#I need to stop overusing my tags

[mollotovm]

>> drawing with an implied topic that’s a bit harsh; assisted . death, best way to say it. Not graphic, just explicitly implied. Very sorry, do beware.

i should not be trusted with ibispaint

[chuulyssa]

drunk and driven. (light yagami)

↷ A/N ─ happy belated birthday to light and me !! i hope you enjoy this :) again, this is NOT rape/non-con. the reader is as sober as light here. written by a zombie-me at 4am. also im sorry if the camera topic is overused, i just couldnt help myself fantasizing about this

★ COUNT ─ 2.5k

!! TAGS ─ f!reader, dom!light, drinking, smut, fingering, spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, nicknames (good girl, pretty girl, etc.), edging, begging kink, voyeurism

★ PROLOGUE ─ your boyfriend punishes you for almost letting slip his real identity

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

The dim glow of the television cast shadows around the room. You had been at your high school's farewell party, and had too many drinks there to stumble back home in one piece. It was almost midnight, so there was also no way your boyfriend, Light Yagami, would have let you out of his sight, especially with how tipsy you were. He was quite protective of you, but he was right. You let out a drunk sigh and looked away, silently accepting the fact that you'd have to meet his parents in the morning and share a few awkward exchanges.

Light had had more drinks than you at the party, but he looked far from as drunk as you currently were. He was quietly watching a movie on the TV, stroking your hair lightly. Your gaze went up from Light to the flickering screen. A sudden surge of courage rushed through you.

"Light," you whispered, breaking the silence with your hoarse voice.

"No, you're not going home tonight," Light replied without looking at you.

"No, it's not that," you said frustratedly.

Light raised his eyebrows, hearing you slur your words due to the effects of the alcohol. Still, he did not look at you.

"How much did you drink?"

"Less than what you drank," your throat burned, your eyes drooping slightly.

He ignored you, seemingly engrossed in the movie, but you knew it was all just an act for the cameras L had set up.

You continued, "And it doesn't matter how much I drank, because either way, you refuse to give me attention."

Ryuk snickered in the corner.

Light frowned, finally turning his attention towards you as his eyes trailed down your body. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the redness of your cheeks, and the slight swaying of your body.

He looked at you for a few more seconds with a calculating look before sighing and setting the remote on his table. He stood up, "You should really get some sleep."

"No," you repeated.

"I-" Light was starting to get annoyed. "Are you crazy? Don't you want to go home tomorrow?"

"I just- I-" You sighed again, leaning back against your chair and almost falling off.

"Idiot," Light muttered, catching you before you fell. He carried you to his bed and lay you down gently before covering you with his blanket. "Are you comfortable? Do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

"No, no, I need cuddles," you smiled drunkenly, completely forgetting what you were going to say back when you had gotten some "courage".

"Of course, you do," Light said proudly. "You need my cuddles to sleep."

You hummed in response. As he snottily took his shirt off before lying down next to you, you closed your eyes slightly. They were burning, as if trying to stop you from both closing them and keeping them open.

His hands made their way to your back, gently pushing your neck to his bare chest. You finally shut your heavy eyelids and snuggled closer to him. This was what you always wanted. Just you and Light. Alone.

You furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes still tightly shut, your face pressed against him. Alone? It was laughable that you thought even for a moment that you two were alone right now. Well, for one, there was a God of Death in the same room as you, trying not to pass out from the lack of apples in his digestive system. Second, a great detective was watching the two of you, possibly along with your boyfriend's own father.

Light pulled you even closer to him, inhaling your scent deeply. Soon, the two of you drifted off to dreamland, and L was left questioning whether the seventeen-year-old star student really was a murderer.

You woke up, limbs tangled with Light's. You checked your wristwatch. About four hours had passed, and as you tried to sit up, your head felt heavy from an early hangover. Light's eyes jerked open. He had always been a light sleeper.

"Hm?" he mumbled in his sleep, no longer feeling the presence of your head in the crook of his neck. "What's the matter, honey?"

"I... had a dream," you said slowly.

"Nightmare?"

"Kinda."

Light sat up slowly and reached out for a glass of water to hand to you.

You peeked into the glass, rubbing your left eye until you saw stars.

"Vodka?" you said hopefully.

"Water," he replied calmly.

You pouted pleadingly; more alcohol was what you needed right now, but you eventually had to resign to your boyfriend. You drank the water, and instantly felt much more sober than you were before. Your sleepy eyes fell on Ryuk, his legs and hands in a rather uncomfortable position, perhaps due to not having apples for such a long time.

For a moment, you, for the second time that night, completely forgot about the existence of the cameras.

You turned to Light. "How long is he going to go without apples?"

"Who, honey?" Light's eyes flashed warningly, but you were far too sleepy to notice.

"Ryuk, your Shini-"

Your words were cut off by a sharp kiss. Light had completely thrown himself at you, and you fell back down on the bed due to the sheer force of his abrupt kiss. The empty glass landed on the floor with a loud clink, but he ignored it. His hands reached under your shirt, his nails digging into the skin of your hips as if daring you to talk further.

You attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows, to gain some kind of control over what was happening. But Light pushed you back down, pulling you by your hips and roughly throwing your head down on the pillow.

He pulled away eventually, the pupils of his eyes completely red, and you cursed yourself mentally. This was not your Light. This was Kira.

He leaned away from you, got up to pick up the thrown glass and filled it with water again, but as he offered it to you, you rejected it. "I'm sober enough for this, Light."

"Very well then," Light whispered and leaned in closer to your ear. "I hope you remember you're being watched. Make sure you put on a show."

You nodded slowly, letting his hands roam around and make their way to the hem of your skirt, twirling the fabric around his fingers. He brought another hand to your top and slid it under the cloth, feeling the material of your satin bra.

"The one I gifted to you?" he raised his eyebrows, a little smirk on his face.

"Yes," you whispered, pulling his bare chest against your clothed one. "Strip me, Light."

"What's the magic word?" he teased, hand slipping under your bra and cupping your breast.

"Please," you whimpered when he pinched your nipple.

Ryuk snapped his eyes open and tumbled out of the room clumsily, perhaps to give you some privacy.

"Good girl," he didn't hide his smirk this time as he pulled your top off completely, throwing it to the side where it landed on his chair next to his own shirt. He ran his hands down your back, grabbing the zipper of your skirt and slowly pulling it down. Light slid the skirt down your legs, leaving you in a matching set of satin underwear and bra.

"Pretty," he murmured, his hand grasping his growing bulge tightly.

"Let me help you with that," you sat up on all fours and leaned in closer, a hand stretched out to touch his crotch.

You rubbed him lightly, slowly increasing your pace before unbuckling his belt and slipping your hand under his boxers. Your constant touching of his tip made him groan, hand reaching out to yank you by your hair and push you back down to the bed. You grabbed his hands and brought them to your breasts, pressing them against your chest.

"Take my bra off."

"I'm not a man to be told what to do," he said, bringing his lips down to your neck. "But I will allow it this time."

Light freed his hands from your grip and brought them to your back, unclasping the hook of your bra and letting it fall to the floor. He cupped your breasts in his hands, lowering himself so that his mouth sucked on one nipple while his hand squeezed the other.

"Fuck," you moaned, pushing his head against your chest.

He grabbed your hand and brought it once more to his crotch, letting you feel the bulge in his pants again.

"You're not the only one who's needy right now."

"You're so- god, I can't wait to feel you inside me," you said, rubbing his dick through the fabric.

"Patient girls are rewarded," he said, dragging his lips from your neck to your collarbone, his free hand ripping your panties off.

"Hey!" you whisper-screamed.

"I'll buy you another set," he said calmly, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them up and hitting your g-spot.

"Yes," you moaned, pushing his hand against your pussy. "Faster."

He brought his other hand from your nipple to your clit and started rubbing it in circles, simultaneously fucking you with his fingers.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," you whimpered after a few minutes, feeling your orgasm build.

"Mhm, do it, what a good girl," he said, rubbing your clit faster, aiding your release. You came hard on his fingers, arching your back, bucking against his hand and moaning loudly. Your legs shook, while he pulled his fingers out of your pussy and brought them to your mouth. "Clean them."

You nodded, sucking on his fingers, your teeth digging into his skin. Light smirked.

"Don't you think you should be punished?"

"Huh-? For what, Li-?"

Your words were cut off once again when he pulled you onto his lap so that your ass faced him and you lay on your stomach, pussy pressed against his crotch.

_ _ _ _

"L, I don't think we should be watching this," Soichiro Yagami kept his eyes away from the screen, where his son, his perfect little son, was busy fingering his girlfriend. He hadn't even known he had a girlfriend, let alone the fact that they were so... intimate with each other.

"There has to be some meaning in what the girl said," L racked his brains, eyes scanning the scene, now showing you in Light's lap and his hand rubbing your ass. "Apples?"

"For god's sake, it may be some sort of safeword for when they- for when they do- this," Soichiro yelled, his eyes on the floor.

"It's not a mere coincidence, Mr Yagami," L said thoughtfully. "Apples? Kira told me 'Shinigamis' loved apples earlier. This is not a coincidence, Mr Yagami."

_ _ _ _

"You're going to be punished for fucking everything up," he whispered in your ear before smacking your ass hard. "Count."

"One!" you yelped, feeling the sting of his hand on your ass. "Two!" "Three!" "Four!" "Five!"

He kept spanking you, alternating between your ass cheeks. You could feel his dick hard against your stomach, and ignoring the pain in your ass, you started to grind against it.

"Six!" "Seven!" "Eight!"

He spanked you harder, and you could feel your ass getting red. You were breathing heavily, and your pussy was so wet that it was dripping onto his lap.

"Nine! Ten!"

_ _ _ _

"Can we stop watching this now?" Soichiro groaned.

"There has to be some hint," L traced the screen with his fingers which showed you getting spanked hard by Light now.

Soichiro let out an uncomfortable sigh.

"Mr Yagami, you can close your ears and eyes," L said without looking away from the screen.

_ _ _ _

"Good girl," Light said, rubbing your ass. "Now, a reward."

He slid his pants and boxers down to his legs and wiggled out of them. He brought his dick to your pussy, rubbing its head against your clit and earning a moan from your pursed lips. He flipped you over, pinning you under him on the bed again as he continued to tease you.

"Please, Light," you begged, trying to reach out for his dick so you could push it in.

"Please what?" he said sweetly and you groaned in annoyance.

"Please fuck me."

He smiled and pushed his dick inside you slowly, savouring every inch of your tight pussy.

"Oh!" you wailed, feeling his cock stretch your pussy.

He started bucking his hips in and out, fucking you harder as his balls slapped against your clit, doubling the pleasure. He was careful not to make a sound, but he didn't stop you from letting your strangled moans out. This would be your punishment, facing his mother in the morning after getting fucked so hard by him at night.

You tried very hard to suppress your lustful sounds, eyes welling up at the thought of facing his family in a few hours, but you couldn't. He was too good. He knew just how to get under your skin. Slowly, you felt your second orgasm approaching.

"Ah, ah! I want to come," you clasped your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. He was going so hard on you, of course, his mother and his sister would wake up if he continued.

"No, you're not. Hold it in," Light commanded. "You're going to come when I say so."

He kept fucking you harder, and you could feel your orgasm building. This was torture. There was no way you could hold yourself in when he was going so hard on you.

"Please, Light," you begged, feeling your pussy clench around his dick. "I can't hold it in anymore."

"Hold it in, I said," he said, flipping you over again and spanking your ass hard. He increased his speed, and you buried your head in a pillow to muffle your screams. "I'm going to come inside you now. Understood?"

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, and you knew he wasn't lying about his orgasm. You nodded slowly, voice still distant because of the pillow.

He let out a long, satisfied groan as he released his juices inside you, pushing his dick deep inside you. You could feel his cum filling your pussy, and it sent you over the edge.

"Now, come for me, pretty girl," Light said in a hoarse voice.

