#LIKE PLS PLS 'THERE WAS NO IT IT WAS JUST US' 'IS THERE A DIFFERENCE?' AHHHH

[pedroscowgirl]

In your hands

joel miller x fem!reader || main masterlist

Warnings!!smut! so minors DNI

no!outbreak ,use of sex toy, no specific age gap mentioned but joel is an old man (he's suprised by the new technology), praise kink, joel is in controle, oral job (m receiving), squirting, reader has hair (lenght not specified), size kink, crying but in a positive way, lmk if i forgot something! wc: 2.2k

A/n: the poll was so close between joel and aaron hotchner and it made me realise how long its been since i wrote something for him but i just have hyperfixations on these men from time to time and rn it's joel so i apologize. And as always pls lmk what you think of this :)

You and Joel had been seeing each other for a while now. It was casual, unspoken, and mostly physical. You’d find yourself at his place most of the time, tangled in his sheets, his rough hands exploring your body like he was mapping every inch of you. It was electric, intense, and always left you craving more. But today was different. Today, Joel had come to your place.

You were in the kitchen, trying to open a stubborn jar of pickles, when the lid finally gave way,but so did your grip. The sharp edge of the lid sliced into your finger, and you hissed, dropping the jar onto the counter. “Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand.

Joel, who had been leaning against the doorway watching you struggle with that damn jar, straightened up immediately. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

“Yeah, just a cut,” you said, holding up your finger to show him the thin line of blood welling up. “I think I have bandaids in my nightstand drawer. Can you grab one for me?”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned and headed toward your bedroom. You busied yourself with rinsing the cut under the faucet, trying to ignore the way your heart raced at the thought of Joel in your room, rummaging through your things. It felt… intimate, somehow. More intimate than the nights you’d spent together.

But then you heard it, the unmistakable sound of Joel’s voice, low and teasing, calling your name. “Sweetheart?” he drawled, and something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. “You might wanna come in here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You dried your hands quickly and walked toward your bedroom, your mind racing. What could he have found? You didn’t have anything embarrassing in there… did you?

When you stepped into the room, you froze. Joel was standing near the edge of your bed, one of your bandaids in his hand, and in his other hand, he held your vibrating dildo. It was long, thick, and veiny, and the sight of it in Joel’s large, calloused hand made your face burn. His eyes were dark, his lips curled into that cocky smirk you both loved and hated.

“Damn,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You tired of me already?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your mind went blank as you stared at him, his smirk widening as he turned the toy over in his hand, examining it like he was appraising it. “This thing’s got some… heft to it,” he said, his tone teasing. “You been holdin’ out on me, darlin’?”

“Joel, it’s not—” you started, but he cut you off with a low chuckle.

“Relax,” he said, setting the toy down on the bed beside him. “I ain’t mad. Just… curious.” 

He leaned back, his eyes raking over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat. “You been usin’ this when I’m not around? Thinkin’ about me?”

Your breath hitched. There was no way you were admitting that to him. But the way he was looking at you, like he already knew the answer, made your knees weak. He patted the bed beside him, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that always sent shivers down your spine. “C’mere.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of it making your skin prickle with anticipation. He had that look in his eye, the one that told you he was in control, and you were going to do exactly as he said.

"Take off your pants and underwear," he commanded, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. "And sit on the bed."

You hesitated for just a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, but the look he gave you -a raised brow, a slight tilt of his head, was enough to make you move. You quickly slipped out of your clothes, your hands trembling as you pushed your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor. You sat on the edge of the bed, your legs slightly apart, your body exposed to him.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, his eyes trailing over your naked form, taking in every detail. Then he moved, stepping closer to the bed, his hand reaching out to the nightstand drawer. He opened it, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out the bottle of lube. He held the dildo in his hand, turning it over, examining it like he was studying some kind of weapon.

"Goddamn that new technology is impressive" he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and disbelief as he found the remote control. He pressed a button, and the tip of the dildo began to move, a slow, rhythmic motion that made your breath catch in your throat. Joel’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "You ready for this, sweetheart?"

You nodded, your throat dry, your body already responding to the thought of what was coming. Joel didn’t wait for you to second-guess yourself. He squirted a generous amount of lube onto the dildo, spreading it evenly with his fingers before holding it out to you.

"Sit on it," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated again, your heart racing, but the look in Joel’s eyes—the way he was watching you, like he could see straight through you—made you obey. 

You positioned yourself over the dildo, your legs trembling as you slowly lowered yourself onto it. The sensation was intense, the size of it stretching you in a way that made your head spin. You gasped as you took it all in, your body adjusting to the fullness, your hands gripping the edge of the bed for support.

Joel stood in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, his lips parted as he watched you take every inch. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Look at you, takin’ it so well."

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your body trembling as you tried to steady yourself. But before you could fully adjust, Joel’s hand moved, his fingers pressing a button on the remote. The dildo came to life, vibrating inside you, the sensation so sudden and intense that you cried out, your back arching as pleasure shot through your body.

"Fuck, Joel!" you moaned, your hands flying to your hair, pulling it back from your face as tears welled up in your eyes. The vibrations were relentless, sending waves of pleasure through you, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together.

Joel’s smirk widened, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you fall apart. "Oh, baby," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous like this. Gettin’ fucked by some stupid piece of plastic, takin’ it like a good girl."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body responding to the way he was watching you, the way he was talking to you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the pleasure building inside you, your moans growing louder as the vibrations continued to push you toward the edge.

Joel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a low growl that made your stomach clench. "You gonna let me watch you fall apart?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure continued to build. Joel’s grip on your chin tightened, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you, his own desire evident in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his jaw tightened.

"Come on, baby," he urged, his voice rough with need. "Let me see you come."

And just like that, you did. The pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing as you came, your cries filling the room as Joel watched, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He didn’t let go of you, his grip on your chin firm as he kept you looking at him, forcing you to endure the intensity of your orgasm as it ripped through you.

Joel’s finger hovered over the button, his dark eyes locked on yours as he watched you squirm beneath him. The vibrations had been relentless, driving you to the edge of pleasure and desperation, and when he finally pushed the button to make them stop, you sighed in relief, your body trembling. You lifted yourself up, ready to take the toy out of you, but Joel’s hand shot out, stopping you mid-motion.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. “Not yet. I wanna try somethin’ with you. Sit back on it.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head slightly, your voice barely a whisper. “Joel, please…” you pleaded, your body still sensitive from the vibrations. But Joel just shushed you, his tone firm yet gentle, and you knew better than to argue with him. Reluctantly, you obeyed, lowering yourself back onto the toy, feeling it press deep inside you once more.

Joel’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched you, his hands moving to his belt. He undid it slowly, the sound of leather sliding through the loops making your breath hitch. He pushed his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, and your eyes immediately dropped to his cock, already hard and leaking. The sight of him made your mouth water, and Joel noticed, chuckling darkly as he gave himself a few slow strokes.

“Eyes on me, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with desire. You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing as he stepped closer, his free hand cupping your jaw. “Open up,” he commanded, and you parted your lips without hesitation. He guided himself into your mouth, groaning softly as your tongue swirled around his tip.

You moaned around him, the vibrations from the toy still faintly buzzing inside you, making it hard to focus. But you wanted to please him, to show him how much he meant to you. You took him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth as you bobbed your head, your tongue working in tandem with your movements. Joel’s hand tangled in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, guiding you as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, his hips thrusting gently into your mouth. “You’re so damn good at this.” His praise sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and your pussy clenched around the toy, the sensation almost too much to bear. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to focus on him, but the fullness and the vibrations were overwhelming, making your mind hazy with need.

Joel noticed your struggle, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. “Shhh, baby, it’s alright,” he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. “You can take it. Just relax for me, yeah?” His words were comforting, but they only made you more desperate, your body trembling as you tried to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure building inside you.

The toy shifted inside you, the vibrations intensifying as Joel adjusted the settings, and you cried, tears falling down on his cock, the sound muffled but full of need. Your eyes met his, pleading for release, but Joel just smirked, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrust deeper into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensation. “Take it all. You’re doin’ so good.” His praise only fueled your desire, and you moaned around him, your pussy clenching tightly around the toy as your orgasm threatened to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Joel pulled himself out of your mouth, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But before you could fully recover, your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing as you squirted onto the toy, your juices soaking the sheets beneath you. You collapsed onto the bed, your chest heaving as you tried to come down from the high.

Joel watched you with a satisfied smirk, his hand stroking his cock as he admired the mess you’d made. “Damn, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty ” He stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair once more as he guided your mouth back to his cock.

“One last thing,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You opened your mouth obediently, and Joel thrust into you, his movements rough and desperate as he chased his own release. It didn’t take long,his hips stuttered, and he groaned your name as he came, his cum filling your mouth. You swallowed every drop, your eyes never leaving his as he pulled out, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand stroking your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was slow and deep, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened, and it left you feeling warm and cherished.

As you lay there together, Joel’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but smile. He was rough and demanding, but he always took care of you, always made sure you were satisfied. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew there was no one else you’d rather be with.

[digitaldaydreamm]

Angst with childhood friend reader pls pls pls pls

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | rafe won't accept your help

warnings: angst, a little bit of cursing, mentions of blood and fighting

a/n: your wish is my command. here's a little bit of angst for youuu, this one is kind of short...

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The house was dark when you stepped inside, the only light coming from the faint glow of a lamp in the living room. The quiet felt heavier than usual, like something was pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe.

Then you saw him.

Rafe was slouched on the couch, one arm draped over his stomach, the other resting against the back of the couch like he’d just stopped caring about holding himself up. His knuckles were split, dried blood crusted over the cuts, and a deep bruise stretched across his cheekbone, dark and swollen. A gash split his lower lip, red and raw, and his shirt was torn at the collar, exposing more bruises along his collarbone.

Your stomach twisted.

“Rafe.”

He didn’t react. You stepped closer, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“Rafe.”

His eyes flickered open slightly before shutting again, like keeping them open was too much effort. His head tilted back further against the couch.

“Go home, kid.”

Your jaw clenched, “That’s all you have to say?”

Silence.

Frustration crawled up your spine. You crouched down in front of him, hands resting on his thighs, your eyes searching his face.

“What happened?”

Rafe let out a slow breath, controlled, detached.

“Nothing.”

You scoffed. “Nothing? Yeah, because you just happened to get the shit beaten out of you for no reason?”

His jaw ticked, fingers twitching against his stomach.

“Let it go.”

The way he said it—low, exhausted, final—made something uneasy settle in your chest.

“No.” Your voice was sharper now, pushing back against the indifference in his. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit there, bleeding all over yourself, and act like I’m the one being unreasonable for caring.”

He still didn’t look at you.

“...I wanted to.” The words were blunt, matter-of-fact.

“You wanted to?”

His eyes barely opened, just a sliver of blue catching the dim light.

“I wanted to hit something.” His voice was hoarse, but steady. “And someone gave me a reason.”

The way he said it—like it was just another night, like it didn’t even matter—made your hands curl into fists.

“God, Rafe,” you breathed, shaking your head. “You can’t keep doing this."

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile.

“I know.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

A heavy silence settled between you.

“I hate this,” you murmured.

Rafe shifted, just slightly. His fingers flexed against his stomach like he wanted to reach out to you.

You didn’t miss it. But he didn’t say anything.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a vice. Rafe just sat there, bruised and bloodied, looking like he had already accepted whatever this was—whatever he was—as something inevitable.

“You’re not even going to tell me the real reason why?” you pressed, voice quieter this time.

Rafe finally cracked an eye open fully, his gaze landing on you. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind his eyes—something too brief to catch.

“No."

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even know why you were expecting anything else.

Rafe had always been like this. Closed off, stubborn. You were used to the walls he put up, the sharp edges he refused to soften. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t just him being reckless or angry. This was him seeking it out.

And you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. “You wanted to hit something? That’s not normal, Rafe.”

He exhaled sharply, head tipping back against the couch again.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Your chest ached.

“You think that’s the problem?” you asked, incredulous. “That I don’t have to be here?”

Silence.

“I want to be here, Rafe,” you bit out. “I always want to be here. But you—” You broke off, shaking your head. “You don’t even let me help you.”

He let out a slow breath, like he was bracing himself.

“I can’t.”

The quiet admission made your chest ache.

You knew what he meant.

He couldn’t let you in. He couldn’t let himself need you the way you knew he did. It scared him more than anything else.

Your fingers twitched against his legs. Carefully, hesitantly, you reached out, pressing your palm over his bruised knuckles resting on his stomach.

Rafe didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

And you wondered if, just for tonight, that was enough.

