#What the hell were half those poses

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking Down The Comics: Under the Mask

Moon Knight, Issue 20: Cut Adrift off the Coast of America

LOOK AT THIS COVER. I laugh every time I see it. It reminds me of like, Night on Bald Mountain when the devil creature is over the city and about to do his evil things. I feel like the past two covers for this run are just the artist (Bill) going, “I don’t know… Moon Knight in various poses of angst?” For no reason! 

Anyways… Let’s finish this run! 

So we left off with Marc finding plans for Nimrod to attack Manhattan and Marlene being undercover as his personal bodyguard. 

Now, up to this point, Moon Knight has been abroad. This whole run has been him retracing steps and places Marc has worked. 

I've noticed that in the original comics, any time Moon Knight had to travel out of the country, Marc Spector is the one in charge. 

He is well traveled and he has contacts all over. If there's a country, Marc has most likely been there being paid to be a bad guy. 

Perhaps Jake doesn't feel comfortable traveling. His home is New York and always has been. He found his identity there and his friends. 

Steven will sometimes travel, if it involves luxury, but usually once they leave the hotel Marc takes over. 

Now, we are finally heading back to New York. 

Which, oddly enough, Marc never feels at home on American Soil. He'll show up for a fight or two, but perhaps he just doesn't feel like he has a home there. He did, after all, leave his home in a hurry after a fight with his father. America is something Marc left behind. 

ANYWAYS: 

We see Moon Knight with scuba gear on... and still wearing his cape I might add... trying to reassure his contact that "Spector and I will take care of it." 

He notes that while he has faith in the plan, "our real strong suit is playing it by ear." 

This is true. Moon Knight is amazing at winging it. When things go to shit, he just goes. Which is probably for the best because a lot of his plans tend to go to shit. He's...He's not good at thinking things through. (Especially Marc). 

Streglov (the government contact) mentions that he really doesn't like the fact that Marc is emotionally at risk in this mission. Not just for revenge, but also that Marlene is involved. 

Moon Knight quips that "I didn't like anything about this operation, Streglov, but we're stuck with it." 

Once in full scuba attire: 

(WHAT ARe YOU WEARING MOON KNIGHT. That cape can’t be easy to swim in. Is that breathing respirator OVER YOUR MASK?! Are you….wh…. The depths this man will go to to keep his mask on…) 

As Moon Knight goes for a swim at night in full outfit... 

"Sure cold down here this time of night. Gives me the chills... Chills to match the goose bumps I got when Streglov mentioned Spector. Didn't like his tone of voice. Almost as if he was embarrassed to refer to Spector as a separate man. Guess I'd better face the grim possibility --Streglov may be catching on that Spector and I are one in the same man." 

Hmmm... Now, in the last issue, we had no issues with identity. Marc was undercover and comfortable not being himself. Moon Knight was an easy guise to slip into. 

He is grappling with 'secret identity' right now. He doesn't like the idea that people know who is under the Moon Knight mask. 

But also, he doesn't like the idea that people see the man under the mask as Marc Spector. 

He's so uncomfortable being known as Marc that he would go to great lengths to keep the guise up that they are different people. 

Which, in this particular circumstance, it IS silly. They are on a boat. It's assumed Marc got on the boat and now Moon Knight is there going on the mission saying that Marc sent him to do it and to trust him. 

There's a certain level of self delusion going on in which he wants everyone to believe that Marc is still on the boat. Perhaps that he wants to believe that Marc is still on the boat. 

In Moon Knight's eyes, Marc has very little place on this mission and he would rather everyone just play along. 

So it looks like the terrorist plan is to put four oil tankers out in the water in key locations, purge the oil, letting the gas build up until a spark sets the whole thing off in an explosion. 

Nimrod is on one of the tankers. He plans to blow his tanker and send a signal to the others to blow their own. The pressurized explosion form the built up gas will be devastating and then the oil in the water will catch fire, encircling the island in a raging fire inferno. 

Moon Knight is to get on Nimrod’s tanker, cut a hole in the hull and release the gas to prevent the explosion. He will then stop Nimrod, preventing him from signaling the other tankers, giving other teams time to take them out. 

A convoluted plan on both ends. 

Would the ship blow up? Yes. Science has proven that this is what caused some famous explosion at some point (I'm not looking up which boat it was. It was in port and the built up gas caused a devastating explosion that wiped out the whole town, but if you know it then kudos to you). 

Are there better ways to do this? YES. JFC yes. Just put a bomb on the boat. Why is he going so over the top? Why is the only method of preventing the explosion cutting a hole to let the gas vent? What about all the oil in the water that is polluting and causing a fire hazard? And with that much gas build up, ANY spark could set off an explosion. What if it goes off before you’re ready?!

Convoluted plan aside... Moon Knight gets on the tanker, now in search of Nimrod himself. 

Moon Knight is now lamenting that he needs to keep control of his emotions. "I've got to control myself... Avoid hasty judgements... Keep myself from thinking about it..." 

Good luck with that buddy. Hasty judgments should be your middle name. 

Back with Nimrod, we see Marlene still playing bodyguard. 

Nimrod is doing his bad guy rant about how Moon Knight destroyed his base. He rants about how he's a one man army and will take down the city no matter what it takes. 