"Yes!" you screamed, feeling your orgasm wash over you. His cum was dripping out of your pussy, and you could feel his cock softening inside you.

"Good," he said, pulling his cock out of you. It was scary how calm and composed he was when a minute ago, he had spanked you so hard. He grabbed a towel and wiped your pussy clean.

_ _ _ _

Soichiro blinked at the abrupt ending of the sounds. Still refusing to look up at the screen, he asked, "Is it over now?"

"They're both still naked," L said, analyzing the place, feeling his own dick harden at your bare figure, panting and sweating as Light got off you and laid next to you, throwing the towel somewhere insignificant.

"Well then?" Soichiro said.

"Well what?"

"You made me watch my son... doing- doing stuff with his girlfriend," Soichiro said in a shaky voice, his hands behind his back to avoid pulling his hair out in frustration. "What have you understood from this?"

"What I've understood?" L said thoughtfully, his gaze unconsciously reaching his growing bulge. "Your son is quite romantic, I suppose."

© chuulyssa, 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, the overused 'i know we're supposed to be fwb but i fell in love with you anyway' trope, confessions, gojo mentally spiraling during sex over how much he's in love with you because that's a very him thing to do [18+ only]

Gojo can’t tear his eyes off you as you move above him—riding his cock like this would be the last time you’d ever feel it inside you. That thought twists his insides, his fingers digging into your hips as if you might float away before he ever really had a chance to voice the words he’s been too scared to say.

But he couldn’t really stop you if you wanted to leave—that’s how the groundwork of uncomplicated arrangements like these work, at least in the beginning. He likes to think that a lot has changed since that night in your living room between two drunk, lonely people with nothing to lose aside from your torn underwear in his haste to get them down your soft legs and an old condom tucked away in his wallet.

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

It doesn’t dampen how much he wants to mold the shape of his cock inside your tight little cunt, to ruin you for anyone else who thought they even had a chance, to have his name be the first thing you think of when you cum. He wants to make every part of you his, and he only hopes you want the same thing, too.

He groans at the thought, gripping you tight to slam his hips up into you. “Tell me who’s fucking you so good. Tell me who’s the only one that gets to make you cum.”

“You, Toru!” you sob, holding onto his biceps to keep yourself from falling against his chest. It has his balls drawing up tight, and he sucks in a breath to stop this from being over too soon.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he grunts. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. I’m the only one who gets to feel this sweet princess cunt.” He leans up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, groaning when he feels you clench down around him.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” His fingers circle over your clit as he shoves his cock deeper inside of you to take you there faster, nipping at the swell of your breast. “Fuck, give it to me, baby. Lemme feel it.”

His name is soft and sweet on your tongue as you cum, squeezing around him until his eyes roll back from how good it feels. It has him following after you, grinding his cock as far as it can go while he pulses and fills you to the brim. There’s so much that he feels it leak out of your little hole and drip down his balls to pool in an uncomfortable wet puddle forming beneath him.

He rolls away from the mess when you both catch your breath, his softening cock still tucked away between your wet thighs. You stroke his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he buries his face into your chest, words weighing heavy in his chest.

Maybe he should cut the bullshit already, say what he wants to say, and get let down easy while he still has a chance to recover from rejection—

“Sleep with me?” he asks, voice muffled and a shade of red high on his cheeks.

You giggle, lightly tugging on his hair. “I probably need at least—”

“No,” he cuts you off nervously, heat rising to his ears. “No sex. Just to sleep…here. With me?”

When you don’t say anything right away, he wonders if there’s any way he can take back his words and whether you’d believe him if he told you it was all a joke. But then you tug the blanket over both of you, tucking the corners in so the air from the ceiling fan doesn’t reach your cooling skin, and continue running your fingers through his hair.

There’s a warmth in his chest, which he thinks might be what love feels like.

After a moment, you say, “If you steal the blankets, I’m kicking you off the bed.”

Gojo snorts, smiling against your breast. “But it’s my bed.”

You hum. “Yes, and I’ll do it anyway.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m still going to fuck you later.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru.” He can’t see it but knows you’re smiling, too.

Masterlist

[miserye]

under the cut

Okay perfume talk, I wouldn’t consider myself to be a serious fraghead but I’ve been in this for a couple of years maybe 3 or 4 so I’m not a novice either atp,, Every holiday season Sephora and ulta release a perfume/cologne set of tester samples that you can also use to redeem a full or travel size of perfume which is a pretty good deal because getting perf samples is a pain in the ass esp if you’re looking for more elusive perfume, usually goes around $4-6 on average so getting this collection of say (for this year, it varies per year I believe the average is around 7-8 samples for the travel pack and usually something similar for the full/mid size set) 8 samples for a value of 34 is really good plus you get a travel size on top of that for free because again, if each of those samples you’re eyeing are even just 4 bucks a piece, that’s still 32 and you’re out a travel size so these are really good value deals.

Now here’s the issue. Every single year without fail, there are the sample fucking scents EVERY SINGLE TIME yeah yeah cult classics or whatever but it’s fucking boring and it lowers the value of the set because we already tried them the previous year and if you just want to try like say three scents, it’s better to just go in store try them and buy a normal travel size, which are typically from $28-34 depending on the brand but this is a typical average for travel sizes. It’s always the most BORING scents they choose to re-use because we’re stuck in like 2015 or something idk but usually you can see D&G’s light blue, herrera’s good girl, Valentino bright crystal, ysl black opium AND libre, Viktor & Rolf either flower bomb or good fortune. Here’s the other issue with these sets, 90% of these scents are strong vanilla or heavy sweet floral which is fine EXCEPT that’s most the set. It’s just not very versatile usually, and caters to a specific group of people who enjoy more overpowering scents because, again, that’s what perfume is known as typically. Kinda strong vanilla (specifically vanilla base) and usually a floral like rose or peony.

ALSO my other issue with these sets is that I KNOW the other perfume in them are ass because I’ve smelt them before. The other ones they add in are not ‘indie’ perfumes per say but they’re not super popular such as Juliette has a gun which HAS GOOD SCENTS BUT they ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS put in not a gun which is a layering scent and is lame and is not for the average normal people consumer because most people don’t think to layer their perfume when they’re testing out new scents so I think it’s not great in these kinds of sample sets because people want to take each scent in as an individual.

Regardless, they always choose some of the most popular scents and some mid scents from other brands which are ‘trendy or people have their eyes on’ but typically smell mediocre if I haven’t mentioned that. That brings me to this year where they’ve really stepped it up. This year, they changed the typical line up to the ‘one off’ scents where a lot of big frag brands will create a ‘twist’ on their scents and sometimes it does make a difference, but sometimes not.

For example, black opium from ysl has like three iterations where there’s the classic, there’s one called over red, and there’s one called like illicit green or something WHCIH is not to be confused with edp, edc, and edt that’s different <- this is the strength of the fragrance concentration (side tangent, perfume is comprised of two main elements, the alc which diffuses the perfume and is the reason why when you first spray something it smells like alc and the actual fragrance oils, each of those have varying quantities of each, the strongest smell and amount of fragrance oil to alc concentration goes eau de parfum, followed by eau de cologne, then eau de toilette <- the toilette is a reference to the bathroom aka toilet, meaning you’re supposed to refresh this perfume when you go to the bathroom so it’s intentionally a perfume that doesn’t last).

Anyways. This year, the sample set from Sephora has more ‘new’ scents that step away from the cookie cutter cult classics and also have favored the new ‘twist’ perfumes on the actual classics, typically as a means of promotion for the new version of the scent which usually isn’t as well loved/recieved aka Herrera’s new version of good girl which is good girl blush. They also have included perfume oils which is really new and fresh because those have been increasing in trend recently and I really appreciate it. Anyways, there’s a new massive set for 95? That has 15 samples and includes a free MID sized perfume, it says full size but it’s actually the size in between full and travel, it’s usually around a two oz or so less which comes out to around 30-50 mL usually (depends on the brand, some do both 30 and 50 if they’re more expensive) compared to a full which is usually around 98sih mL. The line up was pretty good!! I was happy about the mix of older and newer scents that they chose, though I’m not happy about the appearance of Charlotte tilbury into the perfume world, I haven’t tried any but just looking at them they look cheap and gross in terms of scent. While the trend to cater towards sweet and floral hasn’t changed, I’m glad they started branching out of the usual mainstream scents and I really do think that even the smaller full and travel sets they came out this year are a lot more unique than usual.

In terms of ulta, they’re lacking a bit as per usual when it comes to these things, but they also included a new like diversity set so there’s one with all the cult classics and there’s a different one where most are relatively newer scents which I like, also the price point is crazy it’s like 17 and 14 scents (the sets have different # of scents, the classics is 17 the new one is 14) for 20 plus a 15 gift card so the ‘essentials’ they have is good for people getting into perfume and those that want the normal popular scents and the newer one are more relevant scents to 2022ish and while it’s still a sweet vanilla and floral set, I’m happier about the ones they chose to include. Though the thing with these sets is that there’s always a chance they’ll give you perfumes that are empty/half full just because this is something third parties put together. There’s less of a risk with regular sample sets that the brands put out because it’s from the brand, but Sephora and ulta have a history of having crappy sets with less than full bottles, however if you’re just wanting to sincerely try out a scent like once or twice, it’s whatever. Honestly I don’t need most of my samples past one use because I can tell when I like or hate something pretty easy. Anyways, that’s my thing about perfume LMFAO sorry this was long

do you guys want to see my literal essay i just sent to my coworker about perfume

[euniexenoblade]

I debated if I wanted to mock this post/screenshot for a couple hours and i decided I was just gonna go in line by line and dissect it

"being poly is a choice you make. not an identity you cannot change."

I disagree. I struggled with this through most of my teens and early twenties. The desire to be with multiple people was strong and the concept that I couldn't be with all of them was very confusing and hurtful not just to me, but the people I was with. Had I been taught what polyamory is younger and had known that monogamy is not actually the only way you're allowed to be, i'd have probably been able to stop struggling with this much sooner. Do I think this was as big of a mental struggle as being gay or trans? Nah. But it was certainly an issue that ate away at me.

As much as polyamory was a choice, so was me being trans was a choice. I would say both are inherent to who I am. Just because something isn't inherent to your identity, doesn't mean it isn't inherent to mine.

The second paragraph is a gross misinterpretation of what was said. I said abused poly people in relationships they cannot escape will likely cheat when they do find love. The same is true for monogamous people who cannot escape relationships. This happens all the fucking time. To women. To gay people. To trans people. To poly people. This is so utterly common it's an overused trope in story telling.

"OBVIOUSLY abusive situations aside"

The post was about abusive situations. You're already throwing away the core concept to the post.

"why are you staying with someone you are completely incompatible with"

This shows how this person has no value for relationships. Just because you realize you're poly doesn't mean your feelings for an individual disappears. You want to see if this relationship can still work, whether monogamous or polyamorous. Not to mention so many people would find themselves homeless or penniless by just leaving. There's no actual understanding of love and relationships and the heart here.

"you don't need to pursue any kind of relationship ever"

And gay people don't have to be in gay relationships. Trans people don't have to transition. Doesn't change the longing to experience what you want to experience.

"where exclusivity is agreed upon"

I know poly people who entered relationships under the premise the other person was poly, just for that person to decide "actually I'm monogamous, and I'll kill myself if you leave me." You have no understanding or empathy.

"wanting to be poly does not excuse cheating what is wrong with you people"

Look I agree cheating sucks and violates trust, but acting like it's the worst thing in the history of ever is just childish. I get it hurts but at the end of the day, you do not own another person's body and sometimes shit happens. I just do not care what other people do with their own bodies and you cannot make me believe I'm supposed to care. If my husband goes and fucks someone without my permission (which he commonly does) then that's rad. I hope he has fun. If my wife goes and fucks someone I don't know (which she regularly does) then fuck yeah I hope they both had fun. Y'all are too fucking uptight.

Also the tags

The "monogamous people are losers and shouldn't get a say in anything" was something I said in reply to a heckler on my 'monogamous people often abuse poly partners' post. To take it solely as 100% serious opinion is foolish and childish.