[rafescherie]

SALT IN THE SUGAR BOWL — RAFE CAMERON

synopsisᝰ.ᐟ pogue!rafe decides to end things between the both of you, before either of you get too attached — but it's already passed that point, for the both of you.

warningᝰ.ᐟ angst really, sweetheart!kook!reader gets her heart smashed

cherie's note — heavily inspired by letthespiceflow on c.ai c: been using that bot a bit, and wanted to write a fic based off of the intro of the bot! they hv a lot of good bots on c.ai and spicychat as well, pls check them out if u like rafe cameron bots! part one of two!

rafe had never been one for the kook life — fancy boats, and stupid polo shirt outfits. more than one hundred spent on an outfit and it became one for 'special occasions', otherwise it would be covered in the filth of the garage floor, and deep obsidian motor oil. his hands were already stained, not something unusual for his line of work. despite his resentment for the kook life, and everyone on the other side of the island, they paid him a hell of a lot of money for the work he did — and he did it well. it had only been a few years since he had opened his own mechanic garage, months worth of projects to work on since the very first day. he was always kept busy — whether it was with upgrading a vehicle, or fixing somebody else's, he always had his hands full.

that's how he met you. so generously, he had offered to tow your vehicle back to the shop upon discovering it moiling the smoke from under it's hood — like your guardian angel sent from heaven, it was the least he could do for a pretty girl. his mother had taught him better, always trying to be a gentleman where he could be.

until today. this morning was different — the air hung thick with the aftermath of the hurricane in his brain from the night prior. he knew he needed to act on his thoughts, and do what was best. but he absolutely dreaded seeing the look on your face, and watching it completely shatter your heart.

"need the wrench, angel." he requested from beneath the heavy vehicle, grease smothered hand appearing from below to extend an open palm. bounding almost excitedly off of his leather-worn workbench, you placed the cold steel tool in his hand.

"so uh, listen," a grunt escaping his lips, absentmindedly going back to working on the vehicle. his muscles tensed with every torque of the wrench, biceps shining with a mixture of grease and sweat. the unmistakable sound of heavy bolts hitting the cold cement of the locally-owned garage rang through the bay, the hum of rock music playing throughout the shop.

his heart thundered against his chest — he felt like such a dickhead. it had only been a few months since the both of you had started seeing one another, and he was already planning on ending things. it wasn't something he wanted to do: it was something he needed to do. he hated knowing he was the reason you held yourself back from the possibility of college. no matter how much he had stressed to you that your schooling was important, especially given the opportunity of growing up on figure eight, it never seemed to stick with you. all you wanted was to be around him, and as much as he adored having you tag along every day, he didn't want to be the reason you would ruin your future.

"been thinking... maybe we should, cool things off, a bit."

the words stuck in your head for a minute, heart racing over the sentence. had you heard him right? there was certainly the possibility you had misunderstood. "what is that supposed to mean?"

rafe sighs, audible even from beneath the heavy vehicle he had been working on the last few months. the last thing he wanted to do was look at you, speak directly to you — the hurt in your eyes would eat him alive like no other, as if the guilt wasn't already working towards that alone.

"you know.." he starts, voice tame despite the race of his emotions, "you an' me."

you furrow your eyebrows, confused on the sudden shift. he had been so sweet just yesterday — peppering you with so much love you were sure you would have fainted on the spot. but maybe that was his attempt at sweethearting you — trying to help soothe the mental turmoil he was experiencing for ending things so suddenly with you. "what, why?"

he shakes his head, wishing you'd just drop it. but an explanation was what you deserved, after all. it was the least he could do. he drops the wrench onto the cement beneath the car, sliding out from underneath to kneel in front of you. he runs his tainted hand over his buzzed hair, another deep sigh falling from his nostrils.

"you're a smart girl, sweetheart. think about it — you're a kook, and i'm a pogue. you come from the rich side of the island, and i come from the cut. it wouldn't work," he starts, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around your fragile body, reassuring you it wasn't your fault, "besides, last thing you need in your life is someone who dropped out of high school, 'specially since you're headed to college in the fall."

ouch.

"rafe..." you trail on, biting the inside of your cheek in any sort of control against the tears that threatened to spill onto your flushed cheeks. "i- i thought you didn't care for all that?"

"i don't," he replies, ocean blue eyes looking around the shop in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact.

"so where is this coming from?" you ask, heart thundering against your ribcage. desperation was laced within your voice, soft and trembling at the realization of the news you were being hit with.

he let out a sigh, hesitating before he opened his mouth to speak. there was no easy way to say this, so he opted for brutal honesty. his eyes never left yours as he said the words he dreaded most.

“it’s dangerous,” he started, his voice low as he slowly stood up in front of you. “it’s just asking for trouble. people would have my head. not to mention what your parents would say. we just…we can’t do this anymore.”

none of this was fair — neither to you, or to him. but there was no turning back now, the words had already popped out of his mouth, and the inevitable damage was already done. the look on your face was like a gut punch to his stomach, making him feel dizzy and sick all at the same time. he hated himself — really, he did.

one thing you knew for sure about rafe — he either didn’t care at all, or he cared too much. he always told you it didn’t matter what your parents thought or how anyone else would react; he promised he’d always take care of you. but as reality crashed down on you like a ton of bricks, that promise felt like a slap in the face. you hadn’t even realized you were crying until the hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks, landing on the bare skin of your shoulders, exposed by your tank top.

"it's for the best, baby."

the oil on his hands smudges onto the denim fabric of his wrinkled, disheveled shirt before he lifts them to cup your face in his palms. his blue eyes search yours, the sting of salty tears making it harder to hold his gaze. but you don’t let him linger — you swat his hands away and turn for the exit, your footsteps heavy against the garage floor.

you stupidly wish to hear his footsteps trailing behind you as you walk back to your parked car — but they never come. how foolish, how naive, to think he would follow. even after he fell in love with you. even after he let you fall in love with him.

[dailylcy]

A DIFFERENT EQUATION - an anton lee oneshot

이찬영 “ ”the right side of my neck, still smells like you”

⊹₊⟡⋆ pairing. nerd!anton x popular girl!reader MINORS DNI

genre. smut 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀 word count. 1.4k — a/n. first post of best month of the year!! ( bini seokie n toni bday month ) :3 ( also this is my first time writing smut pls forgive if its not that good i tried my best ) playlist i listened to while writing. playlist

synopsis. Anton Lee is a quiet genius, he’s probably more comfortable with equations than people — until the popular girl from his math class asks him for tutoring. What starts as a study session quickly turns into something else, proving that even the shyest nerds know how to take control.

warnings. unprotected sex‎ ( dont!! ), anton got a size kink, fingering in semi public ? tell me if i missed anything

the library was quiet, all you could hear was the faint rustle of pages and the occasional cough echoing through the room. Anton Lee —also known as Lee Chanyoung to those who cared enough — sat next to a table at the back, his nose buried in a thick calculus textbook. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, the part you couldn’t see was beneath the hood of his oversized gray sweatshirt. glasses on his nose, slipping slightly as he scribbled equations in his notebook, his long, slender fingers moving with precision. He wore loose black jeans, the ends brushing against his sneakers, and a faint flush colored his cheeks from the hot air. At 6’2, he towered over most people when standing, but seated like this, he seemed almost normal — a nerd in his natural state .

The faint scent of old books and polished wood filled the space, the late afternoon sun streaming through tall windows and casting golden streaks across the floor. Anton barely even noticed the world around him, lost in numbers and formulas, until a shadow fell over his page. He glanced up, and nearly dropped his pencil. it was you, the popular girl everyone whispered about since you joined — confident, smiley, and completely out of his league. Your hair was styled in loose waves, framing your face, and you wore a fitted crop top that hugged your curves, paired with a short pleated skirt that moved a little everytime you shifted your weight. The faint shimmer of lipgloss caught the light, and your presence always carried a subtle floral scent that cut through the musty library air.

“Hey, Anton” you said, your voice smooth and casual, like you hadn’t just flipped his entire world upside down by knowing his name. You leaned against the table, your hip brushing the edge of it, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting to where your skirt rode up slightly, revealing some of your thigh. “I heard you’re like, a genius at math. and I’m totallyyyy failing calculus, so I thought I could use some help. You free?”

Anton’s mouth went dry. He pushed his glasses up, stuttering, he said “Uh, y-yeah, I mean, sure. I can help, I will help you.” His gaze lingered on you, your size difference even more apparent now that you were so close — he could see the way your body curved close up, how small you looked compared to him, and it sparked something deep in his chest. It was his kink that he’d never admit out loud, but it was there.

You slid into the chair beside him, scooting close enough that your knee brushed his under the table. “Great” you said, pulling out your textbook and flipping it open. “Let’s start with this chapter. I don’t get any of it!” Your tone was light, but there was something in your eyes that made his stomach twist.

He nodded, trying to focus as he Explained derivatives to you, his voice soft as always. But then your hand rested on his thigh — just a light touch at first, fingers brushing over the fabric of his jeans. He froze mid-sentence, his breath hitching. “Keep going” you whispered, your lips curving into a smirk as your hand slid higher, teasing him slowly. Anton’s heart pounding, his composure cracking as heat flooded his system. He glanced around — nobody was near you two, the stacks of books shielding you both from view — and then back at you, your gaze locked on his, daring him.

His hand trembled as it found your knee, sliding up your bare thigh until his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt. You didn’t flinch, not even once, instead, you parted your legs slightly, like an invitation he couldn’t ignore. “You’re gonna get us caught” he whispered, voice rougher than he intended, but he didn’t stop. His fingers slipped under your skirt, tracing the edge of your panties before pushing them aside. You were already wet, and he bit his lip hard to stifle a groan as he slid one finger inside you, then two, amazed at how tight you felt around him.

Your breath hitched, but you masked it with a cough, leaning forward as if studying the book. Anton’s free hand gripped the table’s edge, his knuckles white, while his other hand worked you slowly, his thumb circling around your clit with a precision that mirrored his math skills. The contrast drove him wild — your small frame squirming against his big one, the way you fit so perfectly around his fingers. “Anton” you whispered, voice shaky, “faster.” He listened immediately, his movements growing more intense, the slick sound barely audible over the library’s hum. Your hand clamped over your mouth as you came, thighs trembling, and he watched your face, mesmerized, as you unraveled for him.

“C’mon” he muttered, pulling his hand back and wiping it discreetly on his jeans. “My dorm. Now.” His tone left no room for argument, the shy nerd was now replaced by something hungrier. You nodded, grabbing your bag, and followed him out, panties full with your own release. the air between you filling with unspoken need.

Anton’s dorm was a small, cluttered space on the third floor of the campus residence hall. Posters of rock bands and a periodic table all over the walls, books stacked neatly on the desk. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled, and the faint scent of his cologne — something woody and clean — He locked the door behind you, turning to face you with a look that made your knees weak. That nerdy boy from your math class was long gone ; this Anton was all sharp with quiet intensity, where was he hiding all this?

He stepped closer, towering over you, and cupped your face with his hands -that you thought were bigger than your head- “You’re so fucking small” he muttered, almost to himself, his thumb brushing your lower lip. Then he kissed you — hard, messy, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for it. You stumbled back toward the bed, and he followed your steps, taking off his sweatshirt to reveal a broad frame, his t-shirt clinging to his biceps.

He pushed you onto the mattress, climbing over you, his weight pressing you down as he yanked your skirt up and panties off in one swift move. “Been thinking about this, for so damn long” he admitted, voice low, undoing his jeans buttons with shaky hands. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, and intimidatingly long — and you gasped softly, feeding that size kink he couldn’t hide. He didn’t bother with a condom, neither of you cared right then.

Anton lined himself up, the tip brushing your soaked entrance, and started thrusting into you, groaning loud as your pussy clenched around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight for me” he said, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. He set a brutal pace, fastening it each time he thrusted into you, the bed creaking under his force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, but he still loomed over you, his broad shoulders and height making you feel tiny, helpless beneath him.

Sweat showed on his forehead as he fucked you stupid — your moans turning into broken gasps, eyes rolling back as he hit every spot inside you. His glasses fogged up, slipping down his nose, and he took them off, tossing them aside without breaking sounds. “So good for me huh?” he panted, one hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your top, the other pinning your wrist above your head. The room filled with the sounds of his heavy breathing and your whimpers.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your tummy, and yanked you up before slamming back in. “Look at you” he growled, “taking me like this.” His hand fisted your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch, and the new angle had you seeing stars. Cum dripped down your thighs — his and yours mixing in a sticky mess as he chased his release, fucking you through the overstimulation until he came spilling inside you with a choked moan. Thick ropes of cum coated your walls, some leaking out as he slowed, his chest heaving.

Anton collapsed beside you, both of you breathless, the thick air filled with sweat and sex. He glanced over, a shy smile tugging at his lips despite everything, and he muttered a “Uh… you okay?” The nerd was back, but the glint in his eye said he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

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© dailylcy pls dont not repost on any other platform !

[mrsclrakey]

Big fan of your writing. Could you pls do one where reader is showing too much PDA with Clarkey and it becomes a bit angsty as he confronts you with it, but it all comes together in the end.

Tysm for the request I hope u like it I tryed my best because I have never wrote something like this before!!!!

STORY NAME-👐Too much👐

George had never been the best with public affection. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you—he did, more than anything—but he’d always preferred the little things. The quiet hand squeezes under the table, the lingering glances across a room, the way you always seemed to reach for him without thinking.

But lately, it felt… different.

Like now, at this party, with too many eyes watching as you pressed into his side, laughing a little too loudly at something he’d said. Your hand slid down his chest, lingering longer than usual. And when you reached up to kiss his cheek, George stiffened.

You felt it immediately.

Still, you pretended not to notice, curling your fingers around his wrist. “Come dance with me,” you grinned.

He hesitated, then carefully pulled his arm from your grasp. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

That should’ve been it. But the way his voice was clipped, the way his jaw tightened—it wasn’t just about not wanting to dance.