As Moon Knight makes his way through the tanker, taking out bad guys, he reminds himself that he's not doing this just because of Marlene. 

As Moon Knight busts into Nimrod's room, Nimrod shoves Marlene forward, demanding that she attack him. 

Luckily, the two other lady bodyguards jump in and attack first. 

Oh! And here we see our hero once more face on the floor in a helpless position. 

Back at Grant mansion: Hey! We haven't seen this place in a while! 

Frenchie has taken Jake's cab back to the mansion to GET TO THE CHOPPER. 

Back on the tanker, Moon Knight wakes up in a very Bond-like situation. 

I do appreciate that each time we look at Nimrod after this while Moon Knight is tied up, Nimrod is upside down. It’s a fun touch in perspective. 

Nimrod gloats a moment then moves to unmask Moon Knight. 

Back in the day, secret identities were pretty sacred. All heroes who wore masks kept their identity pretty tightly locked down (Notable exceptions to those that wore masks: Tony Stark who can't stop telling people who he is and Captain America who no longer has the ability to just be Steve Rogers). 

In current times, Moon Knight really stopped caring and ever since Civil War (don't get me started on that Marvel Event), the only one who really keeps his identity is Spider-Man. And that really depends on what Spider-verse you live in. 

So back in the day, Moon Knight kept his identity a secret unless you were in his close circle of friends. 

This really worked well for Steven Grant, who needed to maintain his social standing to get into high class crowds. It also helped Jake keep his own personal life and let him work the underground. 

When it came to Marc, it really didn't matter. Marc didn't really have a normal life anymore. 

Not to mention the only people that knew who Marc Spector even was were probably those that had come up against him as a Mercenary. 

So Nimrod is momentarily shocked then laughs about how he now has both his nemeses helplessly held captive. 

He leaves Moon Knight helpless and we get...this...view....

Um... Anyways... 

Moon Knight realizes that the crescent darts are still on his belt, being mistaken for decoration! 

So he wriggles around till one pops off and falls towards his restrained hands. He misses quite a few of them. 

Of course on the last dart, he finally catches it. 

Now he just has to saw through the rope restraints. 

Back up top, Nimrod is relaxing with his three bodyguards. They doze and Marlene finally gets a chance to slip away. 

Just as she is about to leave the room, one of the other bodyguards wakes up. 

Marlene assures her that she's just going out for fresh air, but the guard is suspicious She wakes up Nimrod. 

Marlene finds an escaped Moon Knight and they team up together to start taking out the guards. 

The hapless lackies all taken care of, they return to look for Nimrod, only to walk into a trap! 

Nimrod makes a run for the detonator to blow the other ships. Marlene tells Moon Knight to go. She'll deal with the other two ladies. 

We get several pages of Marlene in an out and out brawl with the other two ladies (all three are in bikini uniforms, but not drawn softly. Bill gave them good muscle definition for the time.) To the credit of the writing team/artist team, it's not a cat fight. They use martial arts, punch, and hit one another with chairs and things. 

Marlene makes nice work of the other two and wins the fight. 

Meanwhile, Moon Knight is up against Nimrod and his Arsenal of weaponry. 

Moon Knight is hit by a grenade and once again....

He sure does spend a lot of time down there. 

Dizzy from the hit, he stares down the barrol of a gun and remembers his friend being gunned down right in front of him. 

"A memory of Ben Abramov, his oldest friend, jerking from the impact of a sniper's bullet... Twisting slowly through pain towards a last fall into a darkness called death..." 

He acts and kicks the gun at the lat moment, causing it to discharge into Nimrod's face. 

"And another memory, also snarling... Nimrod Strange crushing Marlene to his chest, smearing his lips over hers..." 

Moon Knight jumps up, enraged. 

"You've killed my friend and soiled my woman, Madman!" 

He attacks the disoriented man, punching and coming at him head on despite bullet fire. 

When the fire becomes too intense, he falls back to get the high ground. 

Nimrod makes a last desperate run for the detonator and Moon Knight tackles him. 

Moon Knight takes a blow to the head that leaves him in his favorite position on the floor. 

We get a really nice page here and you really have to admire the art, the layout, and the tension. This is just a fantastic page! 

He knocks out Nimrod before he can push down on the detonator! 

And now we get a bit of our nit and gritty man showing his emotions. 

MK: Marlene...I...That last gesture...It was stupid. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.

Marlene: Hush, Steven. If such a gesture can ever by earned, you did tonight.

He cuts the detonator and calls for Frenchie to be picked up. He leaves Nimrod on the boat and rushes to inform the agents waiting that the mission is a success. 

Moon Knight laments that Nimrod knows who he is and will most likely tell everyone who he really is. 

Just as he's about to confess to everyone that he and Marc Spector are the same person, Nimrod wakes up and manages to set off the bomb. 

His ship blows, taking out everyone still on it. 

Thankfully, the other ships have been disabled and taken out before they too can blow. 

"You were saying?" 

"Oh, nothing. Just that Spector and I are a good team. He does the undercover work and I'm the visible one up front." 

Hmmmm. Very true. Very visible. 