"I cheated cuz waaa"

I've never cheated on any partner. The post isn't even saying it's ok cheat, it's saying that poly people get branded as cheaters whether they do or don't. But I'll say it here just because it's so controversial that it pisses losers off: it's ok for polyamorous people to cheat on monogamous partners. Get out before they abuse you.

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: T cw: abandoned pets tags: modern au, platonic stobin, first meeting, animal shelters, another universe another menial job, bad holiday innuendo, implied hook ups word count: 995 written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "mistletoe"

there's now a part two

One of the fun bits about running the social media for the animal shelter was naming the animals that came in. Crafting something just unhinged enough to be spread around which lured people in was Robin’s jam. Yeah, her creative skills could be better used but they weren’t going to waste. And this way cute animals got loving homes.

As fun as it was to name a litter of kittens things like “Left Sock” and “Stolen Pants”, Robin also had to play to the season. Though her and her supervisor went rounds about this. Robin didn’t want to entice parents to adopt a kitten for their kid only for them to get the thing back in four months. She didn’t make the big bucks though so she had to do what she was told.

When the large litter of kittens rescued from a cold and abandoned barn came in? Robin knew what she’d be forced to do. The props would be cute but the names would be lame and overused.

It wasn’t a shock to anyone that she dragged Steve into the process. He was her best friend, they applied for the job together and wanted matching schedules, but he also actually had Christmas cheer.

Best friend, decorations, and kittens all wrangled into the same space, they set to the difficult task of naming each of these adorable little furballs. There were eight of them and that number was the only thing stopping Robin from bringing home the whole litter.

Latkes, Kugel, Lump of Coal, Winter Solstice, Krampus, The Ghost of Christmas Past, Cheeses, Meeces, and Mistletoe were all photographed and the colors of their colors logged before Robin and Steve went to the office to edit pictures.

Steve had Latkes in the pocket of his hoodie, sleeping away in the comfort and warmth, and Mistletoe wandered from shoulder to shoulder. The rest were happy back in their homey pen, heating blanket and food freshly stocked. Robin wanted to be annoyed but Steve always had at least one animal in tow, he couldn’t help that they were drawn to him. Or that he couldn’t say no to them.

“We oughta take a picture of you like that, imagine the dates you could get asking people to meet you under this mistletoe,” Robin said, turning back to the screen.

“Wouldn’t that be better if she was the one in my pocket?” Steve asked.

“Oh my god, why would you say that?” Robing aggressively clicked the ancient mouse to try and make the computer load faster so she didn’t have to think any more about the implications of that.

“You set me up for it!” Steve said, that same indignation he always had that made Robin want to punch him.

“Whatever. Not even you could get a date with something like that.”

Robin didn’t turn around, she could feel Steve accepting the challenge she absolutely had not issued. No way he got it to work.

—

The day had been slow, boring but expected. Robin was the only one on duty right now. The two others went off to take their lunch knowing Robin was fine with Steve there. He’d come in to hang out, a pretty typical thing when they weren’t scheduled to both work.

Steve was sitting on the counter, Robin in the chair with her feet up and next to his leg. They were on their fourth Buzzfeed quiz when the door opened. Steve and Robin both had to fight glaring at whoever interrupted the scientific “what type of fruit are you” quest.

“Hey, do you guys still got Krampus?” the guy asked, skipping all greetings.

His lack of manners had Robin staying in her seat. She wasn’t going to overdo it if he couldn’t manage the bare minimum. Steve, however, was on his feet all Christmas cheer and eager to help. Robin knew what that meant.

Added confirmation came as Steve leaned over and whispered “I think he needs to take home Mistletoe.”

Sticking her finger toward her mouth, Robin gave a half-hearted gag. If anything, she was annoyed with how easily this all came to Steve. This guy was so his type there was no way he wasn’t going to try something and Robin supported that but did he have to be so good at it?

“We do,” Steve said. It shouldn’t have been a seductive statement and yet…

Of course, it worked. The guy was the first person Robin had ever seen do a spit take without having anything to drink.

After an awkward stare-down, Robin cleared her throat as the only professional for miles around, “Would you like to see him?”

“Yeah, yeah, man. I think I would,” the guy said.

Rolling her eyes, Robin lifted a foot to kick at Steve's hip. “Show him the cat, you idiot,” she groaned.

Since he was almost out of reach, the kick did nothing to Steve as he flashed that award-winning smile that drove everyone wild and he had the customer follow him.

Just once, Robin would love to channel whatever magnetism Steve had. There’d been so many girls that had come through the door, single girls who talked about their ex-girlfriends, and Robin couldn’t so much as give them her number. Steve was going to walk out of here with a wedding ring.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Steve and the guy walked back to Robin looking like they’d solved world hunger. Thankfully Steve was smart enough not to hook up with people at the shelter but Robin knew that look, both on the customer and Steve, a hook up would happen.

In case that wasn’t enough, the guy was carrying Mistletoe and not Krampus like he'd asked for.

Steve stood on the customer side of the counter and said “Hand me the adoption form, wouldya? We’ll get Eddie this adorable little friend and then I’m going to help him set his apartment up to be a cat dad.”

“You’re insufferable.”

[suusoh]

(pwp or something idk. just got horny in the tags of my last post about eddie not looking anywhere else but at his wife and only his wife while doing his husbandly duties.)

cw: female reader, sex, eddie's orbs, overuse of the word staring because I want you to start feeling annoyed and maim this man, slight yandere (maybe if you squint?) cheesy and unfunny frank valli reference at the end.

———

he's staring at you again.

Eyes fogged with a love sick haze in them at the absolute sight of you, his wife, all warm, soft, and pliant under him. You try to close your eyes from time to time, but even when you open them again— it just comes back to the first thing you see which is this man on top of you, mouth switching between grinning and gasping, and eyes wide open.

"...Eddie?"

He hums tenderly. "What is it, dear?"

"I-I.. can you just-"

It's so hard to talk when his hips don't stop moving despite his concern. The weight and absolute mass of him on top of you and grounding you into the bed with each thrust makes it all the more harder to think straight.

Thoughts on how to sound out your request begin to blur and buzz out with him fucking into you like this. In and out, in and out, inside of you. over and over again as he buries himself deep within your cunt. your pubic bone practically connecting with his, and sending sparks of heat inside your belly with each time he ruts himself into you.

"Just what? What does my darling wife want?" He starts searching your face for any indication or answer to complete it for you what you want him to do now. Still looking at you intensely.

Looking. He keeps looking. Which is, sort of the thing you wanted to point out in the first place.

"You're... o-oh- oh-"

"I...?" he acts as if he's not quite catching on. Pondering for a second with the sounds of your moans and wanton sighs, and the creaking of the worn out bed acting as background noise to aid his thinking.

"Oh! I'm doing a swell job is that it? Is that what you're trying to say, dearest?" he lets out a content loving sigh, and your breathe stutters as he picks up his pace. "You and your words never fail to make me blush, my love."

Another particularly good thrust has you arching your back, of which he's making sure his eyes connect with yours once more while you writhe and wiggle underneath. But your wriggling quickly eases from bodily pleasure, to slowly morphing into a sense of discomfort now.

Because he's staring at you.

Again.

Which should be good isn't it? Eye contact during sex is a sign after all of a good partner paying attention to your needs. And with someone like Eddie, him paying attention to your needs is the tiniest sliver of hope you cling onto to make sure his reason for keeping you alive is a bit more... cemented, substantial even. Gives you a little bit more reason (or delusion) to believe he'd be inclined to make this relationship, make you, last longer.

(Compared to the alternative route of him using your body for his own sick dispositions, and casually stringing you all up when he's done.)

Though you're sure that this is not the type of bedroom eye contact many normally wish for.

"Y-you... you're.." you try to murmur out again.

Not that you should talk about having anything normal with this man. You might as well find the solution to world hunger long before you find anything even remotely "normal" in this place.

It's not that you're expecting him to do things normally, but can't he... can't he just... do something else maybe?

Look anywhere but you for just a split second, maybe bury himself into your neck, or close his own eyes to focus on the feeling of his cock getting squeezed, or look at any other part of your body that could possibly entrance him; mouth, chest, stomach... hell, you could even hope that he tries to glance down at your clit? Maybe marvel at the sight of where the two of you connect, since that's all his fucked up baby fever mind thinks about anyways?

You'll take anything really, just one small thing to act as a reminder that you guys are indeed having... sex— and not engaging in some sort of impromptu staring contest out of nowhere.

Because his eyes are doing absolutely nothing but looking into your own and as they continue staring at you.

and staring at you...

and staring...

and staring...

and staring...

Jesus fucking christ you don't think he's even blinked in the past few seconds anymore.

You let out a mix of a whine and a groan, opting to shut your eyelids close and try to shield your face away from his unmoving eyeballs by trying to wiggle your hands free out of his grasp (him and his damn insistence to hold hands while making love as he calls it.).

"What is it my love? Must I pay you a penny for your thoughts perhaps?"

"You keep staring... "

You try to wiggle free again, inadvertently adding onto the delightful friction between your parts and his— to which he gets a small shiver of his own at the roll of your hips. A light laugh escapes him at your captivating and somewhat fruitless display. He finally gives reprieve to your brain's rising fear of being uncannily perceived at, and blinks.

"Ohhh, my darling."

He lets go of one of your hands so that he can cradle your face, tilting it so he can capture your mouth into a kiss. humming into your mouth, but the humming isn't just the usual sighs of pleasure, as you can pick up the movement of him saying some words.

He pulls apart from his half kissing-half speaking into your mouth, as he slowly begins to playfully laugh again.

"You can't blame a man for looking at his wife when she's like this; all breathless and beautiful, now can you? I sure can't!"

Said wife that he just knows for certain was sent down by god all-mighty himself into the 7th circle of hell named "mount massive asylums".

When Eddie sees you, he can't help but imagine your rotting carcass somewhere else. An alternate place where those filthy bastards could have gotten their hands on you, torn you limb from limb (if they didn't have the patience to pull your teeth and your eyes out first), then have their way with using your dead body as a urinal afterwards.

You must have been scared to not have your dear husband around to protect you from all the nasty violence around the asylum, weren't you darling?

No, no. No meed to fret now and get your panties in a twist! None of that here. Not when your dear ol' Eddie is here now.

You are very much alive and perfect, preserved by your own sheer dumb luck or maybe by fate itself to be kept alive long enough for him. Just him.

And under his care, your body is experiencing the furthest thing from excruciating physical pain right now, isn't it darling? Feels good, yes? To have your husband make love to you like the passionate man he is. Lest he's supposed to take in the sight of you rolling your eyes back and your legs hooking around his waist, pulling him in for more as something otherwise?

Oh goodness him... It's almost too good to be true.

And he really can't take his eyes off of you.

[theealbatross]

Sebastian x Reader: come one, come all (One Shot)

Plot | Five years after graduating, two kindred spirits are finally getting married and their friends reminisce on their brilliant histories.

or, Lucas Brattleby interviews their friends on their memories and opinions of the future Mr. and Mrs. Sallow as a little gift for the couple.

Tags | None, fluff, overuse of the name Merlin, mentions of slight torture (hexes), lowkey bullying, lowkey codependency if you squint, obsessive behavior (but it's okay cause theyre in love), cursing, Lucas lowkey has a crush on Sebastian lol

[A/N: A line from this story is not made by me, "I would follow him to hell but I wish he wouldn't go there" so to whoever wrote that first just know your quote is the inspiration for this story!!]

“What is this again?”

The brat, Lucas Brattleby, had grown obscenely taller the last time Imelda had seen him, which was about 3 years ago when he was a rookie reporter covering her latest game. She heard he is now a publisher in his own right but didn’t seem to brush off that annoying lint in his voice back when he was still a Gryffindor matching illegal unsanctioned duels in the Clock Tower.