Something was wrong.

You tried to shake it off, but as the night dragged on, George grew quieter. And when you reached for his hand again, he gently—almost too gently—moved it away.

By the time you got home, the silence between you felt unbearable.

You barely stepped inside before turning to him. “Alright, what’s going on?”

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Do you even realize how much you’ve been all over me lately?”

The words stung.

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He sighed, leaning against the counter. “I just… It’s a lot, okay? The constant touching, the PDA—it’s not me.”

Your stomach twisted. “So what, I embarrass you?”

His head snapped up. “No, that’s not—”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Then what is it, George? Because all I’ve been doing is showing that I love you.”

He ran a hand over his face. “And I love you too. But I don’t need to prove it to everyone in a room.”

The words came out sharper than intended, and the second they left his mouth, regret flickered across his face. But it was too late.

Your shoulders dropped. “Right. Got it.”

You turned away, but he was already reaching for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not pulling, just holding.

“Wait,” he said, softer now. “That came out wrong.”

You didn’t turn, but you didn’t move away either.

He exhaled, stepping closer. “I love you, alright? More than I know what to do with sometimes. I just… I want us to be for us—not for everyone watching.”

Your chest ached. You weren’t even sure if it was from hurt or from how much you got it—how much you got him.

After a beat, you sighed, turning back to face him. “I just like showing you off, y’know?”

George huffed a small laugh, tugging you into his chest. “You can do that in ways that won’t make me feel like I’m suffocating.”

You nuzzled into his hoodie. “Like what?”

He smirked, tilting your chin up. “Like this.”

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you—slow, deep, just yours.

Not for anyone else.

Just for you.

[sillysealll]

Pls publish more hcs abour dickroy they drive me insane

Well if you insist anon…😊

Teen Titans days HCs :

- Dick became the first sidekick but Roy was pretty close behind and for some time, it was only the two of them and the JL. They barely interacted during that time so Dick always admired Roy from a distance because he thought Speedy was so cool with all his trick arrows (this one is directly taken from the Teen Titans 2003 TV show where Dick is a huge fan of Roy)

- Roy, on the other hand, wanted to get to know him but he was too scared of Batman to dare to approach Robin, who was always glued to the man

- Both of their perspectives changed when Robin, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl and Aqualad formed the Teen Titans and Speedy would drop by. Dick began to find Roy too arrogant and Roy found Dick insufferable

- But they eventually warmed up to each other when Roy officially joined. Though, they kept on bickering even after they started to actually appreciate the other, both too prideful to admit otherwise until wayyyy later

- Another thing that set a gap between them early on was their difference maturity level. Not to say that Roy was childish but he actually knew how to act his age when he could, while Dick was pretty psychorigid. He was acting so beyond his age all the time that it was uncanny for Roy (and most of the team)

- Roy took it upon himself to make Dick act his age and thanks to him and the team, Dick eventually loosen up a more and more around them

- I find the fact that Wally used to be a conservative hilarious (but also sad bc he got it from his parents) and in my mind Dickroy were his exposure therapy

- Even when Speedy was supposed to not like Robin, he couldn’t help but be amazed by Dick’s acrobatics

Outsiders time HCs :

- Roy and Dick shared a place for a little while after Donna’s death because Roy was scared Dick would let himself die while Dick was scared Roy would relapse

- Grace and Anissa used to gossip on Dickroy and at some point the whole team joined them (except for the two aformentioned)

- Unknowingly, Roy stopped Dick from ending his life more times than the latter cares to admit (When he would visit him as Dick was about to grab his gun or call when Dick was about to step off the highest building he could find) Dick never told anyone

- Roy and Dick coddled Lian for weeks after she was rescued from the human trafficking ring and Roy had a hard time bath her without feeling sick to his stomach because of the scar she had kept from that time

Civilians (teen) Dickroy HCs :

- As civilians, Roy and Dick were somehow always put against each other by the media’s and all the comparisons they were making made Roy despise Dick before he even properly met him

- Then they met as civilians in a Gala and they surprisingly clicked together immediately.

- Dick already knew who Speedy was behind the mask and he had to remind himself that Roy had no idea so he wouldn’t be surprise by how different he was treated by Roy whether he had the mask on or not

- On interviews they kept on shitting on each other just to make the media’s gossip about their non-existent rivalry because they thought the headlines were hilarious

- When Roy learned about Dick’s identity he felt so humiliated for not having figured it out that he didn’t speak to Dick for the next three galas they had together (the media’s loved it)

Random HCs :

- Roy and Starfire took Jason under his wing because he has the little brother privilege thanks to Dick (and the fact Roy and Starfire were/used to be helplessly in love with Dick has nothing to do with it, not at all)

- Roy genuinely grows fond of Jason (platonically) but he always has an after-thought about Dick whenever he looks at him

- While Roy is tolerated by most of the batfam, Dick is somehow an honorary member of the Arrow family (it’s because of Lian (and Roy))

(Dick is an honorary member of most families in the DC universe)

- Whenever Dick or Roy doesn’t finish his plate, he pushes it to the other who always finish it

- Roy likes most movies he watches and after coming out of a cinema he loves to talk about the movie to analyse it and compliment it. While Dick is a tad more difficult, he also just want to annoys Roy and every time they watch a movie together, Dick ends up saying he didn’t like it just to see Roy go on a rant for the next fifteen minutes

- Dick pretends he’s bad at cooking just to escape the choir and leave it to Roy, who falls for it every time

- Roy braids hair automatically when he’s doing nothing and has someone beside him. Dick is often seen with small braids in his hair

- Roy is never cold while Dick supports heat pretty well. In winter, Roy is Dick’s heater while Roy just hates Dick in summer because the guy always looks good (both figuratively and literally)

Mmmh okay I think I’m done ?

Hope you enjoyed those silly HCs as much as you enjoyed the previous ones 🤗

[gibberishfangirl]

JO TOGAME | but if you insist, then the next time she’s mine!

Synopsis ✰ guys don’t like jo togame cause their girlfriends do

Contains ✰ cheating, cocky!togame, reader has a boyfriend, oral (f!receiving), fingering, togame has long fingers, afab reader, doggy style, toga is huge sorry not sorry, recording, reader gets their picture taken, rough, no use of protection (wrap it before u tap irl pls), mix of praise and degradation, name calling, creampie, meanish-dom!togame, submissive!reader, 18+ / nsfw!

“ah-agh jo!” your voice cracked under pressure as togame’s lewd noises echoed across your room. your hips bucked into his face out of instinct as he harshly sucked on your sensitive clit. he’d been teasing you for what felt like forever. teasingly shoving his tongue in and out of you, loudly slurping up all your juices not letting a single drop go to waste. he thought the way you tried to fight back your moans and gasps was cute. he remembered the time when you would reject his offers despite becoming a blushing mess in his presence. now here you were, blushing and moaning as your hips twitched in response to his mouth on your cunt.

he placed a gentle kiss on your sweet pussy before replacing his tongue with his fingers. his giant body hid yours so perfectly as he rose up to meet your face. you felt embarrassed to meet his gaze as the loud wet sounds of your pussy being penetrated by his long fingers started to fill the room. “feel good princess?” he asked you, the gentle look in his eyes could’ve fooled you into believing that he loves you. Jo let out a small tsk sound after you responded with nothing. you couldn’t bring yourself to answer with the truth. if you weren’t going to answer on your own, he might just need to find a way to make you.

he leaned forward to trap your breasts into his mouth, roughly biting and sucking on your nipples. a gasp escaped your lips only to be turned into a yelp by his sudden pace shift. his fingers were pounding in and out of you in such a lewd way that made your pussy scream. a series of ‘squelch squelch’ escaped from your cunt at every motion of his fingers. “agh- yes! yes! feels so good. so good. i promise.” you felt your eyes water at the amount of pure bliss he was able to give you. “better than him?” he asked. him. a rush of heat hit your face. heat that stems from a series of emotions such as anger, frustration, embarrassment, and guilt. “don’t-“ “don’t what? let you finish?” his actions came to a halt.

“stop.” “stop what?” “being mean.” he couldn’t help the small scoff that came out of his mouth. him mean? when you have your legs spread out for the man your boyfriend hates the most. funny. nonetheless, he stopped for your sake. you still liked to think you were a good person and who was he to tell you otherwise. you hated the way a whine escaped your lips as his fingers left your hole. you clenched around nothing, forming a small pout on your face. “don’t be sad. i’ll give you what you want… like always.” Jo spoils you, that’s something you both were fully aware of. your boyfriend never satisfied you or cared much about your needs in the bedroom. being with someone who did made your heart race.

Jo placed a soft kiss on your lips. not too harshly, kissing you as if you were made out of glass. completely different from the way he usually rails you. his hands were so huge against your waist, almost covering up your torso as he turned you over on your hands and knees. “gimme your phone.” he kissed the back of your shoulder as his hand was reaching over to your phone. “hm? why?” you asked sweetly. your sweet eyes looking back at him without a single thought in them. how cute… you were already so lost before he even got the chance to fuck you the way he wants. “gotta record my pretty girl.” he didn’t miss the way your face turned red.

your stomach fluttered, you were unsure of why. if it was because of the way he called you his pretty girl, his, or because of you secretly loved the idea of being recorded. “kay.” you mumbled as you tried to hide your face from him to stop anymore visual shyness. Jo loved this part. he was so glad he finally got to capture his favorite moment. the way his thick cock stretched out your pretty tight pussy. the amount of whines and tears that escaped you as he did so. he loved to tease you by slowly inserting himself inch by inch… spreading you to his liking. pulling himself out as soon as he got half way in just to repeat the process of it all over again.

“jo! st-oh my-stop teasing me—“ you begged impatiently as you arched your back further against him. you looked so cute to him as you searched for more pleasure. after you turned your head to look at him with pleading eyes he couldn’t hold back anymore. he slammed his hips against yours at a harsh speed. your jaw dropped to let out a scream only to be cut off by a kiss. your teeth clashed against his as he hungrily kissed you. you couldn’t concentrate. the sound of skin slapping skin clouded your thoughts mixed with the pleasure and pain that was coming from him penetrating you roughly with no remorse. you had to tore yourself away from the rough kissing in effort to get yourself together. you couldn’t do anything besides moan and scream. not wanting this to ever end.

“this what you wanted? love to get fucked this way. such a sweet looking girl who loves to get fucked like a dirty slut hmm?” his voice mocking you “look at you moaning like a little slut. just for me right?” “yesyes just for you. promise.” you couldn’t stop yourself as you moaned as if you were some kind of animal in heat. Jo ended the recording tossing your phone to the side. wanting to soak in every moment he had with you. soak in every sound you made and the pleasure he received himself as he buried his dick so deeply into you.

your hand instinctively reached behind making contact with his abs. you weakly pushed him away as an effort to get him to calm down his pace. an effort that went to waste as he simply grabbed your hand and intertwined it with his. your strength didn’t even hold a candle to his. tears of pleasure threatened to leak out of your eyes as he shoved your head down. you felt him so deep inside of you, completely different than what you were used to. thank goodness he relaxed his pace but this new position had him hitting your sweet spot so well. his pace might’ve relaxed but his thrusts were as harsh as ever. your eyes rolled back as you felt your pussy gush around him, squeezing him so tightly as you released yourself on him. it happened so fast you couldn’t even realize that you were so close. your legs trembled almost losing all feeling in them. the only thing keeping you up was his strong grip on your waist.

“it’s okay. just relax pretty girl, i can do all the work.” he placed another kiss on your shoulder before working through his own orgasm. he let out a groan as he looked down and noticed the creamy white ring your pussy was leaving on his length. you were so sensitive you felt another orgasm of your own building right up. your tummy felt hot as you felt yourself clenching around him once more. it took one last hard thrust for both you finish at the same time, your whole body was shaking this time around as your toes curled. none of your orgasms ever felt this good… well, it wasn’t like your own boyfriend knew how to make you finish.

Jo let out a whine as he watched his seed spill out of your pussy. it was overflown by both of your juices mixed together. he grabbed a phone, his phone this time, to take a quick picture of the aftermath of your pussy being destroyed. a flushed red color with white creamy substance spilling out of it. you couldn’t even be bothered to scold him for taking a picture of your used pussy like you usually would. you were so worn out that all you could do was lay there and catch your breath. you let out a cry as you felt his long fingers catch the white sticky substance that leaked out of you and shoved it right back into you. his fingers slowly and gently fucking it all right back into your pussy. Jo was mesmerized by the view, somewhat imagining what it would be like to have this view every night. not just on a random occasion.

“sorry. forgot you get so sensitive.” he snapped out of his trance as he felt your hips tremble underneath his touch. he placed soft kisses down your back as he cleaned you up with some tissues from the first drawer of your nightstand. the way he knew your room layout said enough about the random relationship you two had. he fought back as a laugh as he realized he’s probably been in your room more times than your actual boyfriend has. your boyfriend. right, the guy who wasn’t him. he covered you with your blanket and he threw on his shirt getting ready to leave before you grabbed his arm. “where you going? stay.” you whined. you were clearly still tired and sleepy from sex. but you needing him made his heart melt a little. you had never asked him to stay before. did he really fuck you that good to the point where you became deluded? not that he minded.