Epilogue: 

Back in Jerusalem... At the home of widow Anna Abramov, she receives a message. 

"Anna- Ben's work finished --Spector." 

She crumbles the letter and weeps silently. 

"Then she sips some tea and wraps herself against the chill, and for a time she is quiet, and she is still, and she is alone... An hour from now the tears will start again...and last until dawn." 

END ISSUE and end to Nimrod Strange. 

This was a long run of Just Marc Spector in his element. 

We got to see a lot of Marc’s skills and the things he did before Moon Knight and what gave him the ability to put on the mask and be as brutal and effective as he is. 

It also showcased Marlene in good light and we even got a lot of Frenchie action. 

As for the bad guy, he seemed like he was supposed to be bigger than he was. He boasted a LOT about his abilities, his firepower, and being unstoppable. But he just hit behind his goons for hire, his bodyguards, and his weaponry. He really just didn’t strike me as a big top tier villain. 

And maybe that was some of the point. A single guy with power and an idea that managed to gather people together to try to do terrible things and hurt a lot of people. 

This was a very run run, especially traveling to Israel and going against the elite three. The story and imagery in that one was amazing. 

Honestly, it was pretty amazing to just focus on Marc. So that makes up for the fact that the villain was just utterly detestable, and not in a fun hate the villain sort of way. 

We also got to see him be utterly pissed and petty, culminating in spitting on Nimrod, then instantly feeling shame that someone saw him. I think that sums up Marc pretty nicely. It isn't often he gets to spit on a terrorist who enjoys killing and hurting people. But then he feels shame that he let his emotions out. Oh Marc, stop being a bottle of suppressed emotions.

It ends in a way that a lot of Moon Knight comics tended to end back in the 80s: A sad and lonely note. Though they won and get to go home, there is still the Widow who is alone and will always be alone. 

Marc sends her the note, but Marc can slip back down into his safe mask of nothing and doesn’t have to think about her anymore. His friend is dead, and it’s another name added to his list of people he failed and watched die. 

What did you guys think of this run? Thumbs up or down for the bad guy? 

I think what’s really exciting after this and seeing Marc work, is knowing where it’s all culminating in at the end of the first big 1980s run of Moon Knight. 

[tzifron]

Worldwide, there were more than 11,000 reported deaths from COVID between mid-December 2023 and mid-January 2024, and more than half of those deaths occurred in the U.S. In that same time frame, nearly one million cases were reported to the World Health Organization globally (although reduced testing and reporting means this is likely a vast undercount). In particular, epidemiologists are monitoring the newest variant of SARS-CoV-2, JN.1, and looking for any signs that it may be more severe than previous strains.

Although the WHO declared an end to the COVID public health emergency in May 2023, the organization has emphasized that the pandemic isn’t over—it’s just entered an endemic phase, which means that the virus will continue to circulate indefinitely.

[...]

How would you describe the overall state of COVID at this point in the pandemic?

COVID’s not in the news every day, but it’s still a global health risk. If we look at wastewater estimates, the actual circulation [of SARS-CoV-2] is somewhere between two and 20 times higher than what’s actually being reported by countries. The virus is rampant. We’re still in a pandemic. There’s a lot of complacency at the individual level, and more concerning to me is that at the government level.

[...]

"We understand you don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to talk about it. But we need to because there’s more we can do. We cannot prevent all infections. We cannot prevent all deaths. But there’s a hell of a lot more that we can do to keep people safe and save them from losing a loved one"

[whorefordean]

wear the hat || d.w

i read exactly one cowboy romance so enjoy (fake)cowboy!dean and the cowboy hat rule

wc: 1.9k

cw: raw dogging, semi public sex, use of petname (sugar), the cowboy hat rule

taglist: @the-last-ry

mdni 18+

you can’t help yourself. dean looks so goofy in the outfit, and you can’t refrain from teasing him about it. on this hunt, for whatever reason, dean thought it’d be best if he poses as a cowboy. 

“to get more information from the locals. they’ll never talk if i look like a city boy, sweetheart,” dean says with a simple shrug. there’s a smile playing on his face, and you cann’t help but to roll your eyes. 

“dean, you’re from kansas and you wear flannels every day. nobody thinks you’re a city boy. the hat is most definitely overkill,” you tell him as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“i’m not taking it off,” dean huffs, matching your pose. you glare at him momentarily. he doesn’t look bad. in fact, he looks hot as fuck, and maybe, that’s why you need him to chill out on the disguise. 

you toss your hands up in defeat and follow him into the bar. the two of you split up rather quickly. you’re working your charm on the drunken men for any information you could pry out of them about the missing people while dean made his way to a group of women to do the same. 

almost an hour later, you finally manage to get the information you need, and you’re off to find dean. it’s nearing eleven pm at this point and you are ready to go. that is, until you see dean sitting at the bar with a girl who is entirely too close for your comfort. 

you and dean aren’t an item, per se, but the two of you have been a little more than friendly on more than one drunken occasion. 

you tap on dean’s shoulder lightly in an effort to get his attention. nothing. the girl he’s talking to is shooting you glares every chance she gets. you roll your eyes and decide that there was only one way to get his attention. 

so you snatch the cowboy hat off his head and slip it onto yours. dean whips around to face you. you’re expecting him to snatch it right back, but instead, dean just smirks, seemingly forgetting all about the blonde he was talking to a minute beforehand. 