“A small gift of mine for the couple,” he grinned (still as irritating, she’s seen that grin enough times before she got her ass handed to her so forgive her for not being enamored), pushing the pen (recorder?) to her that she reflexively pushed him by his face. “Sorry.”

“And why should I do this?”

“Oh come on, Imelda. It’s just harmless questions to take us back down memory lane. It’ll be played at the reception and I promise I’ll send you everything before I finalize it just so you can make sure –”

“Alright!” She stopped walking, rolling her eyes when Lucas quickly assembled his camera, even quickly conjuring a chair and putting it at the center of the frame. Clearly, he knew she could change her mind at any moment.

“My lady,” he bowed dramatically, pointing a palm to the seat.

“Don’t call me that. You have 10 minutes before warm-ups start.” Lucas raised both of his hands in the air before quickly running behind the camera and clicking the button to start recording.

“I’ll be out of here in 5.” Lucas flipped a paper in front of him. “Let’s start with your name, a little something about yourself and where did you meet them.”

She took a deep breath, putting on the poker face she usually plasters on her face when talking to the media before her many games instinctively. “Imelda Reyes, Vice-Captain of Puddlemere United, and I had the misfortune of being in the same boat as Sebastian Sallow during our first year. She, however, was a little late to the party and wreaked havoc on my life when I was a fifth year.”

Lucas was meticulously writing notes in his fancy notebook.

“What’s the fondest memory you have of the couple?”

She scoffed, not even needing to think about it. “Sebastian? Definitely when he caught a bludger … with his face.” The memory of the cry he emitted pulled a real smile on Imelda’s face. “We almost lost and I would’ve killed him for it but oh was it glorious.”

He remembers this game.

“Didn’t he fall off his broom midair?”

Imelda waved a nonchalant hand in front of her face. “That girlfriend of his caught him with an Arresto Momentum so no harm done – well, except the crooked nose he sported for a week.”

Lucas chuckled with her, “And for the future Mrs. Sallow?”

“Nothing much, most conversation we’ve had was her beating me – beating me in a race, beating me in a duel, Merlin, she even beat me with the class ranking on her first year in Hogwarts. I had a five-year head start how was that possible?!”

Lucas smiled, reading that as bitter her words were she truly held no grudge over it. He was caught off guard, however, when Imelda suddenly had a small, serene smile on her face, her voice when she spoke softer. “She was … it was like I was always chasing after her. We all were, Sebastian always first in the race but … it was fun. I had fun. She made Hogwarts fun. A true competition, yknow? Didn’t have much at that point in my life.”

“Competition?”

“A friend.”

Lucas couldn’t help but be surprised – not everyone can be considered as Imelda Reyes’ friend as picky as she is, though he quickly fixed his face when she shot him a look that told him not to probe. “Did you ever think they would both get married?”

Imelda scoffed out a laugh, crossing her arms. “I knew the only way they wouldn’t get married is if Sallow got assassinated by one of her many admirers and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow turn into an Inferi just so he can still be the one to marry her. I’m honestly surprised he held on for this long, pretty sure he would’ve popped the question the moment we graduated.”

“Technically, he did. They just decided to get married this year.”

That one made her laugh out loud, shaking her head at her old friend’s antics. Of course, she knew those two would get married, basically tied to the hip, always getting in and out of trouble with each other and for each other. Bloody hell, they’d been married since fifth-year and just didn’t know it.

“Typical Sallow,” she caught herself. “Well, Sallows now, Merlin help us all.”

Lucas rechecked everything on his notes, making sure to mark any and all important details of the words his enchanted pen has written for him as he spoke with his former Senior, Garreth Weasley, who was once a thorn on the side of Professor Sharp but was now a renowned Potions Master actively getting scouted by Hogwarts, his blends sought upon by the most respectable wizards and witches all over the world.

“Did I think they would get married? Mate, Sebastian almost bit my head off when I tried to ask her if she would like to be partners for one potion class. One! And we were sitting next to each other! I’m sorry if I thought I was being friendly?!”

Lucas has heard and has unfortunately been a victim of Sebastian’s … tendencies. You, despite being the top duelist in Hogwarts was always, more often than not, partnered with Sebastian in every duel. The one time Lucas had agreed in a quiet solo duel without letting Sebastian know his senior had caught him on his way to his potion's class and nailed him to the wall by his cloak while threatening him to never let it happen again or he will turn him into a pretty outline in the walls of Hogwarts with Bombarda.

He thinks that was the closest thing he had been to peeing his pants.

“Yeah, Sebastian doesn’t have the best track record with friendly males around his girlfriend.”

“They weren’t even courting by then how would I bloody know that –”

“Ready, Poppy?”

Surprisingly, the sweet woman in front of him has been the most difficult to track down. Amongst their mutual friends she was the one he had no idea where to start, especially after his only lead, her grandmother, had no other information to give him aside that the last she heard Sweet Poppy was down South Clagmar Coast ‘doing Merlin knows what’.

Thankfully, the citizens of Cragcroft were a bit more helpful and he was able to send her an owl about his little project.

“Where should we start?”

Lucas made sure she was framed perfectly in the shot before nodding to himself. “Nothing complicated Poppy, just first impressions or any memory you have of the young couple.”

She pursed her lips in thought, nodding to herself, “The two of them have always been terrifyingly intimidating, especially for someone like me. Seemed to just attract attention and trouble on their own – I mean, killing a troll in Hogsmeade on the first day – just a bunch of troublemakers they were. Brilliant troublemakers – which only made them scarier in my eyes.”

Lucas nodded in total agreement but he couldn’t help but squint at her.

“You aren’t exactly innocent, Ms. Hid-a-Hippogriff.”

Her eyes widened, blushing at the accusation. “In my defense, future Mrs. Sallow helped me take care of Highwing.”

Poppy recounted the memories with a smile on her face.  Her dainty smile grew bigger as she recapped happy memories she had with her classmates.

“But they’ve always been lovely. Lovely people and an even lovelier couple. Sebastian has always been bright and charming and surprisingly kind for a Slytherin and she … she’s always been unapologetic of who she was. It also meant she never judged anybody for who they are either.”

The woman paused, the smile on her face remained frozen as if she was in deep reflection.

“A true friend – one of the truest I had.”

Lucas was never in their circle, hell, aside from each other and maybe Ominis nobody was truly ever in their innermost circle despite their popularity. At every explosive trouble the two were always caught in he couldn’t help but wonder just what they get up to when they weren’t caught. Even back then he knew he would’ve risked his life and followed them no question asked if it meant his young self got to go to one of their death-defying adventures with them.

But being two years younger was a barrier he could never overcome.

It is refreshing to hear of stories from their friend’s perspective and not in passing in the Central Hall in Hogwarts where it’s all half-true, fabricated, or painfully hyperbolic. Maybe that’s why he had thought to do this, a reporter’s disease of needing to know the truth, the dark side of the coin they hid with their secrets and anonymities passed only in hushed whispers and clandestine meetings with each other.

“Are you excited about the wedding?”

Poppy nodded eagerly. “Oh, I’m extremely happy for my friends! It’s not every day two souls find each other and just not let go. I’m glad they didn’t. After all they’ve been through, they deserve to have each other.”

He couldn’t have agreed more.

“That they do.”

Mr. Lucas Brattleby,

I have received your owl, unfortunately, I will not be able to go back there till the night before the wedding as I still have a business to wrap up here in America. For the questions you sent, I shall send this Howler and you may record it.

I have nothing good to say about Mr. Sebastian Sallow, that boy had done nothing but torment me in my youth. It’s a bloody miracle he had managed to snag the Hero of Hogwarts as his girlfriend – terrible lack of judgment on her part I must say, we all have our flaws – much less agree to be his wife. If there’s one good thing he did do, it was willingly become a lowly servant to such a lovely witch. Least he could do, really.

However, despite their blatant differences and unfortunate similarities I, for one, knew immediately that not even Death could sever such a connection – not if Sebastian Sallow had anything to say about it, and trust me I speak from experience. They’ve fought through detentions, goblins, dark wizards, and a damned troll – I’m sure marriage will be a breeze in a park.

Well, if I’m wrong, then let the future Mrs. Sallow know I would be more than willing to offer a comforting shoulder.

Leander Prewitt Department of International Magical Cooperation

PS. To my darling wife Leonora, light of my life, the last part was a joke and If I somehow disappear it was Sebastian Sallow who did it.

“They give Sebastian too much credit when my dear friend was equally as obsessed about him. Do you remember Allia?”

Lucas snapped his fingers when he finally put a face to the name he hadn’t heard in a while but made sure to look around lest one of the younger students managed to hear such … delicate matters in the DADA classroom. “Didn’t she transfer during your 6th year? Something about personal … complications?”

Natty laughed out loud, doubling over with tears in her eyes. “Oh, that excuse was all thanks to Ominis swinging around his name. Our dear witch hexed poor Allia while she was asleep for trying to poison Sebastian with Amortentia! Sneaked straight into the Ravenclaw tower and cursed her to grow the features of a rat every time she even thought about Sebastian! The only way Ominis could convince our friend to take back the curse and avoid expulsion was at the condition of her transferring and never letting the couple see even her shadow again.”

He never even noticed that his jaw was hanging off his face.

“Oh, if everyone only knew that fights I had prevented if a Junior so much as fluttered their lashes at Sebastian,” she shook her head, still laughing to herself.

Now all the pieces he hadn’t realized were part of the same puzzle clicked on his head. The flat smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes every time they were surrounded by strangers, the grip she always held on Sebastian’s arms no matter where they were going, the ‘promise ring’ Sebastian also wore when traditionally it was just the girl who had it, and the absolute absence of Sebastian’s name when girls talked about boys they fancied in the common room when he was undoubtedly better looking than most students in Hogwarts.

“A jealous witch she was, thinks she’s good at hiding it,” Natty chuckled.

Lucas realized in horror that she had scared off the entire female student body.

“But by the gods was she better at hexes.”

When Lucas had heard that Ominis Gaunt had been working closely with the Minister for Magic and was undoubtedly being groomed to be his successor, he wasn’t exactly surprised. Everyone knew he would be someone important someday so Lucas had damn near lost all hope as he sent an owl to the man.

When he received a reply in a fortnight brought by a regal-looking owl, Lucas thought he must have some soft spot for his fellow alumni. But it would seem the man just had a lot to let out of his chest.

“Oh, the stories I could tell! If I had a knut for every time I had to rescue one of those idiots out of a horrific situation they found themselves in I would be richer than the Blacks!”

He’d never seen his hair this undone in the 7 years they had been on the same campus. Maybe Lucas was just that good of a journalist or maybe it was the half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey that was the reason for his loose lips.

“I mean, Sebastian was bad enough, but once he found someone who would willingly dive with him to whatever dangerous expeditions he found interest in and I was outnumbered it was a bloody nightmare.”

For the first time in his life, he felt pity for the man. It was never really a secret why Sebastian didn’t serve half the detention he deserved nor why neither of them had ever been expelled when a trail of evidence led to the both of them red-handed and always at the scene of the crime. But he has to give it to Ominis … a lesser man would’ve cracked at their mischiefs.

“And Sebastian … everybody knows he would’ve willing let himself be target practice for all sorts of curses if she had asked.”

Lucas can’t even defend his childhood hero. Especially, of the things he had learned from his previous subjects. It would seem even the mightiest of men would always buckle in the face of their true love.

“I-I’m sure they’ve done the same for you,” Lucas winced.

“Oh, they better, with the flaming hoops I had to jump through to make sure we graduated alive,” Ominis waved him off indifferently. “They are my best friends. I would follow them to hell but I just wish they would stop going there for one damn semester.”

Lucas snickered, unfortunately unable to hold it in with just how stressed the memory of the mischiefs his favorite couple got up to has brought Ominis. He was sure the older man would choke him but he just sighed out a laugh until the two of them were laughing to each other.

“I guess they have always been the perfect person for each other.”

Ominis nodded, leaning his head on his fist. “Yeah …”

He threw Lucas a look.