“you want me to stay?” “duh.” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around his torso laying your head on his chest. before he could say anything else you were sound asleep. he knew this wouldn’t last long but he figured he should enjoy it while he still can. after all, he did have a crush on you for all these years. he hated seeing you at every party with your boyfriend. maybe if things continue to go well for you two you’ll finally leave him. a man can dream can’t he?

[elainsgirl]

"We're not harassing the author, we're pointing out what was wrong with the article!"

...

Ya'll remember just a mere week or so ago when THEY were accusing us of harassing the author who wrote that juniper books piece about how the next acotar book would come out this year with Elain and Azriel as the leads, but with no confimation from SJM or BB?? And they had no proof of it.

'Cause I know I do :)

Thats how insecure of your ships you lot are? That an article mentioning elriel being next - made you feel that threatened over you ships you felt the need to harass the magazine over

what was it? Them using “definite” language? Im sorry, unlike you lot - people are sure of who and what the next book is about. Their language was not an excuse to get the article taken down.

but here? People have respectfully, pointed out the harm in the article. I know most of you are not able to understand or comprehend much but pls note there is a difference between an article using “definite” langauge and when an article is pushing out a misogynistic, dumb rhetoric that couples should only get together if they’re able to have children, an argument that reflects reality.

This entire thing is making you guys look like fools. It’s pathetic that you’re using this as something against elriel or to justify your own behaviours instead of agreeing that this was a harmful take.

[greatbananaboat]

jayce vs. caitlyn: unpacking prejudice

i did a thing. disclaimer: i am not an anti. i like jayce. i like caitlyn. use my post for your anti bullshit and i will be very mad. >:( <- this will be me if you use this for anti character bullshit

um anyway it's kind of long you have been warned.

initial attitudes:

caitlyn: starts with fear and misunderstanding of zaun, but evolves to see the people there as victims of their circumstances and worthy of empathy.

jayce: begins with an elitist, dismissive view of zaunites, seeing them as dangerous, and even his intentions to help zaunites are primarily because he's focused on further progressing hextech.

actions towards zaunites (unfortunately, there's a large difference in the amount of times the two interact with zaunites in meaningful ways that teach us things about the way their deep-seated prejudices affect us, but i tried my best):

caitlyn: acts as an advocate for zaunites, trying to help vi and the people of zaun by using her position to get resources, often running into resistance from piltover's elite. she seems to genuinely care about zaunites as people and not simply another talking point.

jayce: focuses on advancing piltover's technological superiority. the majority of the positive things he says about zaun or wanting things to change for zaunites are tied to his dream for hextech. he focuses more on his accomplishments with hextech than he does about the actual zaunites.

growth and change:

caitlyn: shows significant character growth as she recognizes the struggles of zaun and begins to fight for a better future for both piltover and zaun.

jayce: struggles with his growing realization that his actions have harmed zaun, but remains largely entrenched in piltover's status quo, unsure of how to change it without jeopardizing his advancements with hextech.

caitlyn gradually shifts from viewing zaunites as criminals to understanding their suffering and seeking solutions, whereas jayce's perspective, though beginning with naivety and ignorance, starts to hint at moral doubt but remains heavily influenced by his position in piltover's power structures.

overall, their prejudice against zaunites manifests itself in ways that make complete sense when compared to who they are as characters.

caitlyn is a character who cares deeply about justice and helping people. it stands to reason that she would also care about bringing justice for zaun and not just piltover. she grows to care about the suffering zaunites face and advocates for them constantly. even after her attempts at peace are denied when it comes to jinx, she still cares for all of zaun as a whole. she slips into harmful rhetoric multiple times, but her ideals remain relatively steadfast.

jayce's story doesn't have as much connection to zaun and zaunites in general, which is why he has far less interaction with them. his interactions with zaun are centered around hextech, and because hextech is his primary focus, this means he often makes decisions that will harm zaunites. after his experience in the au, where he sees that hextech will destroy piltover if allowed to advance, he returns with the sole focus of destroying hextech. at this point, his prejudice takes a backseat along with most of his other traits from season 1.

and now the evidence, because i'm obsessive like that :) also pls pls interact i manually went through and timestamped all of these

caitlyn:

says that the undercity is dangerous and should be feared

S1E2 00:00:27 --> 00:00:31 You really went to the undercity to get these? Weren't you afraid?

believes that not everyone in the undercity is violent and that recent violence can be traced back to one errant person

S1E4 00:33:22 --> 00:33:28 Listen, you know how I've suspected there is a single mind behind the undercity's violence?

goes to stillwater to ask inmates questions

S1E4 00:35:38 --> 00:35:40 I need to speak with one of the inmates.

implies that she can't trust vi because she's a zaunite and a prisoner

S1E5 00:03:51 --> 00:03:54 In what mad world would I trust someone like you?

convinces jayce to approve of her releasing vi despite just having voiced her distrust

S1E5 00:04:26 --> 00:04:27 It's for her release.

is visibly upset about the idea of the warden hurting the prisoners

S1E5 00:04:37 --> 00:04:39 How many chats have you had with her?

follows vi to the lanes instead of making her take the bathysphere the way caitlyn originally suggests (also unrelated but it's funny as hell because while she is trying and failing to parkour, the old man is taking the bathysphere, and they get down to the lanes at the same time)

S1E5 00:11:41 --> 00:13:10

despite her protests, allows vi to lead her around and trusts her to do what's been asked of her

S1E5 00:14:50 --> 00:14:54 Unbelievable. I didn't break you out of jail to eat… slop.

again, despite her initial protests, when told to pretend to be a sex worker at the brothel, she does it (although this may just be bc she's whipped)

S1E5 00:22:52 --> 00:23:01 Ah, yes. Matilda. My parents named me Matilda. After my great-grandmother Matilda, the, uh…

saves vi from being killed by sevika (this is also to ensure her ongoing investigation won't be jeopardized, but it's clear she does care about protecting vi and again, the investigation in question is to prove that the violence that's been blamed on all of zaun is actually just one perpetrator. she is showing dedication to getting justice for both zaun and piltover.)

S1E5 00:35:07 --> 00:35:08 [gunshot]

(at this point i had to stop using very many interactions between vi and caitlyn because they are also affected by caitlyn's growing feelings for vi. that said, her interactions with vi are also very telling of her growth as a person and her examination of her prejudices.)

caitlyn acknowledges that zaunites are just as capable of goodness as piltovans. vi talks about how topsiders hurt and judge zaunites and caitlyn genuinely listens to her and actively unpacks her own prejudice

S1E6 00:17:58 --> 00:18:05 It's all right. Despite it all, I can tell… you have a good heart.

while looking for some way to help vi, caitlyn runs into huck. she trusts him to help her find something to heal vi. she gives up her gun to get a potion to help vi. this is significant because it shows that she was listening to what vi said earlier about zaunites not being monsters. she gives up her only weapon and the only thing she has to defend herself

S1E6 00:20:00 --> 00:22:23

after being used by vi (who never told caitlyn that the person she's been hunting is vi's sister), she still stays back and doesn't apprehend or attack jinx, speaking gently to her

S1E6 00:34:51 --> 00:34:53 Your sister is Jinx?

offers herself up to the firelights in place of vi, not knowing anything about the firelights except that they're zaunites and that they kidnapped her and vi (cares more about vi than her fear of what will happen to her if she gives herself up: the fear of zaunites she used to have is now disappearing because she's seen they aren't the monsters she expected)

S1E7 00:19:12 --> 00:19:16 Listen, let her go. I brought her here. It's me you want.

listens to ekko's complaints about piltover's oppression, and she clearly wants to fix things between zaun and piltover. she talks about wanting to end the cycle of violence and keeping zaunites from getting hurt by enforcers. unlike other characters, when she refers to "the city", she means piltover and zaun equally

S1E7 00:22:18 --> 00:22:39 Ekko, it's wrong what's been done to you. You'd be well within your rights to keep [the Hextech gemstone]. I couldn't blame you. But… if you do, this cycle of violence will never stop. This is our best shot at setting the record straight. This city needs healing.

vouches for the zaunites as a whole to marcus, not realizing he's in silco's pocket

S1E7 00:29:22 --> 00:29:26 Sir! I have proof. Silco's behind everything.

defends zaunites to her mother, acknowledges the harm caused by piltovans, and shows interest in changing things for zaun. also refers to zaunites as piltovan citizens and equals, not like a lesser community

S1E8 00:07:27 --> 00:07:38 You know what else reflects on the Council? Its citizens living on the streets. Being poisoned. Having to choose between a kingpin who wants to exploit them and a government that doesn't give a shit.

speaks to the council to defend the majority of zaunites to the piltovan elite, telling them they shouldn't blame all of zaun for the actions of the shimmer drug lords. she also tells them that piltover has failed zaunites

S1E8 00:21:31 --> 00:21:54

when jayce suggests going to the undercity and using force, possibly triggering war, caitlyn protests, saying that there are innocents and good people in zaun

S1E8 00:22:27 --> 00:22:30 There are good people down there.

caitlyn wants to come up with alternative ideas to take down silco and free the people of zaun after the councilors (minus jayce) suggest negotiating with silco

S1E8 00:23:49 --> 00:23:51 I can fix this.

is kidnapped by jinx in a vulnerable position and forced to dress at gunpoint (also likely tortured, as she flinches when jinx gets close to her during the tea party scene and somehow jinx knows that vi calls caitlyn cupcake despite never having heard it herself)

S1E8 00:34:59 --> 00:36:22

jinx gives vi an ultimatum: kill caitlyn or lose powder

S1E9 00:28:44 --> 00:28:49 Send her on her way and-- And you can have Powder back.

watches jinx fire the rocket that ends up killing her mother

S1E9 00:35:25 --> 00:37:06

(unfortunately, i couldn't find timestamped transcripts for season two of arcane, so following citations may be quotes without timestamps, if there are timestamps, it's because i went through the episodes myself to find them)

when salo orders a show of force, caitlyn protests

S2E1 00:06:56 --> 00:06:58 Innocents will be caught in the crossfire.

wants vi to join the enforcers as a symbol that not all zaunites support jinx, later regrets it and tells vi she doesn't have to accept

S2E1 00:12:11 --> 00:12:18 The Council won't stop them. You can show that not all of Zaun supports Jinx. We can show them. Together.

witnesses the attack on the memorial, and as far as she knows, the attack is organized by zaunites

S2E1 00:23:46 --> 00:31:24

calls renni & her goons animals for attacking the memorial

S2E1 00:32:16 --> 00:32:18 What kind of animals?

instead of entering zaun with the full force of enforcers, caitlyn suggests the alternative of taking a specialized strike team into zaun to minimize the harm done to innocents

S2E1 00:35:16 --> 00:35:28 I will lead a strike team into Zaun with three objectives: Locate Jinx, dismantle Shimmer, and neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco.

gasses the hideout jinx is in so they can apprehend her (however, there is nobody in the area except the enforcers, jinx, and later smeech, sevika, and isha)

S2E2 00:22:45 --> 00:26:36

uses the grey (similar to tear gas when exposure is not extended) in targeted locations to locate and take down the chem barons and gain information from zaunites on jinx's possible whereabouts

S2E3 00:00:52 --> 00:02:01

threatens to harm heenot despite him clearly not posing a threat to them (this can also be attributed to the fact that he used to work for smeech, a chem baron, but it can be assumed that because of the circumstances, caitlyn has her guard up against zaunites in general at this point)

S2E3 00:04:13 --> 00:04:15 Tell us how you wound up here.

this one is unrelated despite some people believing it is related to caitlyn's prejudice, so i'll share my interpretation of it. when caitlyn says this line, she isn't comparing vi to zaunites in general. she's saying she thought vi was different from before (before being season 1, when vi begged her to hold her shot when she was about to kill jinx and because she listened, jinx managed to fire the rocket that killed caitlyn's mother). in this moment, vi has just made her hold her shot again, and again this has led to jinx setting off an explosion which harmed innocents in piltover. she says the line about jinx's blood being in vi's veins because she is referring to the fact that because they're sisters, vi will always choose jinx over caitlyn. jinx and caitlyn are similar in that they constantly try to make vi choose between them, sometimes without even realizing. when vi responds by asking caitlyn why she's acting like jinx, it's a response to what caitlyn is saying, but not necessarily what caitlyn MEANS.