“i’m ready to go,” you huff, adjusting the hat on your head. your hands finally rest on your waist, hip popping out. dean doesn’t say anything. just kept staring and grinning. 

“dean, seriously? what?” you puff, annoyed at his behavior. 

“you know the cowboy hat rule?” dean muses, leaning back to get a good look at you. his gaze rakes over you, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“the what?” you ask evenly. dean’s grin grows wider, and you are half tempted to slap it off of him. 

“the cowboy hat rule, sugar. wear the hat—” dean trails off. he leans forward until his hand rests against your waist, and his mouth is brushing your ear. 

“—ride the cowboy.” your eyes widen as he finishes the phrase. he pulls away just enough to watch your expression change from shock to compliance. he smiles proudly, knowing that you're more than willing to obey the rules. 

no words leave your mouth as you nod, allowing dean to drag you through the mess of people in the crowded bar. the cool summer air bathes both of you as dean pulls you through the exit door and ushers you to the impala. 

his rough hands in yours had your mind racing with thoughts of what they'd feel like skimming your body. in the three times that you and dean have slept together, both of you were too wasted to remember much about it the next morning. you'd wake up with those delicious bruises on your thighs or hips and hate yourself for not being able to remember what the hell went down the night before. however, you aren't ballsy enough to ask him to fuck you when you’re sober, so you settle for forgotten nights. 

your senses snap back to reality when you hear dean clear this throat. that shit eating grin is back on his face when he realizes that you'd been staring at his hand. 

"what is it, sugar? got a thing for hands or just mine?" dean teases relentlessly. you roll your eyes at him, shoving his shoulder lightly. he catches your wrist before spinning you around until you're bent over the hood of the impala. 

"dean," you gasp, bracing yourself against the black metal. dean laughs behind you and leans down until his chest is flush against your back. his lips brush against your shoulder, and you breathe out a sigh, dropping your head against the cool metal when dean starts to lift the hem of your dress up. 

"tell me what you want," dean says softly in your ear, pressing a kiss against your jaw. you have never been more grateful to be parked at the back of the lot. 

"you. need you," you whimper, reaching behind you to grasp at any inch of dean you could reach. 

"mm, 'm right here, sugar," dean says playfully as he hums against your skin. you groan, shaking your head and letting your hand slip down to dean's wrist. you grab his hand and lower it to your aching core. 

"need you here, dean," you say breathily when dean starts toying with your panties. you can hear him inhale sharply behind you, and you arch your back slightly. 

"fuck, sugar," dean groans. without warning, dean rips your underwear down your legs, helping you lift one leg at a time until the fabric is completely off your body. the cool air makes contact with your exposed cunt, causing you to hiss in pleasure. the cold doesn't last long because dean is shifting onto the ground behind you. his hands grip at your thighs, nudging them further open before he dips his tongue into your waiting pussy. 

you mewl as dean laps at you like a man starved. he hums something against your cunt, but you're too lost in the pleasure to listen. that is, until he slaps your ass. hard. you wince, lifting your head to look back at him. 

"answer me when i'm talking to you. being nice enough to eat this pretty little pussy," dean growls, but he doesn't mean it. he'd gladly get on his knees for you, and he'd stay there forever if you'd allow it. 

"what?" you whine, eyes rolling as dean sucks your clit into his mouth. 

"thought you were supposed to be ridin' me?" dean hums again, clearer this time. he doesn't give you time to answer before slipping a finger into you. you cry out when he adds another almost immediately after. 

"yes! yes, i will," you ramble, dropping your head to rest against the car again. your release is so close, and you clench around dean's fingers, his tongue still lapping away. 

before you can cum, dean withdraws his fingers and pulls away completely. you jerk your head around to meet his gaze, eyes wide with need. 

"no! please!" you beg pathetically, desperate for release. dean grips your chin lightly and pulls you back until he can kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. you moan into his mouth before he finally pulls away. 

"come on," dean orders, and you nod compliantly as he pulls you up from the hood of the impala. dean slips into the back seat first, pulling you in behind him. you barely touch the leather seats before dean is tugging you into his lap.

his hardened cock strains against his jeans, and you can’t stop from rolling your hips over his clothed bulge. you tug at his shirt impatiently. dean doesn’t object, tossing the fabric off his body and into the front seat.

his hands grip your hips as he leans in to kiss you again. he guides your hips, the two of you groaning at the friction. your arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders. 

“fuck,” dean grunts again. he taps your ass lightly, so you pull away with a huff. your pout quickly dissolves when dean lifts you up just enough to undo the button of his jeans, allowing his cock to spring free. 

“oh my god,” you mumble as you stare at his dick. dean smirks before pulling back onto his lap. dean settles your cunt over his cock, but he doesn’t push himself inside of you. not yet. instead, he opts for getting his cock wet with your slick first. 

your eyes roll as you slide your pussy against his hardened dick. you grind your teeth when the head of dean’s cock slips against your clit repeatedly. 