“Do you think they won’t make me their children’s godfather if I begged?”

Lucas bit his lips. “My money is on the eldest getting named after you so …”

Ominis groaned.

Lucas refilled his glass.

[gatitties]

just wondering If you're able to write straw hats x Gn! reader who ate a devil fruit that allows the user to stop time in 10 seconds every time although when overuse the user can exhaust themselves. they also happened to learn rokushiki. The reader is somewhat reserved and doesn't talk much other than speaking a few words because of them thinking that they don't feel like speaking if it not that important so reader says something like "...... ...... .....Words are unnecessary"

─Strawhats x gn!reader

─Summary: you're not a person of many words, but that's okay, you're still super cool!

─Warnings: none

I love silent readers 😌

─ Your abilities fascinated everyone and not just because of your devil fruit powers.

─ Probably only Franky, Robin and Jinbe know about your fighting style, rokushiki, something that only cp9 agents and the like mastered, although they don't care how you learned it because you are now part of the group and you demonstrated your loyalty from the first day.

─ Luffy thought you were mute when he dragged you onto the ship.

─ Then he heard you talk briefly with Sanji because he needed to know if you were allergic to something and your captain decided to bother you until you talked to him.

─ Nami hits him to make him leave you alone, since at least she understood that you were not someone who talked a lot, you liked to listen more.

─ In general, no one had a problem with having a silent partner, everyone adapted well to your silent form of communication, somehow a look was enough to express what you wanted to say most of the time.

─ Usopp always complains that you cheat when you play tag on the deck with Chopper and Luffy because you use your powers, you will never admit that his accusations are true.

─ Zoro adores you because, just as you find it unnecessary to talk, you appreciate silence and when everything is getting too loud you take it upon yourself to silence everyone, and although Zoro is capable of taking a nap even in a life or death situation, also appreciates silence when taking a break.

─ You probably have Chopper constantly worried about the abuse of your power, more than once you have fainted and been scolded for trying too hard in battles, but you feel that your power is an advantage that you need to use, having ten seconds of advantage can be crucial.

─ You love being with Brook because he will just play music, he doesn't ask you to talk, it's just the two of you enjoying the type of music you ask him to play.

─ Just like you like to have tea or coffee with Nami and Robin, (Sanji probably coming and going constantly) because you like to listen to how they argue about different topics, they don't care that you are there simply nodding at their words, your mere presence is grateful since your silence is reassuring.

─ Sometimes you help Sanji in the kitchen and he is completely grateful for the help, since unlike in the Baratie, where orders and insults were shouted, despite not dealing with the same stress, it's always good to have a partner who just listened to his orders and got to work in silence, you just heard the utensils colliding with each other, which made the kitchen time more enjoyable.

─ You have taken up the habit that when you are shopping or in a bar, you look at the person next to you like a little child at their mother/father waiting for them to look at you to say with their eyes 'I want this' or 'order my favorite drink'.

─ They don't usually worry when someone messes with you because before they can do anything you have already stopped time and the poor person who had insulted you had his own finger stuck up his nose and their own fist ready to hit themselves instead of to you.

─ That's why they don't usually play pranks on you most of the time, your power makes you a threat and your revenge is much worse, although Luffy will always ask you to team up with him to annoy Zoro and Usopp.

[weirdsht]

I really love characters with the tendency to bleed and be some human sacrifice. Tysm kdj and krs. 😭 i have a new idea altho I'm not sure if somebody's already done this. Cale and the group with someone who coughs out blood everytime they spill spoilers from the tcf novel? Like she's been transmigrated/reincarnated (whatev you desire (⁠^⁠^⁠). Bro is trying to help so bad bc they hate war so they do it subtly and carefully (imagine having to be careful with your wording, I can't even--) but can't help but shit out blood sometimes or most of the time cos they forget and get frustrated

Forgive me for i love miserable characters...

Hardbound (Paperback pt. 2) - Cale x Reader

notes: I decided to link it to another oneshot I did before because I think it fits. I hope that's okay!

tags: blood, like the whole fic is blood, heavy cursing, Cale might be ooc, NOVEL SPOILERS (near the end of book 1)

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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Crimson, the colour of Cale’s hair.

That was the colour Cale can see right now. However, he is not looking at his hair.

“Ugh!”

Instead, he was looking at the blood dripping from your mouth.

“Stop speaking. This is not good for you.”

“Why not? You cough up blood all the time. Why can’t I do the same?”

You joked lightly but Cale didn’t like how weak your voice sounded. Indeed, he always coughs up blood. Especially whenever he overuses his ancient powers. But the blood he coughs up is dark red. Dead blood from his regeneration powers cleansing his body.

Not the vibrant crimson blood dripping from your chin. Blood from a beating heart, a sign of vitality as Eruhaben would say.

“I need to continue, you need to know about this. We must hurry up so just- ugh… so just listen.”

When you told Cale you were going to pull a “World Tree-nim and a Cale combo”, he didn’t know what he expected. 

It certainly wasn’t you trying to give out spoilers from your beloved book and coughing out copious amounts of blood.

“There will be monsters. Ones too hard to– Ugh! Fuck! I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

Drip

“That’s two out of five. Those things will be in a pit. It’ll look like statues, you will also see… you will also see an altar there…”

Drip

Drip

“You don’t need to speak anymore. Please, the rest of us will figure it out.”

“No, no. I’m fine really… Bear bastard, you know who it is, hostages. He’ll– Ugh!”

Drip. Drip. Drip

“It’s Tasha’s people. For a summoning– Fuck that one really hurts! I'm trying to speak as vaguely as possible already, what the hell…”

“Please… I’m going to tape your mouth shut if you don’t shut up.”

Drip

Drip

Drip. Drip. Drip

“I’d like to see you try. The tape won’t stick with all– with all this blood.”

“Haaa”

“Enough jokes. The fourth and fifth ones are connected. In Endable, watch out for bears and black– watch out for black mages. And avoid– Shit! Avoid using instant. But I'm not sure if it's… if it's possible… I need to speak… to speak to Raon. The last spoiler is for him– ugh..!”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Cale wanted to refuse. He wanted this to end.

At first, it was just from your mouth.

The blood that is.

Then it started dripping from your left eye. Naturally, your right eye was next.

Then your nose. Then your ears.

Before the commander knew it, your entire face was covered with blood. He tried to wipe it, but they were dripping so quickly that it did nothing.

Cale doesn’t know how are you still conscious. He isn’t even sure if you’re still breathing. That was why he wanted you to shut up. That was why he desperately wanted this to stop.

But it can’t

Cale can’t refuse nor can he end this.

It was because you already made up your mind. And since you did, there’s no stopping you now.

So he gets Raon. Warned the toddler that the sight inside the room would not be pretty, but he must listen. Because their futures are resting upon the words you are about to say.

Upon the words written in your beloved book.

“Human…”

“I know… If you can’t listen I’ll listen for you and rely on the message.”

“No… I’m great and mighty. Because I’m great and mighty I shall listen to this conversation myself.”

Raon flew over to where you were. Placing himself on your lap as he uses his stubby paws to hug you.

“Ah, it feels comforting to have such a great and mighty being comforting me. But you’ll get blood on you– Ugh..!”

Drip. Drip.

The black dragon didn’t care about the blood. He just hugged you tighter at the sound of you coughing up more blood.

“Raon Miru-nim remember this well. Things might get messy and despite my meddling things might still go awry. So I’m telling you right now. In Endable, Cale might become incapacitated to fight– Fuck! Ugh, I promised to not curse in front of you…”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip…

Drip..

“It will be hard, you will need to do everything yourself, without Cale. In fact, you will have to do his job– ugh… but you must do well. Remember, the first thing you have to do is have Mila-nim on standby. She can heal him.”

Cough

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip

“I want to say more… but I’m reaching my limit…”

Raon tightened his hug and you weakly reciprocated it. You aren't sure if the wetness you feel in your shirt is from your blood or the dragon’s silent tears. Nonetheless, you still tried to hug Raon tighter.

In the meanwhile, Cale was already calling for servants and healers to attend to you as soon as you admitted your limit. His voice was laced with unusual panic. It made the others who didn’t know what was happening move with urgency.

“Raon-nim…”

“Yes?”

“You are strong, smart, great and mighty, always remember that.”

You weakly stroked Raon’s back, trying to comfort him in advance for the things about to come.

“Young master what’s going on–”

Beacrox and Ron stopped in their tracks when they saw the condition you were in.

“Ahahaha, you guys are right on time. I think… I’m going.. To…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence for you already fell unconscious. Your body dangerously swaying to fall off from your sitting position on the couch. Luckily, Cale was nearby and managed to catch your falling body.

Cale glanced at you, then he glanced at the open book on the table.

As usual, he couldn’t see what was written on the pages. He could only see the cover title at the front and the synopsis at the back.

But that doesn’t stop him from hating that damned book that put you in this state.

If only you haven’t read that book before coming here.

If only there wasn’t a restriction placed on you by that damned book.

If only…

“Fuck, after this war is done I’m going to try and burn that shitty book one way or another. I don’t care anymore if it’s your favourite.”

note: in case it wasn't clear, the placement of the drips signifies how fast the reader's blood was gushing out

[steviewashere]

Been Wanting 🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Rating: Explicit CW: Omegaverse (If that isn't your thing) Tags: Post-Canon, Smut, Fluff and Smut, (Versatile I Know), Alpha/Omega, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Steve Harrington Has Sensitive Nipples, Eddie Munson Has a Sensitive Cock, Overstimulation, Scent Kink, Scenting, Voice Kink, Spit Kink, Nipple Play, Wet & Messy, Come Swallowing, Oral Sex, Oral Knotting, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Steve Harrington Has a Vagina, Eddie Munson Has a Big Dick, Sweat (Which I Feel is a Titular Character), Pillow Humping, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson This is my first omegaverse fic, be nice to me please <3

💕——————💕 His chest is just beginning to ache where he circles his fingers. Hot, sweaty skin, moist chest hair, and hard nipples that he couldn’t stop touching. Every little brush makes him jolt—makes his insides seize, makes him grind his already sloppy, wet cunt into the pillow between his legs. He buries his face farther into the mattress, feet twisting by the headboard, toes scrunching with every touch, and every scent that fills his nostrils.

Everything in his nest smelt like him and Eddie. His alpha. The mattress: firm and ripe with Eddie’s musk. A pillow between his thighs that has Eddie’s spittle soaked into the pillowcase. With his fingers working away at his nipples, elbows digging hard into the bed underneath to keep him upright—to prevent him from suffocating (though what a fate when Eddie is all that surrounds him)���he lolls his tongue from his drooling, wanton mouth, and suckles on the worn, stained, and salty bedsheet. If he closes his eyes hard enough and lets his brain drift away from the now, he swears he can taste Eddie.

Sweat, come, metallic blood from bites gone awry, bourbon and pine from cologne, and bergamot in his bar soap. His tongue savors the flavor, sucking back as far as possible, bedsheet hitting the back of his mouth before he can do anything about it. The ripple ache through his chest, zings from his succulent, hardened nipples, and the overfull burn from stretching his lips makes Steve’s eyes squint and tear-up. He pants through his nose, unable to get a full breath before he’s coming—again.

Slick soaks between his legs, the wet spot on Eddie’s pillow getting only wetter. His thighs squelch lightly when they tense and stick to each other. He hears the distant knock of the headboard slam into the wall—his foot must’ve kicked out. The bedsheet falls from his mouth when he opens wide—to scream and moan and gargle around his own hot saliva. His throat is burning, the sounds coming out of him are raspy and overused, but he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is pulling himself up enough to get some proper air. His whole body shaking and jolting—the come down—languid and blissed. He gets himself to the edge of his mattress, sat up and head swimming. Eddie still surrounds him. Chest heavy from how hard he’d been playing with himself. He doesn’t touch again, needing a break—doesn’t want his nipples to fall clean off, Eddie still needs to have his way with them. And speak of Eddie, Steve can’t handle the rest of today without him. He’s already moving to the phone downstairs.