S2E3 00:29:19 --> 00:29:26 I keep telling myself that you're different. But you're not. It's her blood in your veins.

is clearly unhappy with the violence instigated by the noxians towards innocent zaunites

S2E4 00:12:21 --> 00:12:25 Was it for my encouragement that your man Rictus was instigating violence?

doesn't want to arrest innocents for no reason and doesn't want violence

S2E4 00:12:47 --> 00:12:49 Arrests require cause.

under her leadership, the noxians and enforcers are instigating needless violence against innocents and rioters alike

S2E4 00:20:05 --> 00:20:13 Enforcers raiding our homes. Noxians down our throats. Innocents getting carted off to Stillwater.

visibly upset about the deaths of zaunites and enforcers alike caused by warwick

S2E5 00:05:03 --> 00:05:54

comments on the experiments that have come out of zaun, referring to the shimmer-fueled monsters, chem tanks, and now warwick (also, the noticeable removal of the word "blood" in her statement leads me to believe that no zaunites had been killed by the enforcers and noxians during the occupation)

S2E5 00:05:54 --> 00:06:08 Months of peacekeeping occupation. Countless operations. Oceans of sweat and tears. I'd begun to think we might finally see an end to Zaun's perverse abominations.

we learn that she outlawed the use of certain cells in stillwater because of the horrible conditions faced by prisoners who were placed in them

S2E5 00:06:30 --> 00:06:40 There are cells buried deep within this prison so devoid of light and fresh air and all basic human considerations that up till now, I have forbidden their use.

expresses regret for allowing ambessa to manipulate her

S2E8 00:11:20 --> 00:11:21 I know!

shows remorse for her actions against the zaunites

S2E8 00:13:05 --> 00:13:07 No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes.

acknowledges that in her pursuit for jinx, she's allowed the harm of innocents, and resents herself for it

S2E8 00:13:18 --> 00:13:22 Hating you, I've hated myself.

by the end, she's still dedicated to changing things for zaun and piltover

S2E9 00:44:37 --> 00:45:12 And though we are doomed to revisit the error of our ways, spark ever more conflicts, our story isn't over.

jayce:

says zaun is dangerous

S1E2 00:00:31 --> 00:00:33 A little danger is worth the risk, don't you think? (referring to going to zaun to collect tools)

shares the credit for hextech with viktor, a zaunite

S1E3 00:08:32 --> 00:08:33 Our Hextech dream.

cares about making everyone's lives easier, including zaunites

S1E4 00:26:05 --> 00:26:12 Things that will bring an end to your hardships. Whether you're the scion of our high houses or an honest laborer from the underground. (referring to new, portable hextech)

S1E5 00:08:55 --> 00:09:00 What about our pledge to improve lives, for those in need? For the undercity?

shows concern for viktor and mentions that the cause of viktor's sickness is one of the things he wants to change with hextech

S1E6 00:06:36 --> 00:06:48 I think it has something to do with gasses in the fissures where he grew up. Exactly the sort of thing we wanted to fix with Hextech. Improving lives. Solving real issues, not just trade disputes.

when viktor suggests that the hextech could be used to extend life and augment physiology, jayce cares only about the effects it will have on viktor (this one's unrelated really but look at their brotherly love /silly)

S1E6 00:15:33 --> 00:15:36 Curing you.

in order to protect hextech, he advocates for policies that will hurt zaunites

S1E6 00:23:03 --> 00:23:04 Then, that's what we'll do. (referring to searching everyone who crosses the bridges, which marcus brings up as an impossible idea)

again, in order to protect hextech, he makes fearmongering comments about zaun so he can get heimerdinger kicked off the council

S1E6 00:24:12 --> 00:24:22 Shimmer is rampant in the undercity. Attacks at the Hexgates and in the Academy Square. Enforcers fear to set foot in the Lanes. All under your watch.

continues to act like zaunites are monsters

S1E7 00:13:37 --> 00:13:40 There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us.

tells viktor that zaunites are dangerous (although he apologizes when he's reminded that viktor is also a zaunite)

S1E7 00:13:51 --> 00:13:53 What diff… They're dangerous.

begins considering the creation of hextech weapons to defend piltover against zaun

S1E8 00:12:31 --> 00:12:34 Your Jayce Talis has turned his eye to Hextech weaponry.

is willing to go into the undercity with force, possibly starting a war, so he can recover the hextech gemstone. ignores protests from caitlyn and other councilors

S1E8 00:22:21 --> 00:22:27 This Jinx has the Gemstone? Then we have to go in by force.

jayce is the only councilor frustrated at the prospect of negotiating with silco instead of using force to recover the gemstone

S1E8 00:22:52 --> 00:22:54

threatens to have vi arrested for approaching him in his forge

S1E8 00:28:20 --> 00:28:22 I could have you arrested.

brings enforcers with him and vi on their mission to the undercity to take down one of silco's drug facilities, which ends up getting a child killed and dozens of child laborers arrested

S1E8 00:30:19 --> 00:38:24

after killing a child, refuses to continue with force, seems to regret harming a relatively innocent person

S1E9 00:00:47 --> 00:00:48 We're done here.

regretting his use of force but needing something to show for his time in the undercity, he negotiates with silco to get jinx and the hextech gemstone

S1E9 00:15:56 --> 00:15:59 Get me Jinx. And I'll give you your nation of Zaun.

he advocates for giving zaun sovereignty (although, in the process, he uses viktor's zaunite heritage as a talking point)

S1E9 00:23:45 --> 00:23:52 My days here are numbered, but I've come with Viktor, my partner and a Zaunite, with one final proposal.

is on the receiving end of jinx's bomb, as well as the other councilors

S1E9 00:36:58 --> 00:37:06

(unfortunately, i couldn't find timestamped transcripts for season two of arcane, so following citations may be quotes without timestamps, if there are timestamps, it's because i went through the episodes myself to find them)

is attacked by renni (the mother of the boy he killed) at the memorial for the deceased councilors, and is nearly killed

S2E1 00:23:46 --> 00:31:24

goes back on his word to viktor and creates hextech weapons for the strike team

S2E1 00:35:20 --> 00:36:15

he and ekko show clear distaste of one another

S2E2 00:20:00 --> 00:20:03

it's discovered that the firelight tree is becoming corrupted because of the overuse of hextech

S2E3 00:14:38 --> 00:14:41 Do you think this could actually be a result of overuse of Hextech?

the failsafe for the hexgates was built in the underground, such that if it were ever to explode, it would destroy the lanes due to its proximity to zaun's utility ducts. without realizing, jayce had designed it so that it would take out the water supply and ventilation systems of zaun, with no negative effects to piltover. despite his claims that hextech could improve the lives of zaunites, it seems he didn't consider them while designing the hexgates

S2E3 00:18:34 --> 00:18:38 So instead of it exploding in your neighborhood, it would blow up in ours.

S2E3 00:18:49 --> 00:18:57 You know, you say we should feel like we're all one people. But whenever it rains, we're the ones that get wet.

(after jayce goes into the au, his outlook on hextech completely changes, so his prejudice against zaunites doesn't come up further. however, it's worth mentioning that he doesn't truly understand the harm hextech can cause until he sees a destroyed piltover, despite having seen and heard of its negative effects on zaun.)

admits that it's unfair to ask the zaunites to fight with piltover after lifetimes of oppression, but still requests their aid

S2E8 00:25:35 --> 00:25:38 Now, this isn't a fair request, but it is our only hope.

[eternallyordinary]

“He Belongs to You” - Part 4

Part 1<3

Part 2<3

Part 3<3

Part 5<3

Summary: A tense night takes an unexpected turn, blurring the lines between control, desire, and something far more dangerous.

Warnings: Possessiveness, power dynamics, strong language, mature content, smut, violence, sexual content, mentions of sexual assault/rape, foul language, yandere (if i forgot any pls let me know <3)

Homelander stands in the lobby, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. He looks every bit the Hollywood superstar, dressed in an impeccably tailored Armani suit. The staff and even Ashley stare at him, wide-eyed, surprised to see him actually dressed up.

“Quit staring,” he snaps, voice sharp. “I’m capable of looking presentable.”

Despite the irritation in his tone, he keeps glancing at his watch, his gaze flicking toward the elevator doors, anticipating your arrival. Ashley studies him carefully, her brows furrowing. Something is different. She can see it in the way he holds himself, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the rare sign of nervousness in the way he shifts his weight. She knows Homelander is possessive, but this? This is something else.

Then, the elevator doors slide open. The entire lobby stills.

Homelander’s breath catches in his throat, his gaze locked onto you as you step out. Even Ashley—who rarely reacts to anything—is stunned into silence, her mouth parting slightly as she takes in your appearance.

Every muscle in his body tenses, his instincts flaring to life. He sees the way people turn to look at you, the murmurs passing through the room. He doesn’t like it. He steps forward, jaw tight, fighting the urge to fly you the fuck out of here.

“Okay, so, your first interview on the carpet is fifteen minutes after arrival,” your publicist reminds you, flipping through a clipboard. “MTV is first—you’re really winning them over. Let’s keep it that way.”

You nod absentmindedly, but your focus is on him. He stands nearby, watching you intently, smug and satisfied that you’re so distracted by him. He can’t help but smirk. Your publicist keeps rattling off information, but you barely process it. Instead, you catch Homelander’s gaze and, subtly, mimic a blowjob gesture—fist pumping at your mouth as a way to say “I’m so fucking bored”.

He actually laughs. A real, genuine laugh. It’s low, rumbling, the kind of sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He shakes his head, amused.

He approaches with a smile. “You really have a way with words, sweetheart.”

The publicist pauses, eyes flicking between you and him. She clearly wasn’t expecting this.

“Homelander, can we chat?” Lindsay, your publicist, cuts in.

His expression immediately shifts, guarded.

“What is it?” His voice is gruff, irritated that she’s interrupting.

“Alone.”

Homelander’s eyes flick to you. He doesn’t want to leave your side. Not now. But he knows Lindsay won’t let this go.

“Fine.” He grits his teeth. “Make it quick.”

Lindsay folds her arms, walking a few steps away from you. Your expression remains firm.

“Word travels fast. It’s her first day in the Tower and she’s glued to your side. What’s your endgame?”

Homelander’s brow twitches.

“She was brought onto The Seven for Gen Z appeal,” Lindsay continues, unfazed by his glare. “And I mean this with respect—because I know you could laser my fucking head off—but you two have totally different audiences. So tell me… what’s your goal with her? If it’s something unkind—if you’re just using her—I need to know. Not because I’m her publicist. Because I’m a mother. And she—”

She gestures toward you from across the room, her expression softening. “She doesn’t have one. She has no one looking out for her. So, I figure I should. Does that make sense?”

Homelander stares. For a moment, he doesn’t say a word.

He wants to be pissed that she’s questioning him. Who the fuck does she think she is? But instead, something in him pauses. Because he gets it. He knows what it’s like to have no one looking out for you.

His jaw clenches. “You think I’m going to hurt her?”

Lindsay exhales. “I’m saying this because I care. And I know damn well you could kill me right now, so bear with me and just be a fucking human for a moment.”

Her voice lowers. “Your track record isn’t great, Homelander. She’s young. She’s vulnerable. Remember when you were that age? Fresh on The Seven? Of course, you were always the most powerful. But do you remember when you were trusting? Timid? Do you really think you have her best interest at heart?”

His nostrils flare.

He doesn’t like this.

He doesn’t like being confronted with memories he’s buried.

He doesn’t like the implication that he isn’t good for you.

“I…” He swallows hard. He doesn’t do vulnerability. But the words slip out before he can stop them.

“I do care about her.”

Lindsay holds his gaze.

Then, she nods. “Just don’t prove otherwise.”

She pivots on her heel and walks away, offering you a bright, easy smile like she didn’t just challenge the most dangerous man on the planet.

Homelander watches her leave, his mind racing.

He hates that she got under his skin. He hates that she forced him to admit something even to himself. But most of all—

He hates that she’s right.

You approach him, sensing the tension. “Do I look like a total poser in this?” You smooth your hands down the sleek fabric, feeling slightly out of place in something so fancy.

Homelander’s expression softens instantly.

His lingering frustration vanishes.

His gaze roams over you—slowly, deliberately. His breath hitches slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself from touching you.

“You look…” His voice is low, rough. “Absolutely goddamn perfect.”

You look down, smiling shyly. “Don’t leave me tonight,” you say, voice soft. “I feel awkward as fuck.”

Homelander steps closer, towering over you, crowding your space. He lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he says it—so final, so sure—sends warmth through you.

You hesitate for a moment, then reach for his hand.

His entire body stills.

The weight of your fingers in his hits him like a punch to the chest.

You know what this means. The media will talk. Vought will talk. But you don’t care.

You feel safe with him. And for some reason—Homelander feels safe with you, too. His grip tightens—possessive, unchallenged.

The weight of a thousand stares settles on him, the murmur of whispers creeping around them like static. The media. The Vought execs. The cameras. He doesn’t give a single fuck.

All that matters is your hand in his.The warmth of it. The trust it implies. It feels right. Like this is exactly where he was always meant to be.

As you step onto the red carpet, the energy in the air shifts. All eyes are on you.

The Vought execs? Pissed.

This wasn’t a part of the branding. This wasn’t a part of the plan.

Too bad.

A reporter wastes no time pushing forward, mic in hand, eyes wide with interest.

“Well—this is unexpected,” she says, forcing a polite smile. “Can we get a comment on this sudden… pairing?”

Homelander parts his lips to respond— but you cut him off.

“Yes, thank you so much!” you say smoothly, smiling for the cameras. “I’m so happy to be here and to be a part of The Seven. I’m honored Homelander put his trust in me!”

You don’t answer the question.

His jaw tightens.

You deflected. Smart. But that’s not what he wanted.

He grits his teeth, fingers flexing against yours, gripping just a little tighter. The reporters eat it up, the execs continue seething, and Homelander?

He just stands there, holding back the urge to grab your face and make things very, very clear.

The reporter hesitates, waiting for more. But you don’t give her more.

Instead, you smile, a polite, closed-lip expression, and turn away. “Thank you.”

“Alright, you need to take some solo shots in front of this,” your publicist cuts in. “Excuse us, Homelander.”

Homelander follows anyway.

Like a shadow. Like a protector. Like someone who isn’t ready to let you go.