“please,” you pant. dean hums, watching as your movements get more erratic. 

“dean, please. let me ride your cock,” you beg again. your eyebrows are knitted together with your eyes clenched shut. 

“go ahead, sugar. take it,” dean grunts before settling into you completely. you inhale sharply when he grips your ass, pushing you even further onto himself. 

you brace your hands against his shoulder, dropping your head to rest against one of them. dean gives you a second to adjust before he grabs your hips, urging you to move. 

so you do. 

you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans and mewls in as you ride dean. you couldn’t remember a time you felt so fucking full. dean’s dick was fucking perfect, hitting every spot that made your  vision blur with ecstasy. 

you lift your hips repeatedly before settling on grinding against him. you writhe in delight as dean drops his head back against the seat, hands gripping at the sides of your thighs as you continue to bounce and grind against him. you lower yourself to kiss against his neck before burying your face in his shoulder. 

“right there,” you whisper repeatedly, nipping at dean’s neck as your hips start to stutter. dean grips your hair in one hand, tugging your head back until your neck is on full display for him. his arm wraps around your waist, holding you flush against his chest. dean groans as he adjusts the two of you until he has the mobility to drill his hips into yours, cousin you to cry out in pleasure. he doesn’t relent as you finally come around his cock. 

deans sucks a deep bruise into your neck when he finally comes, muttering curses under his breath when his hips finally settle. the only sound in the car now is the two of you panting against each other. you lift your hips, whining as dean’s cum drips down your thighs. 

you look up at dean, but he’s distracted by the sight. his cheeks are reddened, and his eyes are hazy as he watches his cum drip out of your cunt. 

“dean–” 

“fuck, sugar. gonna have to let you steal that fucking hat more often if it means i get to watch you take my cock like that. you look so fucking pretty like this, sugar,” dean grunts, swiping his thumb through the mess on your thighs. he swipes his thumb up further, pressing against your clit before finally bringing his thumb up to your mouth. without speaking, dean nudges your lips open, making you taste the two of you. 

“goddamn it, sugar. can’t wait to use that pretty mouth next time.”

[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ nothing left to lose ❞

⤷ Word count: 5.2k

It’s that time of the month (yippeee) and my hormones are all over the place. And then I found this gif and I just need this man to hold me this way because I feel like it could solve a world crisis. Thank you.

═════════════════

PAIRINGS:

S7!Negan x fem!reader

WARNINGS:

Cussing, fluff, mentions of reader on her period, tame cutesie stuff

SYNOPSIS:

It had been another fairly quiet day as you lounged about the Sanctuary, your mood only dampened by the first day of your period. You were perfectly content to dwell in your bed and rot away for the remainder of the week, not so eager to do much else when the twisting and contracting of your stomach was so prominent, but those plans are set awry when Negan makes a stop at your room with his usual request for a good time.

When you enlighten him on your situation, he decides he’d like to stay regardless and indulge in your company, revealing a side to him you weren’t aware he had.

═════════════════

It had been roughly a month since a group of saviours had scavenged you from your pathetic life of living off the woods. You’d been practically half-starved when the saviours had found you, a pitiful amalgamation of skin and bones that served no purpose other than to earn their ridicule. They’d have put you down and served you up as walker deterrent for their borders had it not been for one of the men recognising your face.

You’d been tracking the Sanctuary’s dealings for quite some time then, successfully managing to map out their routines and planning sparse trips to steal a few supplies from the pick up points. You’d had a few close calls, but even then you were like a goddamn shadow, in and out quicker than a blink. The men had never managed to catch you—up until that day, at least. The man had insisted you be dragged back to the Sanctuary, where Negan would hear of your actions and decide the best manner to make you atone for them.

Much to everybody’s surprise, though, he’d been oddly impressed with your skill—despite it being a massive leech on their supplies. His anger was more directed at the inability for his men to contain your posed threat, especially since you were no more than ‘a ghost of a woman’. You’d decided to ignore the implied misogyny in his words, instead focusing on the relief in his decision to spare your life—tied to the condition that you become his wife, of course. You’d reluctantly obliged, acutely aware of how the title would come to violate your own morals at some point, but he’d promised good treatment and up until now, he’d been nothing but true to his word.

The murmur of a light rain trailed through the crack of your partially opened window, infusing the atmosphere of your dim room with a further sense of serenity. You were curled up between the sheets of your bed, lounging on your aching stomach as you paged through your book of the week—a one thousand-paged hardcover on the tragedy of wars. It didn’t play into your usual tastes—it was far from it, actually, but there were so few options available that you couldn’t afford to be picky. It was amazing, really, what things you could convince yourself to indulge in when you were burdened with nothing but free time.

When you’d decidedly punished your stomach—and your mind—enough, you sluggishly rolled onto your side with a groan, flipping the book closed in the process. You didn’t think you could endure another mention of forced cannibalism, and you were only two hundred-odd pages into the historical hell. You doubted you’d find the strength to power through this pick, never having been much of a history fan to begin with.

