Brittle cries live and die in the back of your throat. His cock swells and fills you to the brim as you soak him to the bone. Your eyes roll so far back in your head that you almost catch a glimpse of your brain. Frenzied, your cunt pulses around him, your abdomen pulled taut.

You almost slide down the entire length of the wall once Kirk gingerly untangles your limbs. Your muscles ache, jellified, so dazed with that love potion he had you gulping down. You gasp big mouthfuls of air. You can taste the salt of sweaty skin and the muggy city on your tongue. The insides of your thighs are uncomfortably sticky.

Kirk cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses your brow. You've tasted the good and the bad in him— and you want them both.

"You're done griping now, I hope." He murmurs into your temple. What a fucking jerk.

[voxboxturnedghost]

I love the idea of vox x Fem reader aftercare, I picture hes the type to just smoke smth and not care but I'd like to see your take on it! also can we get some vox x Fem reader imagines (I wanna know what hes like in bed ykiwmm 🥰🥰🤭) if u cant then its fine! have an amazing day/nightt

i like the way u think, also imagines/headcanons are shorter and less detailed so i can bang those out rn lets fucking go!

- Aftercare: Vox would probably look up different aftercare methods online. He'd be pretty awkward about the whole thing but kinda just make sure you feel okay afterwards and tell you that you did good, and like make sure if anything's hurting that he helps soothe it, then would probably offer to take you out for coffee or something afterwards. He likes being perceived positively and likes attention so obvs would try to leave a good impression.

- In bed? Oof. Lemme tell you, LOOOTS of jealous/frustrated sex. The man is constantly just so irritated about everything (even more so once Alastor is back in town) and is very often in need of stress relief, so you become his favourite stress toy <3

- the constant one-upping of Alastor even shows in bed, like he's just frustrated rambling while he's fucking you to pieces "That pretentious fucker thinks he's so much better than me? But he doesn't have a pretty girl on his cock, does he? No, he fucking doesn't."

- Valentino (trash man) tries to hit on you (because he just goes after anything with a hole, fuck you valentino i hate you) and Vox is NOT having it. He usually keeps bedroom activities in private but he will make an exception this time. Won't go the full length but will definitely make a point. He plays it off with a smirk but inside he is RAGING. "I think she's pretty satisfied with me, already, Val." before he gets a little bit of a "don't fuck with me" look in his eyes "Don't be fucking greedy, Valentino." (cus Val already has lots of employees he can fuck so he should back tf up)

- He sometimes starts to overheat and/or glitch out when he gets overwhelmed (in a good way) during sex and his movements start to get erratic and wild

- He's pretty spontaneous when it comes to sex, especially when it's fuelled by stress and frustration cause he'll just find you, take you to the nearest bathroom or wherever you can have privacy and just have some very needed stress relief sex (both a blessing and a curse cus god the sex is good when he's pissed off, but it's so frequent your legs feel like hell)

- both degradation and praise are strong suits for him. like- you're a whore, but you're HIS pretty whore. you're suuuch a good fucking girl for him, and he makes sure you know that, but will also tease you for how much of a mess you become on his dick. big ego thing for him when you're very clearly enjoying it so he likes when you praise him too (not in a submissive "good boy" way but like when you tell him he's the best and stuff like that)

"If I hear that fossil's stupid fucking radio voice one more time I swear I'll-" Vox lets out a groan of frustration through gritted teeth as his hips pick up speed, his grip on your hips only ever tightening as he fucks you so hard your head starts to spin. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders, almost folding you in half on top of his desk, while he fucks into you like he'd die if he faltered for even a single second. He likes this position the most, likes seeing your face, likes seeing how you fucking fall apart for him, for his cock.

"Atta girl. You're gonna take everything I give you, yeah? That's a good girl. Thaaat's a good. Fucking. Slut."

[onepiece-polls]

One Piece Shipping War - Bonus Poll!

The winner of the poly ship bracket vs the most popular (and honestly, only) Buggy ship of the duo bracket!

Propaganda under the cut. [contains some spoilers]

Propaganda for Cross Guild:

Idk there's something about three people who hate each other that just works.

they don't need no propaganda. I could never make propaganda like buggy the clown does in canon

mr. pathetic (buggy) paired with two actual warlords who could (but haven't !) demolished him ? it has to be love

Crocodile and Mihawk are a fucked up rich ass couple and Buggy is the chihuahua in their purse

CROSSGUILDCROSSGUILD XXX

Its cross guild. you know why (mod: as an anime-only fan, I don't, but I'm looking forward to find out 😂)

Propaganda for Shanks x Buggy:

What if we were childhood friends who gave up our drama for each other then never saw each other again for years

What can I say, I'm a fellow shuggy truther too 🤝

Shanks obviously adores Buggy, and Buggy is so tsundure~! Mr 'I hate Shanks'-but-will-take-every-opportunity-to-talk-about-him-and-be-with-him.

Oden says in his journal that he can't tell if they're friends of enemies, and I just love that. Plus when you add in the revelation about Shanks and Buggy in the recent chapters.

They're childhood friends. They're exes. They've been married for 20 years. They're opposites. They're the same. They're silly goofy guys who make me want to cry my heart out. Red/Blue is always meant to be.

Buggy """""HATES""""" Shanks. This hate is so strong that he WILL yell at this red-haired bastard despite the fact that he is a coward, who is terrified of all the Emperors. Everyone thinks this is strange. However, when you grow up with said Emperor on the same boat, watching him stumble over his feet as he's trying to learn to use a sword, stuck scrubbing the whole deck because he was stupid enough to prank "Dark King" Rayleigh, and make that same stupid pouty face every time his Conqueror's Haki doesn't do anything because he is an itty bitty child, most of that fear gets pretty quelled. Also, that same fucker lost an arm because he's a DUMBASS and he deserves to be made fun of for it (not because Buggy is worried and missed him not at all no no Shanks is just DUMB and needs to be TOLD he is dumb more. But just by Buggy. Because Buggy has known his idiocy forever. He has earned the right to yell at this stupid, stupid Emperor for being a self-sacrificing fool and for giving away that stupid hat and... Wait, hang on, when did this bastard get hot!? WHAT THE FUC-) And Shanks just keeps smiling at Buggy and his antics because he has 100% been in love with him since they were children (his actions while they were on the Roger pirates are the DEFINITION of pigtail-pulling as flirting) and he is just happy to see that he's safe while being exactly the same larger-than-life clown he always knew. He would gladly give up his life of sluttery (that I am convinced this man has. Just look at how he exists) if Buggy would just agree to join his crew, but will not push him if he doesn't want to. He just loves his pretty clown from a distance and waits. TLDR: Buggy is mad that he's in love with Shanks and Shanks just likes existing with and/or annoying Buggy (they come as a pair). GOD I just love childhood friends to lovers bro. Just let the cabin boys kiss.

[Spoiler Warning] Red and Blue gays! Emperor husbands! Childhood friends to enemies to lovers!