Heady and warm, naked and sweaty, hair flat to him, thighs sticky, and cunt pulsing for a knot that isn’t here—not yet, at least. The stairs are hard on his sore legs, previously twisted and tensing around that pillow. But he manages, one thought through his head: I need my alpha. Need him, need him, need—

“Thatcher’s Tires, this is Eddie speaking. How can I help you today?”

Steve’s already whimpering through the phone before he can chance speaking. Breath shuttering through him. Chest blossoming at the sound of Eddie’s voice, a field of wildflowers tangling flush through him. Even if his alpha sounds wholly bored. He can change that, he knows he can. Can make him interested in him instead. “Mm, Eddie,” he breathes. “Need you to—Know you’re working, probably shouldn’t call, but I…mmm…started my heat early. Can’t—Fuck, I need you. I need you so bad right now.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie coos down the line. Steve’s fingers ache from earlier, but still, he begins the slow journey to his pussy. Curling them in his pubic hair, nails just barely grazing the lips. “I’ll come over right away, do you need me to bring you anything?”

“Just you,” Steve says, maybe a little too honest—but he’s beyond the voice of reason that he’s being even the slightest of too much. Eddie said he’d come. He’d come for Steve. “Don’t shower,” he requests quietly, voice shaking as his fingers finally curl inside, “just get over here, straight over here.”

“You gonna be on the couch or in your room, sweetheart?”

He whimpers unabashedly. Squelches fill his opposite ear not pressed to the phone. Dizzy with arousal, eyes closing on their own accord, words coming slow to his brain—he has to lean against the wall so he doesn’t topple to the floor. Eddie has a way with petnames, even in the most mundane, so sweet and singular—for me, Steve knows, just me. “Don’t think I can get back up the stairs,” he admits, “and…I may have ruined the bedding a little bit.”

Eddie goes quiet for a moment. A gentle hum. “Wonder what you looked like. Splayed out…were you touching yourself like you are right now?”

A little dumbly, he shakes his head. The words finally come from his mouth, though. “How’d you know?” He forces his fingers inside himself deeper, the first knuckle and a half swallowed up. Walls clenching down. Already wet. Slick beading down to his wrist. “Nipples,” he says incoherently, “just them. Nothing…nothing else.”

“You make noises, y’know,” Eddie lightly teases, voice low, “these little…yips. They’re so cute. It’s nice to know what I do to you, baby.”

Slack-jawed and teary-eyed, Steve comes all over his hand. Palm filling with his come, pearly and thick. He moans, or at least he hopes he does. Or maybe he screams. Rasps something directly onto Eddie’s eardrum, he hopes it vibrates to his brain, hopes it rattles around Eddie’s head as he’s driving back. Wonders, even as he collects himself and whispers his love and hangs up the phone, what exactly he does to Eddie.

It’s not too long after the call that he finds out.

Eddie bursts through the front door. Already wrangling out of his coveralls, sweat stained and grease spattered on his left cheek. Boots toppling over with heavy thunks. Hair up and wild in a half-assed ponytail he, Steve assumes, most definitely did on the ride back. His rings aren’t on his fingers, either from work or getting prepared. And from where his boxers are freed from the coveralls, Steve sees the heavy, rounded bulge that signifies exactly what he needed to know.

He’s sat on the middle cushion of his couch. It’s a faux leather, black couch that was stupidly expensive. Stupidly ugly, if he were to have had a say in it. And he’s already begun to ruin it with his slick, from this time—from times before. Knows, all too well, that none of what they’re about to do is going to come up easily with a general clean. He sort of relishes in it, rubs his soft fingertips on his nipples to harden them completely up again. Legs open wide and wanting as Eddie comes tumbling into the living room, eyes already zeroed in on Steve’s throbbing, flushed pink, shiny, and wet as the ocean pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans, “oh, fuck.” He rushes forward, on the pursuit. And, immediately, he’s caging Steve in. Knees on either side of his hips. Hands cupping Steve’s reddened, happy face—kissing him with fervor, teeth threatening to nip and savor the plush offering. He pulls back a tad with saliva connecting them, spit that Steve knows he’ll never get tired of tasting. Eddie’s hips stutter forward, grounding down on Steve’s happy trail. “What do you need from me, sweetheart? I’ll give you anything. Anything at all.”

“Cock,” Steve answers easily, “the tip. On my nipples. Like we did last time.”

Last time. It was laying down in his nest, Eddie hovering above him. The red tip of Eddie’s cock rutting absurdly and sloppily onto his overworked nipples, making the both of them mewl and arch and whine into next Sunday. One of Steve’s hands massaging Eddie’s hanging low balls, squeezing tensely when they both came.

And now…now it’s watching Eddie clumsily spring his cock free of his boxers. The fabric already slightly damp with his pre-come. His gargantuan, thick, veiny dick in hand as he directs it onto Steve’s heaving, sweaty chest. Teasing gently, even as they both moan quietly at the first sign of contact. Eddie’s left hand, his free one, keeps cupping Steve’s face gently—lovingly, carefully. His thumb running underneath Steve’s eye, catching wayward tears, slow and warm as he gives himself away to oversensitivity.

Steve, aside himself, drops his jaw low, mouth wide open and drooling—keening high in the back of his throat, tight and pitchy, stuffed somewhere in his nostrils. He writhes against the cushion, gushing onto the sofa. Can hear the way the slick suctions between his thighs and the leather. His fingers shake and tense, roll the buds of his nipples back and forth slowly, and his pinkies run along the areoles. It tickles, this sensation, but then it also reaches deep inside of him—jolts his breath and straightens his spine, builds a ball of zinging warmth heavy in his belly. His head falls into the back of the sofa, hair stuck to the sides of his face, limp over the couch.

He blearily can see Eddie. How he digs his teeth into his lower lip, hard enough that Steve thinks he notices small beads of deep, rich blood. Wants to taste, but is melted back into the couch, slow and syrupy. Eddie’s face is bright red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, dark where he stares down at the weeping tip of his cock—the pearls of pre-come that are slowly, but surely slicking up Steve’s already matted with sweat chest hair. His scent is deep and rich, spicy with bourbon, so sticky and heavy that Steve swears he could become drunk on it. If he had his face buried deep into the side of Eddie’s neck, he’s sure he could come away intoxicated and delirious. He’d welcome it, if he could only peel his own hands away from his nipples, make himself bend completely forward and take a great inhale.

Eddie snarls and growls above him. He goes just as slack-jawed as Steve is. Humps forward into his own fist and squeezes himself in as far as he can manage. His legs are noticeably shaking, keeping himself upright. But he persists. And, something delicious to Steve’s arousal blurred vision, there’s a thick drench of drool down Eddie’s chin.

With a stuttered gasp, he finally (though hesitantly) brings one of his hands away from his chest, taps Eddie’s naked right hip. Their eyes lock. And he swears, in stare alone, that he’s fulfilled. But still, he huskily requests, “Spit…spit in my mouth, Eds. Need”—and he shutters, palm flat to his right nipple, fingers squeezing into the soft give of his pec—“need to taste you.”

Silently, yet obliging, Eddie nods once. He closes his mouth, lips pursed. And then he swishes a glob between his teeth, cranes his neck forward, dips his head down, and parts his lips just enough for the saliva to spill through. It’s almost like slow motion to Steve’s drowsy brain, the way the spit travels between them. Cascading like a spoonful of molasses—and briefly, he thinks of Eddie tasting like burnt caramel, like burn, a char so pleasant he wouldn’t even mind.

When it lands on his twitching, spongy tongue, Steve immediately swishes it around. Tasting—or at least attempting to—what Eddie is. He swears, beyond everything, that he was right. That Eddies’ mouth, his insides, are just as sweet and just as rich as gingerbread cookies. Baked late at night, waiting to cool into early morning for Christmas. Like cheer, joy, a sense of spirit that Steve has been longing for. Thinks that Eddie is love personified, sweet and drenching, overbearing, yet slow to hit him. He thinks that Eddie’s everything he’s ever desired.

He swallows, eyes closed and humming. “Thank you,” Steve murmurs, babbles, “so good. Good for me. Everything, Eds. Alpha—mmm—everything.”

Above him, Eddie babbles in his own way, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Underneath me. Pink and pretty and…and you smell so good—fuckin’ like a fuckin’ tree, when it rains, fresh…wanna just…wanna”—he pitches forward slightly and ruts against Steve, hard. His words lose steam, but his movements don’t. He moves his hand off of Steve’s face, instead tangling it low in his hair, scrunching dirty, sweaty locks in his fingers. Fingernails dully scratching at the base of Steve’s skull. And his cock gets sloppy, running sidelong and spilling, slick and slicker as he moans louder and louder—impossibly loud, a near scream, an echoing rasp that Steve knows will leave Eddie’s throat sore and rough even through the next few days.

But they’ll take care of each other, they always do. They’ll make tea, completely domesticated, acting as if they’re mating glands have been bonded, like a happy married couple. And, oh, how Steve wants.

His free hand drifts away from Eddie’s hip, shifting down, down, down to his drenching pussy. To the puddle of slick between his legs, wetting the back of his hand. As he buries his fingers deep inside himself, past the first knuckle, nearly past the second. Crooking them slowly, strongly. His fingers ache. There’s nothing but slick all over his hand, but he knows Eddie will clean it up for him afterwards.

“Uhhnn—Eds,” Steve breathes, choked up, yet light. “‘M gonna…gonna come, baby. Want you—You do it too? Please?”

Eddie’s head bobbles where Steve can still make it out, eyelids heavy and getting heavier. The cock on his abused nipples gives a valiant kick. A tense. “Where d’you want me, sweetheart?”

Steve just pulls his head up from the back of the couch, pushes it forward gently, and parts his lips enough for Eddie’s big, thick cock. Getting the message, Eddie inches his way inside. Tip, then the first two inches, a third, and a fourth. But that’s all that gets in before Steve gives a weak little gag and a huff of approval. Eddie’s dick is heavy on his tongue, veins protruding, salty and sweaty. He tastes like a day’s worth of work, a bit like the way car grease smells, and his own stench. It should be gross, realistically. But this taste, the weight of it, is all too divine. He gargles around it all, welcomes the aching stretch at the corners of his mouth, the bit of tears it brings to his eyes.

And with a final tug to the rest of his exposed inches, Eddie’s coming hard and fast down Steve’s throat. He gags at the load, too much too fast, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he allows himself to bend forward, to crush the tip of his nose into the soft skin of Eddie’s dick. He swallows it all, because this is exactly what he wanted. But what he wanted especially—

Eddie’s knot is slow to lock inside Steve’s mouth. But it blooms, oh does it bloom. Swelling into any extra room in his mouth, filling the gaps between his teeth, locking them together for the next little while. And as it chokes him, makes him heady, makes him pliant to the cushion—Steve slicks a flash flood onto the sofa. The puddle growing, enough to coat his entire hand, sticky and warm and viscous. He can’t see it, but knows completely that he’s ruined the cushion he’s sitting on.

The swell goes slowly, too. As they pant and catch their breath.

And when they finally separate, Eddie brings Steve’s soaked hand up to his mouth and cleans it with his heavy tongue. Spit on the webs between his fingers. Saliva spilling down to his wrist. Slick gone in the matter of seconds as Eddie tastes and devours what he’s given. Popping away with a satisfied, small hum.

It’s the first day of Steve’s heat, so he knows that there will be more days like this.

But for now, “I’m tired,” he mumbles. “Mmm, but that was good. So good for me, Alpha.” He watches Eddie pull up and away, but then unceremoniously plop down on the cushion to Steve’s right. “Been wanting you all day.”

Eddie tucks a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. Thumb tickling down his jaw. “Love helping you, sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m glad it was good for you.” He leans in, slow and gentle, and leaves a small, sticky peck to Steve’s still warm face. “You wanna go cuddle in your bed for a little while?”

“About that,” Steve murmurs, “I sorta…kinda…maybe got some slick on your pillow?”