Your back was turned on the book now, and there it stayed out of sight and out of mind as your eyes fluttered closed around a pressing series of cramps. You instinctively tucked into the foetal position, as though it would somehow lovingly cradle your stomach cramps and encourage it to ease off its painful hold. When the sensation didn’t budge, you opted for resting your eyes, allowing darkness to consume you as you fried to focus on the pattering of the rain against your window. In a way, nature had always been a mother, the rain her very own gentle lullaby that encouraged warmth and a long, peaceful sleep. You’d never get tired of that particular song.

A string of impatient knocks booted your door. You’d barely managed to open your eyes and give permission to enter before you heard the wood creek open, heavy footsteps striking the floor for only a few moments before silence re-emerged. Your head remained pressed against your pillow, your eyes squinting against the dim air as you managed to make out the tall figure of Simon. His arms were crossed against his chest as he glared at you motionlessly through the haze. You didn’t offer the courtesy of sitting up to greet him, which is as much as he’d offered by not waiting for your answer at the door.

“What?” You demanded, the echo of your voice damped by the downfall of rain.

“You know what,” Simon answered bluntly with that coarse annoyance edging his tone. “I don’t make a habit of visiting you for fun. If I’m here, it’s cause Negan’s in the mood for your goods.”

“God,” you groaned, finally lifting your head to properly glare at Simon. “Don’t ever say that again.” You settled for turning onto your back, your head upturned to face the white ceiling. There was a brief moment of silence before you sighed and said, “tell Negan that I’ll be unavailable for the next week.”

“Unavailable?” Simon echoed with a scoff. “You got some other plans we don’t know about?”

“Just my period, dipshit,” you responded thinly before lifting your hand in a shooing gesture. “Now scoot.”

Much to your dismay, Simon’s footsteps seemed to grow closer instead of further, and moments later his silhouette appeared at the foot of your bed. You felt a spark of annoyance at his insistence—the blood that quite literally poured from your insides left you little patience for social interactions.

“You think a little blood’s gonna deter Negan?” The man asked you, his tone mocking at the idea that you could be so stupid. “You’ve seen the guy, he can’t go a single day without that shit smeared all over him. Matters little to him how the blood is obtained—you know?”

You did. Murder and women, the two things Negan couldn’t absolutely ever have his fill of. But you also knew that you’d never been the one to frolic around while on your period, a fact that Negan would have to make peace with. Not only did you find it unappealing, but needlessly messy, too, and you’d rather not spend the aftermath of it all wringing your sheets out. No, your answer was final.

“You’re ruining my peace,” you told Simon pointedly, your eyes still studying the beams that reached between the walls of your room and upheld your pointed ceiling. When he didn’t seem to falter from his position, you sat yourself up with a huff, your fingers clutching your propped up knees. “Tell Negan that I politely decline his request—that is, if you have the balls to. Clearly you’ve got some reservations since you’re still loitering in my room after my many invitations for you to take your leave.”

Simon ignored your jest, running his hand across his hair to tame rogue strands. “He ain’t gon’ take nicely to your answer, sweetheart,” he said.

The pet name made your stomach curl beyond the cramps. “He’ll get over it when he gets on-top of the next wife.”

“Nah,” the man disagreed, rubbing a hand across his moustache. “You know he’s got some special obsession with you. You’ve been here for what—less than a month? Yet you’ve already left quite a mark on the boss-man.” He paused as his gaze lowered across you. “Can’t say I get the charm beyond your beckoning tits and ass.”

You glowered at his crudeness. “Gross, Simon. This is why you’re going to die alone, and the only hint of action you’ll ever experience is the caress of that explosion of bad taste stuck beneath your nose.”

Simon looked briefly offended by your dig at his stash, his jaw evidently clenched around his reckless temper, but he didn’t dare to unleash his fist or tongue. One of the few perks of being Negan’s wife was that you were awarded the opportunities to condescend his men time and time again, yet they were completely helpless in returning the sentiment—that is if they wanted to remain in goodwill at Negan’s side as opposed to being plastered along Lucille’s length.

“I’ll let Negan know,” was all that Simon offered before he departed your room, clearly eager to preserve what little dignity he had left. He made a point to slam the door behind him, which only made you chuckle.

Oh men and their fragile egos.

You could hardly believe they’d been made to rule the earth when their entire masculinity could so easily collapse at their rejected cock. You eased yourself back against the mattress, unable to help the faint smirk spread across your lips as your eyes fluttered closed once more. You were prepared for your second attempt at a nap, the rain growing progressively louder beyond a light drizzle. You remembered seeing the swath of grey clouds stretched across the horizon like an impending doom when you’d opened your windows this morning. It seemed that they’d finally arrived to deliver their promise of a heavy downpour.

It wasn’t long before the hum of the rain became distorted by your amassing fatigue, sleep arriving hastily to claim what remnants of your consciousness remained. You had surrendered all control, so eager to melt into the peaceful expanse of black where you could leave behind your mortal pain. You’d barely been gifted half an hour of that haven before Negan’s voice tethered you and withdrew you from the dark breaches of your mind, your eyes flickering open. You hadn’t even even heard him enter the bedroom.

“Holdin’ up there, sweetheart?”

The second greeting of his presence came at the menacing outline of Lucille, remarkably propped along his broad shoulder as he idled a few steps from the foot of your bed. You drew a clumsy palm across your tired eyes, attempting to chase away the drowsiness that clung heavily to your lids.