You’d think he was the rookie, following your lead.

You step in front of the cameras, striking pose after pose, effortlessly stunning. He watches, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but inside?

He’s fucking losing it.

Pride. Jealousy. Desire. It all collides at once.

The flashes go off like fireworks, illuminating every inch of you, and he hates it.

Hates how much he wants to rip the photographers apart. Hates that the world gets to see you like this.

Hates that you aren’t his.

“Take a photo with Homelander! Take one with Homelander!”

The reporter’s voice snaps him out of it.

His gaze sharpens.

“Take a photo with Homelander!” she repeats.

Fine.

He steps forward, his arm immediately finding your waist.

His grip is firm. Possessive. Not aggressive, but unmistakably territorial.

You barely react, maintaining your poised expression for the cameras.

But he feels it.

The tension. The silent awareness between you.

The cameras go off. Click. Click. Click.

“Do you ever get used to this?” you ask, smiling for the cameras.

Homelander glances down at you, the hint of a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. Honest. “You never fully get used to it.”

His grip tightens around your waist as he pulls you just a little closer, like he’s daring someone to try and pry you away.

He can already hear the whispers. The hushed murmurs, the scandalized gasps from the Vought execs. Good. Let them talk.

Inside the theater, the seat assignments are already set. Your name is next to The Deep’s. Homelander takes one look at the card, then at Ashley.

“Oh, fuck no. Switch it.” His voice is quiet, controlled. That’s how she knows he’s not asking.

Ashley barely swallows down her exasperation, quickly adjusting the seating chart before she can even process why he’s acting like this.

“Of course, Homelander.”

The Deep sighs, slumping back into his chair. “Didn’t wanna sit next to you anyway, psycho bitch.” He mutters under his breath.

Before he can blink, your knee slams into his crotch.

His entire body seizes up as he wheezes like a deflated balloon.

Homelander? He just smirks. Watches with amusement as The Deep folds in on himself like a house of cards. Normally, he’d step in—but you? You handled it yourself.

“You’re making quite an impression,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with something almost affectionate. Pride, even.

But that pride shifts quickly to something else entirely.

The lights dim. The director makes his introductions, saying all the same predictable garbage.

Then—the real mistake.

“Homelander, would you like to say a few words?”

Homelander rises.

Slowly. Powerfully.

The room falls silent before he even reaches the podium. The weight of his presence alone is enough to demand the world’s attention.

“Thank you, thank you.” His voice carries effortlessly through the theater, low and controlled—calculated. “Tonight, we celebrate something much bigger than a movie. Bigger than entertainment. Bigger than Vought.”

The audience leans in.

Here it comes.

His eyes scan the room—but they keep landing on you.

“You see, real power isn’t just about strength.” He tilts his head, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “It’s about legacy. It’s about stepping forward and shaping the world into something better, something stronger.”

The cameras pan to you.

You sit rigidly still, your smile frozen in place as you begin to understand exactly where this is going.

“We all remember what happened last year.” His tone darkens, the weight of his past lingering in the air. “We all saw the cracks, the division, the betrayal.”

A flicker of unease passes through the crowd. The execs shift in their seats. No one dares to interrupt.

“But Vought was built on something greater, wasn’t it? Hope. Leadership. The right people for the job.”

And then, his gaze locks onto you.

Unwavering. Unrelenting.

“And that’s why we’re here tonight.”

Your stomach twists.

“This woman right here,” he steps down from the podium, each step slow, deliberate. “Is the future.”

“She’s what we need.” His voice grows stronger, more emphatic. “A fighter. A leader. Someone who will take us into the next era. And I, for one—” his hand extends toward you, palm up, demanding you take it— “will be standing right beside her.”

You have two choices.

Leave him hanging in front of the cameras.

Or take his hand.

The air thickens.

And before you can even think—your fingers are already lacing into his.

His grip tightens instantly.

Possessive. Unyielding.

“This woman—” he lowers his voice, slow, intentional, drawing out every syllable, ”—is mine.”

The weight of the words crushes the air from your lungs.

The whispers start immediately.

The Vought execs? Livid.

The team? Livid.

A-Train leans over to Black Noir, whispering, “What the fuck is he doing?”

Black Noir shrugs. “Bro, I don’t know. I can’t even see in this mask.”

“Stop talking,” A-Train hisses. “You don’t talk. Remember?”

Homelander ignores them all.

All he cares about is your face.

And your expression? Not what he was expecting.

He expected flushed cheeks. Excitement. Something akin to gratitude.

Instead—he sees the tears picking up in your eyes.

Something in his chest pulls.

He hesitates, his grip loosening just slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice quiet, just for you.

You keep smiling, because of course you do. Because everyone is watching.

“Everyone is watching,” you murmur through clenched teeth. “Can you just—finish whatever the fuck this is?”

Homelander’s smile drops.

Annoyance flickers across his face, but beneath it? Something else. Something closer to uncertainty.

This was supposed to be a moment. A declaration. But instead…

You look trapped.

He forces out a tight-lipped smile, stepping back toward the microphone.

“Right.” His tone is less certain now, like he’s recalibrating.

He speeds through the rest of his speech, still booming with confidence, still commanding the room, but there’s a sharp edge now.

Like he’s pissed off.

Like he expected more from you.

The second the movie ends, you stand up and walk. Not looking at him. Not hesitating. You’re not going to the after-party. You need to breathe.

Homelander watches you go. For a split second, he almost follows. But then, something inside him shifts.

He stands near the exit, his jaw clenched, hands buried in his pockets as he watches you disappear.

He lets you go—for now. But that doesn’t mean he likes it.

The rest of the night is nothing but fake people and fake bullshit. Forced smiles. Pointless conversations. Vultures.

“Where’s your little protégé, Homelander?”

“Did she run off already?”

“Should we expect a big announcement soon? She’s quite the media moment for you.”

He forces a laugh, the perfect picture of charm and amusement. But beneath the surface?

He’s imagining peeling their fucking skin off.

The way their voices would break in terror. The way their bodies would snap like twigs in his hands. The way their smug, condescending grins would disappear in a spray of red.

“Oh, you know how it is,” he chuckles smoothly, his eyes dark. “Young girls. So emotional. So fragile.”

They laugh along with him, oblivious to how close they are to death.

He hates them.

But mostly? He hates that you’re not here.

You sit on your couch, curled up in your pajamas, flipping through channels without actually watching anything. You should feel relieved that he didn’t chase after you. That he respected your space. But you don’t. You feel unsettled. Like something is missing.

And as soon as you have that thought—

Tap.

Your breath catches.

Another tap, tap, tap against the glass door of your balcony.

You turn your head slowly, and there he is.

Standing outside your window.

Homelander, with his arms folded behind his back, staring right at you.

Your stomach tightens. He’s so still. Not knocking. Not speaking. Just watching you.

The moment stretches until, finally, you push yourself up and slide the door open.

“Did you really have to fly up here?” you mutter, turning on your heel. “We live in the same building.”

Homelander steps inside. His boots land heavily against the floor, his presence instantly filling the room.

“Would you have let me in if I knocked?” he counters, voice tinged with something unreadable.

You roll your eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t just force your way in. You have no problem not asking permission.”

Homelander tilts his head. Just slightly. The shift in his expression is immediate.

Something flickers in his eyes.

He takes a step forward.

And then another.

He closes in, until he’s standing right in front of you.

Any other person would be terrified. But you? You just cross your arms and stare up at him.

“What was today?” you demand, your voice sharp. “Did you treat me like you were interested just to give that speech and rack up points for your ratings? What a fucking coincidence—Homelander claims the young new member of The Seven. That’ll look great for the shareholders, huh?”

Homelander’s nostrils flare. “Is that what you think?” he scoffs, stepping even closer. “That this is all for ratings?”

His voice is cool, but you can feel the frustration coiling beneath it. “You think I’m just using you like some PR stunt?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Homelander’s jaw tightens. His muscles coil like he’s ready to snap. But then—he exhales sharply, shaking his head.

“You wanted to prove yourself, huh?” His voice is lower now, rougher. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

He moves even closer, towering over you.

“I’m the reason you’re here.” His voice is like a growl, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I chose you because I know how serious you are.”

You laugh. But it’s not a nice laugh.

It’s sharp. Cold. Mean.

“Yeah. A serious fuck is what you thought.”

And then—

You push him.

It’s not hard. It’s not violent.

But it’s deliberate.

And for a moment?

Homelander looks genuinely stunned.

Because no one does that.

No one dares.

You see the flicker of something dangerous in his face. Something unhinged.

But just as quickly—

His expression changes.

Dark amusement replaces his shock.

His eyes flash. He leans down, voice dropping to a low murmur.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart. You push me? You’ll regret it.”

You roll your eyes.

“That’s it?”

You turn your back to him, walking over to the couch, completely unfazed.

Homelander watches you go.

And he’s never been more sure that you were made for him. You’re just like him, and you don’t even realize it.

He sits beside you, his posture still coiled, tense.

“You have a lot of nerve,” he mutters, voice tinged with irritation. “No one lays a hand on me.”

You don’t even look at him.

“And yet, you’re still here.” Your voice is calm. “And you haven’t killed me yet.”

Homelander stares. Something in his expression shifts.

“You really think I’d kill you?” His voice is softer now. “That I’d ever hurt you?”

And that?

That throws you off.

Because he actually sounds—offended.

Like the very idea of hurting you is something that he’s never even considered.

You sigh. Exasperated. “You don’t even see what you did wrong, do you?”

His patience snaps. “Wrong?” He scoffs. “What did I do wrong?”

You lift your head, eyes locking onto his. “You took away my choice.”

Homelander stiffens.

You shake your head, a bitter smile on your lips.

“I like you, Homelander. I do.” Your voice is quieter now. “I had fun with you today.”

For a second—just a second—he softens.

But then—

“But why couldn’t you have given me some time?” You shake your head. “Now I’ll never be taken seriously. I’ll always just be your arm candy. A mindless woman. Isn’t that what you called them?”

Homelander’s lips press into a thin line.

He doesn’t answer.

Because for once, he doesn’t know what to say.

You see it in his face—the conflict, the moment of hesitation. He doesn’t regret claiming you. But for the first time, he wonders if he should have waited. If it would have been different.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now. “Now they might never see that.”

Your eyes glisten. Homelander notices immediately. And for the first time in a long, long time—he feels something strange.

Guilt.

He reaches for you—but you’re already moving, slipping away before he can touch you.

Heading for the kitchen. Putting space between you.

Homelander watches you go, jaw tightening. The way you dismiss him so easily—it grates on him. You won’t even give him the satisfaction of an argument, of a reaction. But he’s not letting you walk away from this.

He rises to his feet, his movements eerily smooth, controlled. He follows you, where you pause, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

He steps in behind you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His presence is suffocating, a force pressing down on you.

“You think you can just ignore this?” His voice is low, edged with tension. “That I’ll let it go?”

You turn, lifting yourself onto the counter so you can meet his gaze. A challenge. A question.

“I don’t even know what you want from me,” you say, exhaling sharply.

Homelander’s eyes darken, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He leans in, placing his hands on the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you in. His breath brushes against your skin, his lips hovering just above your jaw.

“What I want is one thing,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. His nose grazes your neck, his fingers tightening against the counter. “What I need? That’s you.”

Your breath hitches.

He presses closer, his body heat consuming you, his control fraying at the edges. You let out a soft, involuntary sound, and the shift in his demeanor is immediate—his grip tightens, his muscles flex, his breath stutters for just a moment. Then, he loses the last thread of restraint.

Homelander buries his face in your neck, dragging his lips over your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive curve. His hand snaps forward without thinking, gripping the countertops quartz edge—too hard. The stone cracks under his fingers, breaking apart like it was never meant to hold his strength.

His lips move against your ear, voice thick, raw. “There she is,” he murmurs. “Letting go.”

His mouth trails along your jaw, reverent and possessive all at once. “You knew the second you walked into that tower,” he whispers, his grip tightening. “You knew you were mine.” 

“I’m… I’m nervous…” you whisper, barely audible.

Homelander hears it anyway. Of course, he does. His eyes flicker, scanning your face, reading every microexpression, every unspoken thought. He can feel the way your breath hitches, how your pulse flutters beneath your skin.

But he’s not deterred. If anything, it only feeds something deeper inside him. You’re hesitant. Cautious. Not like the others—never like the others. And that’s what makes this different. What makes you different.

For once, he doesn’t mind restraint. Doesn’t mind the slow burn of patience, the thrill of coaxing you forward instead of taking what he wants. He’s always been good at everything—faster, stronger, unstoppable. Maybe that’s why nothing has ever truly satisfied him. But this? You? You make him want to work for it.

He presses closer, his body firm against yours, the cool countertop at your back, the heat of him in front of you. His hands skim the edge of the counter, caging you in without force.

“There’s no need to be nervous, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a mixture of control and indulgence. The promise of patience, but only for you. “I’ve got you.”

He places a hand on your inner thigh, inching closer to the outside of your panties. Rubbing slow circles, he teases your pussy. “Already wet for me,” he says with pride. You moan, arching your back as you grab onto his strong shoulders.

“You like that baby?” You nod your head and grab onto his neck, maintaining eye contact. He knows you don’t like it. You love it. You tried to avoid his advances all day, tried to pretend you weren’t interested. Tried to pretend you didn’t care. But here you are, melting into him. Giving him all of the power. Just like he knew you would.