“Oh?” There’s a glint of…something that Steve can’t quite read in Eddie’s eyes. “Thought you were just laid out upstairs.”

Steve gives a weak little chuckles, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. His chest jumps from being used so harshly earlier, fingers squeezing into the meat of his thighs to calm himself down. “I missed you,” he admits quietly, “needed you around me.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie coos. “But maybe my pillow is better now. Want to go upstairs and sleep for a little while? Looks like you’ve been worked up and working yourself out all day.”

“Will you knot me later?”

“I’ll do whatever you want. Maybe even…take care of that mating bond for you.”

In quick, awake movements, Steve reaches out for one of Eddie’s hand and squeezes harshly. “Better get upstairs, then. Stay here for my heat. Make do on your promises.”

Eddie inhales sharply. Eyes wide and dark. “Forever, baby,” he lightly growls, “you have me.”

💕——————💕

[claymton]

AGE REGRESSION CLAY HEADCANON TIME OOO BOY.. I may or may not have some yapping to do about this..

First off, I saw the 2 tags specifically on the answer you gave that caught my attention. I do feel Clay definitely bites his nails or his thumb.. With age regression (spoken from someone who has an issue with this) I definitely think he does suck his thumb or gnaw at it a little if he's overstimulated in a way.. specifically in fetal position. I may just be saying this out of solely what I do but.. yeah.

The whole urine thing as well. I think like the bed wetting definitely has something to do with age regression and bladder issues due to overuse of alcohol, being a responsive thing that just kind of happens reflexively.. most likely with a nightmare or something.

Also think he does things subconsciously while he's asleep like for one, clinging onto his pillow as well as tossing and turning. I think he gets restless while asleep, and maybe that's why he ends up responding that way. (bed wetting, being restless, etc.)

There's another thing that could fall into the restless category but I may return to that sometime after this ask.

I don't really want to get into the egg thing because. first off since its uncomfortable a bit for me to talk about myself and. also since Sinvilles could do a better analyzation post about it than anyone, i fear.

with clays hair curl I have a few random things with that. that could very likely be tagged on with this in a way maybe. I think he may have had a habit of twirling that thing a bit..

I think he had issues at school with bullying and constantly tried to get attention and make himself the rage bait.. clearly it ends up working. He'd go home bloodied a lot to Aurther and he'd brush it off, not care, almost scold him for it, but then stopping himself, pretend not to notice, or just not notice entirely.

which made clays sacrifice rant happen, specifically because he wanted that attention again and wasn't able to get. which maybe could be why he kept his distance from Orel, just because of how his father was absent for a while after giving clay old gunny. and he didn't want to look at Orel because he felt mad at Orel and himself a little because he wasn't 'Man' enough and Clay himself couldn't make him something he saw himself in. so it made him feel the need to be distant with something he didn't feel connected to, felt more like Blobertas child than his own.

"weak, and passive. and ultimately broken by the ones who were made the fittest!! and that through your weaknesses you built up a poison.. that poisoned others around you.. that you loved. and the only true justice was to let those dominant jackals feed on you.. survive of you."

I truly believe he was age regressing here. back to when he would try so desperately to get his fathers attention that he craved and somehow failed no matter what he did. and he let everyone pick on him and make himself stand out specifically because it would make him feel at least some sort of affection other than being ignored. negative attention is still attention nonetheless right?

There's still more too it than that I just need more time to get my thoughts collected..

extra little side note ::

with clays hair curl I have a few random things with that age regression that could very likely be tagged on with this in a way maybe. I think he may have had a habit of twirling that thing a bit..

Clearly the more reasoned option being he snipped off a chunk of his hair when he was younger so it just never grew out enough and it just kinda just wouldn't stay back.. either that or he does his hair every morning and tries to make his hair perfect every morning cuz he's kind of a freak when it comes to that I think..

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way. 

A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster. 

Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.  

When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would. 

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift. 

Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts. 

Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’  You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?  

You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”

You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.

“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”

Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.” 

You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”

Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”

Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse. 

You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”

Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation. 

“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.” 

You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.” 

The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning. 

Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.” 

Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do? 

“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”

Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.

You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass. 

The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes. 

The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall. 

“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.

You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused. 

“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”

The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”

Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”

Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised. 

The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears. 

When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.

You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson. 

You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad. 

You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground. 

Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”

“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike. 

You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?” 

“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped. 

Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”

Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”

“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?” 

You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.

“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin. 

Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”

The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”

Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”

Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”

“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.

“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath. 

Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”

“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice. 

Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew. 

Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”

You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever. 

“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”

“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”

You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.

“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction. 

“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.” 

Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it. 

You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward. 

You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.

[dirtysvthoughts]

hiii i hope ur doing well!! i hope i can request daddy kink seungkwan….. just so starved of dom kwan smut here

tags/warnings: smut, lil bit of pwp, boyfriend! seungkwan, soft dom! seungkwan, daddy! seungkwan, lingerie on reader, fingering, seungkwan sexy on 10 in this 😩, extreme overuse of pet names mostly from seungkwan (pretty girl, my baby, baby girl, etc.), some dirty talk, one mention of a size kink.. anon bestie what have you done to me 🥹😩

author’s note: hey bestie! thank you so much, i hope you’re doing well as well! ☺️ after that one post i made i got a lot of seungkwan requests and i promise i’ve seen them and i will write them! also adding my favorite seungkwan selcas ever for the extra feels cause he’s too fine and so daddy in these 🫦 also be on the lookout for my 1k celebration! 👀

you can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, the peach colored floral lingerie sitting perfectly on every curve of your body, making everything pop so deliciously. so into yourself, you don’t notice your boyfriend opening your door, smiling at how stunning and charming you are.

“you’re beautiful, baby girl,” he muses approaching you, dropping his bags to the floor. he stands behind you, your back pressed against your boyfriend’s chest, his hands delicately touching your body, sending shivers up your spine and gasps out of mouth as he touches your panty-clad mound.

“shit,” you moan out as you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as seungkwan continues to touch you through your panties, smirking at the wetness now coating the top of his index and middle fingers. “mmmh, d-daddy,” you whisper.

“what’d you say, honey?” he tilts you chin to look directly in his eyes, mischief and lust in them. you shyly whine back, “daddy,” and soon after his lips meet yours in a delicate, pillowy kiss. as you kiss, you don’t realize that seungkwan has worked off your bra, tossing it to the back of your room, hands shamelessly groping your breasts. you moan sweetly into his mouth, body begging for more of his touch.

“why don’t we get more comfortable baby?” he asks rhetorically, as seungkwan already walks you backwards, hands still roaming your panties and breasts until his legs hit the edge of his bed, sitting down and causing you to sit in his lap.

you can’t help the pulsating down there as you feel seungkwan’s hard on come in contact with the material of your panties. you wanted for your boyfriend to hurry up and put his dick inside of you, but you knew he was going to tease you first until he deemed you were ready.

“daddy.. i n-need you to touch me, pl-please,” you gasp, subtly grinding into his lap, but he stops your movement, holding your thighs in place as he insert a finger to pull your pretty panties to the side.

“such a cute little set you wore for me, my baby.. normally i would tear you sets, cause i couldn’t wait any longer,” he pauses smirking down at you, “but i wanna see you wear this more often.. you look so gorgeous in it,” he moans out as his fingers now come in contact with your wetness, pleasure continuously gushing out due to his praises.

soon a finger is inserted fully inside of you and you bury your face into seungkwan’s neck, more gasps and whimpers leaving your mouth. another finger comes into play, and seungkwan alters between curling and scissoring your clit, the motion having the right balance of rough and soft.

“mmm, daddy,” you whine as you press into his forearm. “you feel so good, please, please touch me more..”

“you want me to touch you more, pretty girl?” he asks and you nod your head frantically. nothing else mattered right now but how he felt on you. “can’t think of anything else but my touch can you? such a needy baby girl aren’t you, only thinking of daddy and how he pleasures you.. does daddy please you?”

“y-yes, daddy always makes me feel so g-good,” you bite your lip and you roll your hips to feed your desire to cum all over his body. “when i touch myself, i have to think about you.. your fingers feel so much better than mine.”

“hmmm, what else do you think about my baby?” seungkwan muses, definitely enjoying where this conversation was heading.

“i think about your voice, and how soothing, yet commanding it is.. telling me what to do and how to do it.. i think about how small i am underneath you, and how i love being wrapped around you.. i also love how you fit inside of me, i don’t think anyone else can fill me up the way you do. every time you fuck me, i nearly lose it.. you feel that good, daddy.. my pussy was made for you, mmm - ah!”

in the middle of your spiel, seungkwan speeds up his pace to where his fingers are thrusting in and out of you quickly, causing you to reach bliss and cum all over your panties, your arousal quickly leaking onto his pants. seungkwan sighs dreamily as he rubs your stomach, kissing your temple repeatedly.

“you did such a good job for me pretty girl,” he whispers into your ear, kissing the shell. “always such a good girl, especially when you come.”

“thank you daddy,” you sigh contentedly. “i love you.”

“i love you more, my baby.”

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

The double standard Zutara shippers have towards Mai vs Katara is absolutely icky. I saw a post a while ago (don’t remember the user) and screenshotted all the Mai can’t vs Katara can points. I’ll paste them here:

- Katara threatening Zuko if he dares to hurt Aang is a sign of reprimanded sexual tension, but Mai joking about Zuko never daring to break up with her again it's her being controlling.

- Katara screaming at Zuko that, to make her forgive him after he proved to have changed and be a better person to everyone else, he'll need to bring back her dead mother, as if 10 years old Zuko is responsible for Yon Ra killing Kya, is fair. Mai screaming at Zuko to leave her alone after he made a scene insulting her in front of a crowd is abusive, violent and toxic.

- Katara treating Zuko badly after he saved her from being crushed is legit and deserved. Mai slapping Zuko's hand away from her in two separate occasions because he wouldn't stop invading her boundaries after a highly emotional moment is harsh, undeserved and abusive.

- Zuko mocking Katara and telling her that he'll save her from the pirates is cute. Zuko being actually cute with his girlfriend is cringe and obviously something he didn't want to do.

- Katara splashing Zuko when he was kneeling down in the southern air temple episode is justified. Mai throwing a SHEET OF PAPER at him after he broke up with her and ghosted her is abusive and violent.

-Katara touching Zuko's scar in the catacombs to heal him is cute and a moment of trust. Mai touching Zuko's scar multiple times and him not being bothered by it in the slightest (even burying his scar in her hair) is a breech of trust and consent.

- Katara having many guys who have a crush on her throughout the series means she has rizz and that she's a catch. Mai having one boyfriend other than Zuko makes her a slut.

- Mai and Zuko being childhood friends to lovers is cringe and an overused trope, but then you'll go on the Zutara tag and find multiple fanarts of childhood friends Zutara AUs

- Katara establishing boundaries and making her stance on breeches of trust well known with multiple characters is good writing. Mai breaking up with Zuko after he lied to her multiple times means that she isn't worth sticking around, and is so selfish that she'll leave Zuko in a moment of need.

- Katara had three children while Mai only had Izumi, which means Katara is a better woman (yes, I've actually come across this kind of disgusting comment.)

- Zutarians claim that Katara is apparently reduced to a housewife and child bearer with no agency as Aang's wife (she is a well known master, wonderful healer AND politician as she made bloodbending illegal in canon), and would be better off as the fire lady (????), but at the same time Mai is nothing special because she is just the fire lord's wife while Katara is a master. Like, make it make sense. Being a fire lady is either "demeaning" for both or for neither.

+ Zutara fans making Izumi Zuko and Katara's daughter, and then proceeding to make a rant on how Mai is NOT Izumi's mom despite her looking exactly like Mai and Michi PLUS having "fountain" a significant name in Maiko's love story, in her name.