“Did something get lost in translation?” You managed to say, your voice slightly abraded by grogginess.

“Not the warm greeting a man expects to hear from his wife after a long and shit-filled day,” Negan said with a sultry gruffness, moving to take up a seat beside your torso.

The mattress dipped beside you, prompting you to turn your head and glance at him. “I’m sure one of the other girls can pick up my slack,” you suggested bluntly.

Your disinterest only seemed to earn that all-knowing smirk from Negan. “Goddammit, woman, you’ve got balls,” he remarked though that wide grin, his head slightly cocked to properly glimpse your face. He lowered Lucille from his shoulder, his hands propping onto the hilt as he planted the bat against the ground and leaned his weight onto it. “And that’s exactly why you’re my favourite wife. Hell, you even got me to walk the extra mile just to come and see you.”

“Not on purpose,” you sighed dejectedly, your eyes wandering along the glinting folds of his leather jacket. He did look good in that jacket—not that you’d ever milk his ego by admitting it. “If Simon truly had the nerve to refer my answer, you’d know that coming here was a waste of time. You’re going to have to fill your blood quota elsewhere.”

“Ah, come on,” he drawled, his gaze unrelenting through those darn hypnotising eyes of his. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but ain’t a good poking of the colons a great way to relieve some of the pain?” He asked pointedly. “In other words, you ought to let me fuck those asshole cramps right outta you. What’s a little blood, anyways?”

At that statement, you couldn’t help the flit of your eyes toward Lucille, the object always so menacing even when benched on the sidelines. You dragged your attention back to Negan’s expectant expression with a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t care what you get off on, Negan,” you told him. “Have your bloody fill of it anywhere else, but not here. I said no, and I meant it.”

You half expected him to further knead at the angle he was currently working, eventually wearing you down to a state that could almost be called consent—what more could you expect from a sadistic, murderous fanatic? A sudden cramp displaced that particular trail of thought, causing you to discreetly tense your lower half, inside of your lip taken into bite as an instinctual coping mechanism.

Negan’s head tilted back slightly with a trace of a chuckle, his tongue then poking through to glide along his lower lip as he gazed at you through narrowly thoughtful eyes. “All right,” he relented—much to your surprise. Had somebody knocked Negan out cold on the way here and taken his place? “If you’re going to deny my very eager balls a pleasurable time, the least you can do is entertain me with a conversation.”

You challenged the weight of his stare—ever so flirtatious regardless of the circumstances. “You’ve literally enslaved an entire selection of women,” you pointed out crassly. “Go bother one of them instead.”

“Enslaved?” He repeated, his eyebrows perched on a look of incredulity. “I didn’t enslave any one of those women. I’m a fair man—I believe in free will and I always honour my word. I weigh the options, I offer a choice—” he lifted one hand to gesture to himself, “—and they made their choice.”

“After you coerced them,” you said around a thick yawn, blinking away the moisture along your eyes as you focused your growing alertness on him. You sat yourself up with a muffled grunt, ignoring the sharp pains that struck your stomach with the movements. “You’re not a democrat. You’re just a bully with an unhealthy attachment to a bat. It’s like Negan’s version of Bonnie and Clyde.”

Negan fixated you with a long look, his expression ever so unrelenting on what thoughts were passing through that tainted mind of his. “You’ve got an awful lotta spunk for somebody actin’ like she’s on her deathbed,” he deflected, a short moment of silence following shortly after. “What about you—girl who knows what she wants and doesn’t take shit from the next gapin’ asshole?”

“What about me?”

“Did I coerce you, too?” He inquired huskily, his eyes narrowing in an almost dare for you to answer honestly.

You hadn’t ever needed much convincing to speak your mind. “Absolutely,” you answered simply, then paused before adding, “have you honestly managed to convince yourself that either one of your wives want to be here?” Your head was slightly tilted out of sheer curiosity, amazed at how painfully naive he appeared to be—for once.

Negan’s lips were spread thin with a smirk, parting as he said, “I appreciate your honesty. Although I’d be lying if I said I ain’t a tad bit hurt.”

A severe cramp seized your stomach, causing you to throw your face into your pillow. “Oh, you don’t know hurt, Negan,” you groaned. “If you truly had the capacity to feel, please be so kind as to spare me your company so that I can rot away in peace.”

He straightened up from the Lucille’s prop, his expression becoming inquisitive. “All right, I’ll leave,” he eased off, attention dropping to his lap, where he carefully rested the bat and stroked suggestively at her barbwire-infused wooden length. “And I guess I’ll be takin’ these with me,” he added, one hand dipping into his leather jacket to pull out a small, plastic cylinder labelled ibuprofen.

Your eyes practically bulged at the offering. Pain medication was strictly reserved for post-surgical cases and the physically wounded—those marred by gunshot wounds, blades, or even brute fists—you name it. That was Negan’s self-imposed rule. In this dying world, pain medication certainly wasn’t a medical luxury extended to lesser problems like a woman’s period pains—despite the entire gender technically being a victim of the repeated assault of severe period cramps. For at least a week of every month. For at least five decades of their lives.