Without saying a word, your body language gives him permission to pull your panties to the side. “Is this okay?” he finds himself asking. You nod, running your fingers through his blonde hair. He begins to rub your clit with his thumb, placing his mouth over yours just to taste the air you breathe out.

“Fu-fuck Homelander-I-I-”

“Yes baby? Say it.” 

“I love the way you-“ 

“You love the way I what, baby?” 

“The way you tou-touch me,” you moan. 

“Only I can touch you,” Homelander whispers, “If I find out anyone else has touched you, I’ll fucking kill them. You understand, right?”

“Ye-yes sir,” you answer with bated breath.

“Do you want daddy to put his fingers inside you?” Homelander asks.

“Yes-but-pl-please be gentle,” I say as my eyes roll back in my head.

This is heaven for him. Ecstasy. Watching you let go. Watching you let him take control of your body. He moves his fingers to your mouth, gently placing two inside. This takes you by surprise. You begin to suck on them, maintaining eye contact with him. You can tell he likes when you look at him. He begins to explore your mouth, sliding his fingers around your cheeks. It takes all of his strength to not slide his fingers down your throat and watch you gag and choke on your own juices. He removes his fingers before he has that thought again.

“He places his hand back on your pussy, rubbing your clit with his thumb again. “Now, what does my good girl need to say to daddy before he finger fucks her?” Homelander asks.

“Pl-please?” I whimper.

“Good girl,” he says with praise, slowly putting one finger inside your tight hole. You let out a moan. Or was it a cry? He isn’t sure, but the thought of you crying for him makes his cock throb with delight. His finger pumps in and out of your pussy. He makes sure to start slow, feeling your walls clench around him. 

“Baby, you are so tight. Is this hurting you?” He asks, with genuine concern.

“N-no,” you whisper, “you feel so good.”

He loves seeing you like this—completely unguarded, free. No tension, no hesitation, just you, surrendering to the moment. This is how he wants you always—at ease, trusting, his.

You begin to pick up the pace. Grinding harder against his hand, fucking yourself against his fingers. Your head knocks against the cabinet, splitting it clean in half from the sheer force—but neither of you react. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you, and the way he’s intent on giving, not taking. On worshiping every inch of you like you deserve.

“You can put in another finger,” you say, almost pleading.

He lets out a low laugh. “Baby,” he says, “one finger will barely fit. Let’s take it one step at a time,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

He begins to curl his finger inside of you, pumping it harder against your walls. He rubs your clit as he finger fucks you, never breaking eye contact. You start to close your eyes - he knows your close.

“No, don’t close your eyes. Look at me,” he demands.

You open your eyes. The feeling is overwhelming - you feel like you’re about to explode.

“That’s it, good girl. You’re such a good girl for daddy.”

“Daddy?” you whimper.

“Yes, baby?”

“I think I’m going to cu-“

“You’re going to what?”

“I-I-I-“

“Say it now, or else I stop,” he demands, placing his freehand over your throat.

“I’m going to cum!”

“There you go. Cum for me sweetheart. You earned it. You’re so good for daddy, letting him stretch you out like this. Come on baby, let go,” he encourages.

You release, moaning and screaming his name. The whole tower can surely hear this. Homelander doesn’t give a fuck. Actually, he welcomes it. Let them hear the noises you make for him and only him. If they weren’t aware you were his, now they fucking know.

The wetness of your pussy, the sounds. The way your clit and your insides throb instantaneously is better than anything he’s ever felt in his whole entire fucked up life. He lets your clit continue to thump against his fingers, kissing you until you finish your orgasm. You recover, feeling a bit exposed. A bit nervous, a bit embarrassed. But also really fucking good.

“Did you like that? Couldn’t really tell,” he teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he presses kisses along your neck. His arms stay locked around you, holding you close—like letting go isn’t an option, like you might disappear if he loosens his grip even a little.

“That was… amazing.” You whisper.

Normally, Homelander never gives without expecting something in return. If you were any other woman, you’d be on your knees getting skull fucked. He wouldn’t care if you came, hell, he wouldn’t even care if you were aroused. But this… this was different. You were different. For once, his own satisfaction didn’t matter—because in a way, it already had been. Seeing you like this, knowing he could unravel you, knowing he could give instead of just take—it was enough. After the way he hurt you, whether he fully understood it or not, he just wanted to make you feel good. And that realization? That almost scared him.

And you were waiting for it—the inevitable moment when he would ask for more. When the generosity would come with a price. Because men didn’t just give. Not without expecting something in return.

You knew all too well. Your mind rewinds like a VCR tape—taking you back to when you were 15 years old, passed out on a bed after drinking too much. The boys at the party put their dicks and their fingers and their tongues inside of you. They didn’t care that you woke up with bruises. They didn’t care that you couldn’t sit down without feeling pain on your private parts. Men take. Boys take. They all take. Until women have nothing else to give.

You snapped yourself out of your trance and waited for him to say “my turn”. But he didn’t ask. He just held you, kissed you, like it was enough. Like you were enough.

And in that moment, you knew—you couldn’t lose him. No matter how fucked up he was, how self-absorbed or overwhelming. You had only known him for a day, but it didn’t matter. There was no before, no after. Just him.

Breaking the silence, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Can you just stay with me tonight? Lay with me?”

Homelander’s expression shifts. The possessive fire in his eyes dims just enough to reveal something else—something softer, more uncertain. He watches you, sees the vulnerability in your face, the unspoken plea for comfort. And it stirs something inside him. A need he isn’t used to.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that surprises even him. “Of course,” he murmurs, his voice quieter, less commanding. “I’ll stay. I’ll hold you all night.”

You share a slow, lingering kiss. Then, you pull back just enough to smirk. “So… do you sleep in that ridiculous suit too?”

Homelander chuckles, shaking his head. The tension between you eases, just a little. “No, sweetheart,” he says, amusement threading through his voice. “If I did, I’d probably overheat and drop dead in my sleep.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “I do have pajamas, though. You better not laugh.”

You kiss him again, pulling him toward the couch. Settling in, you turn on Netflix, scrolling until you find some ridiculous reality show you know he’d never watch on his own. But tonight, he doesn’t complain.

It’s easy. Normal.

You fall asleep like this, your head in his lap, his fingers lazily threading through your hair.

But he doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t want to.

He watches over you instead, his mind never fully quiet. He knows the illusion won’t last, that the world outside is cruel and dangerous. That there are people who will try to hurt you just to get to him. Maybe he should have hidden you away, kept you to himself. But it’s too late for that.

One thing is certain—whoever tries to take you from him will pay the price.

He watches the soft rise and fall of your breath, the way you look so unguarded, so safe in his arms. He’s always questioned his purpose. Always wondered why he was made.

It wasn’t for America. It wasn’t to be their hero.

No.

The answer became clear the moment you walked into the tower: He was made to love and protect you.

[tiredfoxtf]

Drop the mecha lore pls

Okay, sure.

Some time ago on the planet happened that can be only described as a world-wide cataclysm. All around the world started appearing herds of monsters, some of them resembled humanoids, others looked more like distorted animals, some were shaped like objects. They seem to be born overnight and started attacking people and cities instantly. Moreover, they seem to posses some special magical powers to them in addition to their monstrous appearance. Which of course caused a massive chaos all around the world. Didn't help the fact that most of them seemed massively unimpressed with bullets and bombs, chemical and bio weapons. There was always an option to nuke them, but you would be nuking millions of people with the monsters and there was no guarantee it would work in the first place. Fortunately whatever caused the arrival of the monsters also changed something about some people. A small percentage of population had received a mark somewhere on their bodies that gave them similar abilities to those of monsters.

Fast forward to much later in the world's timeline and there aren't many of human settlements left, they still exist as huge interconnected infrastructures that are few and far apart. Everyone is just trying to live as happy life as they can. Research connected both monsters and special marks to strange structure of the fabric of the world that turned out similar to music. The monsters were results in it's distortion and foul sound, so they started to call them Discords. And people who received a mark could resonate with the sound of the universe and channel it's special properties, so they were called Resonators respectfully. Resonators are pretty much the only people who can make a valiant effort at stopping and destroying discords. And they do, they maximize their output with a specially designed mechanical individual robots, that channel their own energy and frequency. It allows for less people to cover a lot of ground. Of course it's incredibly tasking on the person and absolutely doesn't help that discords never leave for long. So basically each megalopolis structure has an elite teams that fight off large quantities of enemies coming around almost on daily basis.

The Discords seem to be attracted to negative emotions generated by people: their fears, their sadness and anger, their despair. So they always try to reach them and devour everything. But it also seems that the people that were killed by discords become discords, their bodies dissipating into the sound waves and transforming. However resonators if killed have a slightly different things happen to them. It's like they become possessed, unable to think for themselves and their appearance slightly changing, but not drastically. Many believe that unlike normal people, if retrieved, they could be brought back to normal. Also yeah, death isn't really permanent as long as you have a body you can connect with a right frequency, very useful, knowing that not many people are resonators and not so easily replaced.

Anyway yeah that's the lore. If it's too similar to something else you might know, don't care, it's a silly au.

[flippedccc]

Bang Chan drabble

Bang Chan x gn!Reader

genre: college au!, romance, angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of ages and age gaps

wc: 412

author's words: tysm for all the likes for my last fic! Got some ideas in my mind so I thought I should write this down. I probably will write a college au drabble for every member in the future (maybe, just maybe, pls don't have any high hopes on this)

Again, feedbacks are much appreciated!!!

I don't know if every couple has this moment, when they do something intimate, they feel shy after the sweet feeling faints away. Especially for us who went from friends to lovers. Things that we didn't think were really anything before, somehow make us overthink a lot recently.

In the past, when you acted like a spoiled child, Chan would think you were cute, but now when you act like that, in addition to still thinking you were cute as always, he would also laugh like a wolf chan and feel a sense of pride.

"This is my girlfriend! She's cute, right? RIGHT?"

Sometimes he would think about it and feel shy, and hide in a corner with blushed cheeks and red ears and laughing silently.

Maybe it's because his smile or it's from your friend's perspective, but when your friend sent you a screenshot of Chan smiling at you and said that this was Rachel looking at Monica, you were literally laughing your head off.

You showed your phone to Chan and even explained what your friend meant. You started laughing so hard just half way through and fell into his arms. Fortunately, you two had developed enough tacit understanding during nighttime activities, and he understood what you were trying to say from your intermittent words.

But he couldn't really understand why. In your friends' opinion, do you two not look like a couple? Or are your friends hinting that the age difference between you and him is too big, but you didn't get it and instead laughed here heartlessly?

Chan felt sad when he thought of this. He helped you sit up straight, then frowned and asked you with his puppy eyes.

"Baby, do you think I'm old?"

"No, why would you think that?"

You got confused for a moment, not understanding why he was suddenly talking about ages, but you still subconsciously began to comfort him.

But Chan didn't answer you, but pouted and started talking, "It must be that baby acts like a spoiled child too often. I will also act more like that in the future! So I look more compatible with baby."

? Oh... wait... I don't think this is going the right way...

You don't really understand, but it's nice to see Chan acting like a spoiled child. You feel joy rushing through you when you think about being able to tease him with it in the future.

Just wait, Bang Chan! Your days are coming!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @m-325

[riddleswhcre]

hehehe guys just a lil flex i read this before it was posted yet again marleen you have blessed us with another one of your amazing works HOLY SHIT this was so fucking hot like u and i need him so fucking bad bro i need u more

“You. On your knees for me.”

YES GOD idc if my knees bleed i will be on my knees for this mf.

“Thought I’d go easy on you, but turns out you don’t want me to.”

fuck no i dont ruin me RN

Knew you were nothing but a pathetic slut behind that facade you try to put up. Smart— fuck—  always trying to impress—

sjsjsjsjs the little fuck GOD YES

“I guess I have finally found a way to silence that bratty mouth of yours,”

fuck me i died at this... rip mary died to marleens beautiful writing

“If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.” “You are delusional, Riddle.” Naturally, you lose the bet. The only difference: This time, you lose on purpose.

i told you yesterday and ill tell you again rn THIS IS A MASTERPIECE i love this lil ending sm SJSJSJ

babe this was amazing pls keep feeding us mother UGH

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game.

Short Summary: being drunk sometimes means making reckless decisions, though agreeing on a bet with Tom Riddle might just top the list.

Warnings: 18+ only! rough oral m!receiving, slight dub con ig, Tom Riddle is a little bitch, no aftercare

A/N: first fic in ten days! finished my thesis and handed it in. SHDFJSKKF

also, this fic is based on this request! tysm for requesting! <3

wordcount: 2,5k

As soon as you saw the exam papers, you knew. 

You’d lose the bet.

A bet that was your idea in the first place.

—

Tom and you have been fierce rivals ever since you started Hogwarts. Always trying to outdo one another, striving for perfection on every single exam and paper you had to hand in.

It’s the day before your Potions exam. You shouldn’t be doing this—getting ready for the party in Slytherin’s common room when you know a late-night study session would be the only way to save you from embarrassment the next day.

Yet, you couldn’t miss out on a fun night with your friends, the ones that keep telling you to stop worrying about your grades so much, to finally take a day off studying.