I’ve been silently reading all the anti zutara here and thought of sharing my piece. I would like to hear what you think too

God, the Izumi one pisses me off the most because:

1 - Neither Katara nor Zuko would EVER just refuse to raise or even acknowledge a child of theirs. Katara's whole trauma is about having to grow up too fast after her mother's death. Zuko's whole trauma is growing up with an abusive father that kicked him out of the house. They would NEVER abandon a child of theirs.

2 - Neither Katara nor Zuko would ever forgive a former partner if said partner had a kid with them and then abandoned said child, again, because of their own traumas.

But also HOLY SHIT, zutara's brand of "feminism" never ceases to shock me. "A better woman has more kids"? Seriously? And here I thought the worst take I'd ever see from them was "Zuko needs to marry a woman of a different race because his genes are bad, but he is one of the good ones, and Katara could fix his defective genetic that makes his kind more likely to be violent - no, I never heard the term 'eugenics', what's that?"

And yeah, funny how they're constantly going on and on about how being Fire Lady would totally "empower" Katara, but the second Mai is the one to marry Zuko, suddenly that role is oppressive and disrespectful towards a woman.

[frost-queen]

Blood rivers (Grisha!Reader x Kaz Brekker)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,   @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07

Summary: You always have terrible nosebleeds after using your abilities. Which very much worries Kaz. One day you overuse your abilities, passing out. Kaz freaks out as the crows take you back. Kaz never left your side, scolding you with worry after you wake up.

Kaz came to a stop in the alleyway. His path suddenly blocked by three of Pekka’s men. If it bothered him, he wasn’t showing it. His expression fierce and tense as his knuckles whitened under his gloves on top of his cane. – “We’ve got you surrounded Brekker!” – one of them called out, pointing his way. Kaz glanced side-ways, spotting two more approaching from behind. He briefly let his gaze go upwards, knowing Inej was scanning the roofs somewhere.

He had send Wylan and Jesper on an arrand. Kaz scoffed finding it the coward’s way of surrounding him when he is all by himself. He moved his cane a bit to the side, grabbing it tightly. Feeling the two from behind close in. Keeping them close in mind, he was ready to strike them down with his cane and unleash the fight. Kaz picked up his cane, ready to swing it behind him when he heard those two man grunt.

Eyes widening he spun around seeing them clutch for their hearts. Kaz’s gaze moving sideways from them to you suddenly getting in sight. – “Miss me?” – you asked Kaz with a flirtatious smile. Hands held in front of you to keep those men under control. You moved more to the front, exhaling loud. – “The heartrender!” – you heard one of them call out from behind Kaz. It made you chuckle devious bringing the final blow to those two men.

They dropped to their knees, unconscious. Panting loud you lowered your hands. Swallowing deep, you blinked thoughtfully. A thin drop of red coming under your nose. It made Kaz’s eyes widen at the side of your nosebleed. Mouth open to breath through, you held your head back, hand ready to catch any falling blood. – “Y/n.” – Kaz said lowly with worry. He sensed the three men too late, but you didn’t.

Kaz gasped loud, startled when one dared to raise his arm at him. You immediately moved your fingers, keeping them under your control. Blood dripping down your lips, breathing out loud. – “You cowards should know Brekker never comes unprepared.” – you called out, moving closer to them. They were coughing, sinking through their knees, finding it hard to breath.

Kaz kept staring at you, eyes focused on the blood dripping down onto the ground. Droplets of red marking the dirty ground. – “I should kill you!” – you made clear, vengeance in your eyes. The men groaned in pain, squirming in pain. Kaz picked his cane up, whacking Pekka’s men unconscious before you could harm them any further.

The loss of control made you stumble backwards out of breath. Lips stained red; you licked them. Tasting the blood on your tongue. Kaz inhaled sharp through his nose, turning furious at you. The stare he was giving you enough to beg for mercy on your bare knees.

Flicking his wrist forwards, he pointed the crow’s head your way. With the head of the crow, tilting your head back by your chin. – “Hold that shut!” – he ordered. You pinched your nose tight, gasping through your mouth for air. – “You could’ve said thank you.” – you answered, sounding a bit funny. He tensed his jaw, tilting your head more back as you had moved it forwards to look at him. – “You could’ve staid out of it. I don’t need to find my heartrender dead one faithful night.” – he replied rudely, pressing the crow’s head deeper onto your throat.

“You would’ve just found yourself another one.” – you spoke back pushing his cane off your throat. Kaz clenched his jaw, hand tensing, ready to strike you down with words if he hadn’t been interrupted by Wylan and Jesper. Wylan was the first one to notice your nosebleed. – “Are you alright Y/n.” – he asked running over.

Jesper’s eyes widening. – “Again?” – he said coming after Wylan to you. You shrugged your shoulders at him. Wylan tilted your head back down as you had lowered it again. – “Y/n I thought we went through this.” – Jesper sighed out, pulling out a handkerchief. – “I know… I know…” – you responded. – “Has… has this happened before?” – Wylan wanted to know looking concerned over to Jesper.

“Every time this darn fool uses her abilities.” – Jesper held the handkerchief out to you with a brotherly scowl. Wylan took it from him, holding it around your nose to stop the bleeding. – “Unusual…” – Wylan muttered out. – “What will you have me do?” – you said barely understandable for them. – “What?” – Jesper called out, hands to his hips. You groaned loud with an eye roll. – “Let’s just get her inside.” – Wylan suggested. Jesper nodded, only now aware of the men scattered on the ground. – “Were you ambushed?” – he asked Kaz.

Kaz shot him a glare, gesturing at him to get a move on. Wylan and Jesper held you by the elbow, escorting you back. Jesper opened the door to Wylan’s lab, letting you in. Wylan assisting you down the steps so you wouldn’t trip. Jesper quickly snatched his shirt from under you before you’d sit on it. – “I think I got something to stop the bleeding.” – Wylan said looking nervously over to Kaz. Kaz quirked his eyebrow up as if his concern was of any significance.

Jesper removed his blood stained handkerchief from your nose, wanting to see if it had stopped. When it didn’t, he pinched your nose shut, almost making you snort. – “Saints Y/n.” – Jesper sighed out coming to sit beside you. Wylan returned with something in a bottle, intriguing Kaz. He looked concerningly and frightened your way, not sure what effect it would have on you. Clenching his hand, knuckles rubbing against the fabric of his leather gloves.

Jesper removed his hand from you letting Wylan do his thing. You were hesitant of it, but within the minute your nosebleed came to a slow end. You took a cautious breathing through your nose, not wanting to overstimulate anything. Wylan and Jesper sighed out relieved. Fingers stained with your blood. Kaz threw them a cloth, Jesper catching it. He cleaned your nose and lips. Kaz swallowing when the fabric rubbed over your lips.

Quickly turning his head away. Jesper then cleaned his fingers, handing the cloth over to Wylan. Wylan took Jesper’s seat coming to sit beside you. Jesper moving away towards Kaz. He crossed his arms, brushing his finger thoughtfully over his lips. – “This is getting out of hand, isn’t it?” – he asked Kaz. – “What if things get worse or she’ll end up dead.” – Kaz turned his head sharply towards Jesper. – “No!” – he called out loud, not wanting to think of it. Jesper moved his hands up in defense. – “I’m just concerned.” – he answered, looking over at you.

Kaz’s gaze went over to you as well, knowing deep down he too was concerned. You smiled nervously with Wylan sitting beside you. This might ever be the first time it was just him and you. – “So… does this always happen when you use your abilities?” – he asked. You nodded, palms rubbing against each other. – “How…when did it start? I mean it is unusual…” – he deepened his question.

You pulled your shoulders up. – “It just happened… I can’t say why.” – you were startled when Wylan dropped his hand on yours. – “Don’t worry. I will try to get to the bottom of its understanding.” – he reassured you, making you move your other hand on top of his. – “Thank you, Wylan.” – He squeezed your hand comforting.

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Panting loud, you had your hands out. Sturdy on your feet, chest rising and falling. – “Y/n no!” – Jesper called out, staring in shock at you. – “Stop it!” – Inej insisted, holding her knives tightly. – “I’m still breathing!” – you called out as if they were exaggerating. Wylan gulped nervously laying down on the ground. Kaz tensing his jaw with a glare as he slowly got up from his knees.

The two men behind him who had grabbed him, squirming on the ground. – “Enough.” – he said soft. You felt a push go through your fingers, controlling their pulse to slow down. – “Enough!” – Kaz called out louder, setting his cane firmly on the ground. You weren’t supposed to be here. Kaz specifically ordered you to stay out of it, yet once again you didn’t listen. When it came to Kaz, you rather put yourself in danger than see anyone touch him.

You had snuck up from behind, interfering before any of the other crows could. Leading to this exact moment in an abandoned street in Ketterdam. – “Not until I watch them bleed!” – you shouted, making pushing further to make them cough up blood. Kaz’s eyes widened seeing the blood run down your nose.

It made you wipe a finger underneath it, staring down at the blood. More men came running around the corner to join their mates. Jesper widened his eyes. – “Don’t you dare.” – he shouted seeing in your eyes you wanted to finish them. You ignored his pleads, performing a sequence of hand movements. – “Stop her!” -  Kaz ordered. Inej looked down at her daggers, hesitating if she should throw one at you. Jesper was staring also pained down at his gun.

If they needed to stop you, this was not the way. You took control of the group of men behind your friends. Making them all grasp for air, slowly suffocating them. It was getting harder for you to breath trying to keep them all under control. With one swift motion, you knocked them out, panting loud. The world went black as you dropped to the ground. The impact barely making itself aware of the pain. The deafened sounds of your name being screamed out, dying out.

Kaz came to a stop, breathless. Staring in shock down at your fallen body. Jesper and Inej trying to shake you awake. Wylan pacing anxiously with his hands in his hair. The beating of his heart echoed through his mind, making itself loudly present. His ears ringing, knees buckling. Jesper picked you up, placing you over his shoulder as Inej made sure you were stable. – “I told her to stop!” – Jesper called out furious. – “Why wouldn’t she listen? Does she has a dead wish?” – he panicked, looking worriedly at Inej.

“Jes!” – Inej shouted, snapping him out of it. – “Scolding her isn’t going to do anyone any good!” – she made clear. Jesper nodded, tears building up in the corner of his eyes. The crows started returning with you safely. Kaz following numbly. Wylan opened the door, running over to the bed to make room. – “No!” – Kaz said loudly, making everyone freeze. – “Take her upstairs!” – he ordered. Inej nodded assisting Jesper in taking you upstairs. Wylan followed, tears rolling down his cheek. They laid you down on a bed. Kaz staying as far away from you as possible.

Kaz watched in agony as Wylan rushed to the side of your bed, clutching your hand. Scolding you with a crackling voice unable to control his emotions. Jesper had to pull him away before it would wreck him too. Inej made them go downstairs with her. Kaz remaining in the room. Watching you from afar. He slowly approached, coming to sit close by the bed. He stared down at your hand. If only he dared to touch it. He’d hold it so tight; you couldn’t let go. Resting on his cane, he held watch, staring mindlessly in front of him.

You groaned softly, squirming in the bed as you slowly came awake. Kaz’s eyes hardening with anger. You fluttered your eyes open, gasping in shock at Kaz sitting by the bed. – “I told you to take a break!” – he shouted. – “You wouldn’t listen! You never listen to me Y/n!” – he accused you. You pressed your knuckles into the bed, sitting up straight. – “You could’ve been… Why did you!” – his voice raging.

“Because I didn’t want to be useless!” – you answered loudly to bicker with him. – “What good am I if I can’t be your heartrender! It is the very reason why I am here. Why you hired me! If I don’t have that anymore… I’m just nothing.” – your hand untensed, head lowering. – “You are indeed of value, but not enough to get yourself killed! I’d rather have you alive and useless then functioning and dead!” – he took a deep breath after getting all worked up.

“From now on you take breaks when I say you do!” – he insisted making you smile. Smile at how caring he was in his own way. – “Why are you smiling?” – Kaz asked, caught off guard. – “Cause you care.” – you answered blowing a kiss at him. Kaz swallowed nervously, staring your way.

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