If they only knew.

After you finish, you take a look in the mirror—neat makeup, hair perfectly styled, tall black heels, burgundy dress, short, maybe too short—you don’t care. Tonight is about having fun and hopefully forgetting about your studies for a few hours.

Flickering green lights and the heavy beat of the music wrap around you as you enter the room, immediately engulfing you in the party’s atmosphere, the smell of alcohol and spilled drinks heavy in the air. Your eyes dart around the place in an attempt to find your friends, but before you get the chance to do so, you spot another familiar face. Familiar in an unpleasant way.

He’s casually leaning against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other lifts his drink—firewhisky, you assume—to his lips. And he sees you too—a smug grin playing on his lips as his eyes shamelessly drop lower, wandering over your exposed skin before he returns them to your now flushed face.

Tom Riddle—head boy, former prefect, know-it-all. House rivals. He’s always tried to get under your skin with anything he could think of. If he outscored you by more than five points, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Merlin, how you despised him.

You silently curse him under your breath, shaking your head as you continue making your way through the crowd. Your skin tingles with the memory of his lingering gaze, already regretting your choice to put on your shortest dress.

As the night goes on, you almost forget about him, your friends keeping you busy with conversations and games. It’s not until after midnight that you see him again—coincidentally just after your friends left your side to get new drinks.

You don’t even realise it’s him until he’s standing in front of you, until you feel his eyes on your skin yet again. You look up at him, meeting his amused expression.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he gently sways his drink in his hand.

“Unlike you, I have a life, Riddle. I don’t bury myself in books all day.”

“Judging by your grades, that’s what you should be doing. Instead of…” he pauses, eyes roaming over your cleavage to your thighs and back up. “Going to a party in that dress.”

A scoff leaves your lips. That idiot.

“Yeah? Seems like you can’t get enough of it, hm?”

His eyes darken at your words, and merely the fact that he doesn’t have a smug comeback ready tells you you’ve hit a nerve. You are right. He was checking you out.

A satisfied grin forms on your lips as he turns around to leave without saying another word. However, overconfident with the buzz of alcohol rushing through your veins, an idea comes to your mind.

“Riddle,” you call out, voice barely audible above the loud music, and he stops in his tracks. “I bet I will outscore you tomorrow.”

The usual arrogant smirk returns, decorating his face as he retraces his steps, stopping right in front of where you are sitting on the couch, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

“The alcohol is clearly getting to your head if you think you could beat me in any Potions exam.”

You scoff, but deep down you know he isn’t wrong. Potions isn’t your best subject by any means, while Tom seemingly had every potion perfected before you even discussed it in class. Maybe that was exactly what excited you in that moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Riddle. Even your ego can take a loss, I am sure of it.”

He nods then. “Fine. Although I expect an adequate prize. What that will be, I choose.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You shoot him a smile, and you don’t catch the last part of what he’s said until it’s too late.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.” He adds, before disappearing into the crowd, and you don’t see him again that night.

What that will be, I choose. His words keep repeating in your head when you are finally in bed, trying your hardest to fall asleep. Slowly sobering up, you can’t believe what you have done. You would never be able to even come close to him tomorrow—not with last bits of alcohol in your system, not with two hours of sleep, surely not with how much you have studied.

Fuck.

And of course, the inevitable happens. The exam is way too difficult, your mind still clouded, ears ringing as a result of your loud surroundings last night. You can’t concentrate no matter how hard you try, and finally decide to hand in early, before anyone else. 

You take one last look around the classroom before you leave, and immediately, your eyes lock with his. 

Tom has been watching your struggle with pleasure, knowing exactly what it meant—what he’d choose as his prize. From the second you initiated the bet, it’s been as clear as daylight what he’d want. .

A week later, and as expected, he has outscored you. In fact, he received the best grade possible on his exam. And you—you failed. Failed. You had never failed an exam before.

So, you have been waiting. Waiting for him to come to you and tell you what he’d want. But the moment hasn’t come—not even days later. 

The following weekend you find yourself at another party. You have expected him to talk to you there, preparing yourself with all sorts of drinks. Whatever he wants from you—and you fully expect it to be something humiliating—will be easier to endure with the courage you gain when you are slightly tipsy.

He’s there, you have seen him, but it doesn’t happen. He gives you that same arrogant smirk each time you see him, yet he never seeks a conversation. He might have forgotten. You hope he has forgotten.

The next day, after your final lesson of the day, you pack your belongings and leave the classroom. The corridors are empty at this hour as you make your way to the Gryffindor dormitories. You sigh as you turn the corner leading you out of the dungeons, ready to head to bed early after an exhausting day.

However, that plan shatters as a pair of strong arms shove you into an empty classroom, hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your attempts to scream.

The familiar scent of potion ingredients and old wood floods your senses as the door shuts behind you, quickly locked with a spell. And then, you finally see who has dragged you in here.

“Riddle, what the hell?” You whisper-yell, looking around you, scared someone has seen or heard you.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me.” He retorts smugly, not yet facing you, instead casting a silencing spell on the room. “And I am here to collect my prize.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a bookshelf behind you. “What do you want?

Tom turns around then, looking at you for a second before he speaks.

“You. On your knees for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wish he was joking, but the tone of his voice tells you differently. He’s a hundred percent serious about this.

“There is no way I am doing that.”

“Oh but you will. You lost, I get my prize. It’s only fair.”

A sharp exhale leaves your lips, rolling your eyes. “Could have done this when I was drunk. Wouldn’t have been as humiliating.”

“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls. Also,” a grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he guides you towards the wall, forcing you on your knees so that you are facing him. “Makes me enjoy it more.”

You shake your head slightly, looking up at him. “You are sick, I hope you are aware.”

“Get to work,” he orders, disregarding what you just said. He takes a step closer, fingertips brushing over your cheek, thumb softly tracing along your lips. The strain on the fabric of his trousers is evident as your shaky hands make work of his belt, carelessly dropping the leather on the floor with a low thud. He doesn’t bother stepping out of his clothes, leaving them to pool around his ankles.

You swallow as you take in his size, hesitantly reaching out. With your thumb, you softly swipe over his already with precum glistenting tip, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hand wraps around his length before you give him a few soft strokes, earning a low groan of approval from the brunette.

His patience snaps when you trace along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock, forcefully tilting your head back as his fingers tangle in your hair, having you meet his gaze.

“Can’t take a little bit of teasing, Riddle? That desperate for me?” You say smugly, eyes never leaving his as your grip around him tightens, speeding up.

“Thought I’d go easy on you, but turns out you don’t want me to.” He hisses, guiding your head towards him. Your lips wrap around him then, tongue swirling over his sensitive tip before you take him as deep as you can, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat.

It’s not long before his grip on your hair tightens, stilling your movements before he thrusts himself inside of you, deeper than you had taken him. You obey, laying your tongue flat in your mouth as his length slips further, holding you there until you gag around him.

Focusing on breathing through your nose, you relax your muscles, making space for all of him, his eyes shutting in pleasure each time your throat constricts, squeezing him even tighter.

“Look at you,” he rasps, a ragged breath leaving his lips as his dark eyes now stare down at you again, watching his cock disappear in your mouth with every snap of his hips. “So eager to please me. Knew you were nothing but a pathetic slut behind that facade you try to put up. Smart— fuck—  always trying to impress— but in reality, this is the only thing you are actually good at, hm?”

With his hands’ tight grip on your hair, holding you in place as he uses your mouth, you find yourself unable to give a proper response other than a muffled sound of agreement—something he doesn’t seem to be quite satisfied with.

You gasp, taking in a deep breath as Tom yanks your head back, pulling you off his length, now coated in your spit. A string of saliva connects his tip to your swollen, reddened lips, blinking away your tears.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck— yes, Riddle.”

He shakes his head slightly, tilting your head even further back so you are met with his strict gaze. “What’s my name?”

“Tom,” you whisper, “yes, Tom.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Remember it.”

Only a second later he is back inside of your warm mouth, holding onto your hair as leverage as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he feels you struggle for air, your hands holding onto his thighs for support.

You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how he is using you to get off, and yet, his soft gasps and groans as he gets closer to his release have you clenching your thighs together, desperately trying to ease the ache in your lower stomach.

“Hate to admit you were right. Can’t fucking get enough of you.” He grunts as you feel him twitch inside of you, spluttering around his cock as his thrusts grow harsher, tears running down your cheek as you try your best to take what he is giving you.

“Fuck— Show me—“ Tom breathes, hips stuttering, “show me whose good girl you are and swallow for me.” He barely gets the words out before he stills inside of you, the taste of his release flooding your senses as he empties himself inside of you—deep enough that swallowing is in fact the only option.

Still, he keeps your head pressed against his lower abdomen until he feels you swallow around him, only then pulling out of you.

Tom lets go of your hair then, and you sink against the cold brick wall behind you, utterly spent, jaw sore. You watch him getting dressed, mind still hazy when he walks towards you, looking like nothing happened—on the contrary to you.

“Look even prettier when you cry for me,” he remarks, taking in your state, wiping your tear-soaked cheeks with the back of his hand before he uses a spell to clean your chin and blouse.

And you let him do it, too tired and worn out to complain.

“I guess I have finally found a way to silence that bratty mouth of yours,” he mumbles when he is done, gently wiping a strand of hair from your face.

You look up at him then, hoarsely whispering a soft “Fuck you, Riddle.”

He offers you no other reply than his signature grin whenever he gets something he wants, his eyes fixated on you while he adjusts his robes.

“Tutoring for Potions every Thursday at 7 pm in the library. Don’t be late.” He says, exiting the classroom before you even get the chance to process his words.

You run out of curses to use for him by the time you reach your dorm, exhaustedly collapsing onto your bed. You tell yourself that no, you wouldn’t go because who does he think he is—yet it’s an offer you can’t decline.

So, every Thursday from then on, you find yourself studying for Potions under his guidance. It’s tough at first, but after just a few shared lessons, you realise he might not be that bad after all.

And soon enough, the next bet is made.

—

“If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.”

“You are delusional, Riddle.”

Naturally, you lose the bet.

The only difference: This time, you lose on purpose.

[hiyyihrts]

“For how long have you had feelings for him?”… Lord the way they keep making Eloise this non-observant clueless friend to everyone is crazy to me… especially continuously with Pen (and now Cressida also). She never fathomed that Pen could want to participate in ton events, want to be married, want to have even the bare minimum opportunity to be entertained by a man, and yet anytime Pen goes against anything Eloise always talked about she’s so surprised?? Maybe if you talked with your friends instead of at them we wouldn’t be running into this situation continuously El…

[inextricable-bound]

They're gonna build a self flying airplane and then crash it, injuring several people.

[iheartsillys]

I NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT IT??????

pls take this drawing of gladiator shadow as my formal apology 🙏

there r like. different types of gladiators and stuff, and i think both him and sonic are gonna be thracian types (thats the armor he has on in the img) because that type focuses more on using agility and speed, compared to most of the other ones being basically just hit ppl hard and wear a lot of armor. i mean there is the one where they trap ppl in nets and then stab them with a trident but like. i cannot imagine either of them with a trident. they get these cool curved swords that i could not make look natural to hold for the life of me. they doooo have helmets but i wanted to draw shadow’s face so he lost helmet privileges :3

he also gets bandages on his hands cuz r a rich ppl thing in ancient rome and my boy is NOT rich.

definitely gonna do a colored version of this at some point. maybe. probably.

i feel the need to yap about my sonadow au…

its based in ancient rome cuz im in a class on rome and it is devouring my brain

[theres mentions of misogyny cuz transmasc sonic so beware]

shadow is the son of mars (god of war and agriculture), but he was ditched almost immediately when he was born. gerald finds him near his home, and takes it as a sign from the gods (which it is lol), and takes it upon himself to keep him. at this time, maria is just starting to show signs of illness. which only gets worse as they age.

by the time shadow is pretty much grown, she is practically bedridden, and she needs treatment. but gerald is *far* from rich. hes pretty lower class- science wasnt very appreciated at the time- and so they are *broke.*

heres a fun fact, roman gladiators, when favored by the crowd, made honestly a lot of money. it was pretty typical for people to throw gifts into the colosseum, which the gladiator was allowed to keep. as well as whatever they were paid for winning.

and shadow is strong. a capable fighter. so he turns to the gladiator lifestyle. if thats what he needs to support maria, then so be it.

and then theres sonic.

(now heres where my ideas diverge becuz im still tryna decide if hes gonna be trans or not, but for now imma talk about the trans version becuz thats honestly the stronger one story-wise)

he was born to a noble family. not quite part of the council, but they had their fair share of influence. and sonic *hates* it.

he was a ‘woman’, and not just that, but a *rich* woman. no reason to work, to fight, to do anything. just expected to let himself be married off, to listen to the men around him.

and then. his mother took him to the colosseum. and it was *everything* he wanted. the gladiators were viewed as powerful- strong men who could *fight*, could do as they wished.

and he wanted that. *had* to have that. and so he ran from home. disguised himself, and became a gladiator at whatever place would accept him.

…and thats all for now!!! ofc theres lots of little things im not including here, and im still working on it, but yea!!! hopefully will actually finish the first chapter soon, but im just kinda dumping ideas to inspire myself rn :3

….maybe later ill post about the scene that is occupying my brain, i dunno