“The fuck?” You murmured, hand reaching for the medication as though needing to feel it’s physical form to believe it’s existence.

Negan plucked it out of reach with a shit-eating grin. “You want it?” He taunted, propping his elbow onto his knee as he rattled the container between his fingers.

Your hand hesitated mid-air, expression becoming bleary as you hesitantly asked, “what’s it gonna cost me?”

“Question of the century,” he answered vaguely, intense stare beating down on you. He looked almost scheming, and that wasn’t a strange mask to wear—not for Negan Smith. But for once, his actions surprised you in a way that wasn’t coupled by repulsion. “Y’know, you’re a pain in my ass, ‘cause I can’t help but have a soft spot for girls like you—all feisty and opinionated and sure as hell ready to give my big balls a real good talking to.” The hand which clutched the medication gravitated toward you, offering it up without the tether of debt. “On the house, since I’m the boss man around here callin’ all the big, bloody shots.”

Your eyes narrowed cautiously, your hand slowly reaching to acquire your personal saving grace. You half expected Negan to yank it away as a feat of ridicule, but his hand remained steadfast, his expression eerily intense as he overlooked your internal war with a light undertone of amusement quirking the corner of his lips.

“Ya want it, or not?”

You took it from his grasp, bringing it closer to examine the legitimacy of the label. “I’m the only thorn in your foot because everybody else is scared of you,” you said distractedly, eyes then flickering from the medication to meet his idling stare.

Negan adjusted his torso to appear taller, Lucille slipping between his thighs to prod the floor under his guiding grip. “But not you,” he reaffirmed.

“I used to be.”

“Yeah?” He husked, eyes narrowed interestedly, tongue momentarily poking through his grin—as it so often did. “The hell’s changed? Real world toughen you up? Ya got a pair o’ steel down there now?”

You brushed aside his snark. “Nothing’s changed, really,” you admitted, attention drifting as you popped open the lid of the container. “But I’ve got nothing left to lose, and the worst you could do is make jam out of my brains.” You dispensed a tablet into your palm, then clicked the lid closed. “But you won’t,” you stated, meeting his gaze boldly.

Negan’s head tilted with a far too entertained air. “Why’s that?”

“Same reason you’re here. I’m your favourite wife, apparently—and what’s a man like you to do without his wife? You might just implode without a place to stick it,” you jabbed. “I’m always the one you come running to with all your shit—god knows why.”

“I gotta say, that’s mighty cocky of you,” he drawled through a grin, hand moving to whisk across his bearded jaw. “And that’s comin’ from me.”

You offered him the ibuprofen, a ghost of a cheeky-lipped grin setting in. “Force of habit when I’m obliged to be at your side every other hour of the day. Honestly, you only have yourself to blame.”

His grin widened, eyes leering you over before dipping to the container you re-offered him. “Nah,” he murmured. “Keep it. And not a word ‘bout it—I ain’t got time for ants up my ass when the other gals get wind of the shit I ain’t doin’ for them.”

“That supposed to make me feel special?” You jested. “Or just a threat?”

Negan’s lip hitched with a smirk—silent ambiguity, and reached a hand into his pocket to procure a fresh orange, bottled water and a packet of chips—your favourite chips. “That shit’ll put ya in a grave on an empty stomach,” he averted, chin jutting to the pill in your palm. He leaned over to place the snacks on the bedside table, offering you a sidelong glance. “I know your panties get all hot for this stale sack of shit,” he said, beckoning to your chips, then added, “and the orange will keep up that energy of yours—y’know, boost the spirit and fuel that friskiness o’ yours.”

You scowled indignantly as he took a swipe at your taste in chips. “Those aren’t my favourite chips,” you lied defensively, moving to place the pill beside your newly acquired snacks. “It’s practically the only brand that’s left in the midst of this dying world—so none of us can afford to be picky, can we?”

Honestly, you’d have to admit it to yourself that the chips being spared even in the midst of the apocalypse didn’t bode well for your case, but why go down without a meaningless fight?

Negan chuckled all-knowingly, settling Lucille onto the ground before he leaned his elbow onto the mattress beside you and brought his lips into the proximity of your face. “Tasteless or not, I’m willin’ to bet my dick that you’ll be back asking for more,” he murmured, hazel eyes glazed with that bedroom sex-haze as he delicately searched between your eyes.

Your attention flickered between him and the flashy, grit teeth poking through the lips you’d tasted countless times, his words so open-ended for interpretation—because Negan Smith loved playing games. “Are we still talking about the chips?” You asked softly, eyebrow hitched expectantly.

“We can talk about whatever you goddamn want,” he grumbled huskily, lips making an advance for yours, but you brought your hand up to press an index finger into the divot of his chin.

“I told you,” you began, “not happening—not today. So, off you scamper to the next wife for a good tickle.”

“Cut that crap,” Negan chided levelly, then reached for your hand and pried it from his chin. “The others can wait, let’s just get you up and runnin’ because it’s been a goddamn buzzkill on my dick.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” you sniped, brows furrowing at his nerve.

He seized your hand in a tight grip to place a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes narrowed around an intense gaze as he maintained eye contact throughout the gesture. You fought the urge to yank your hand free out of spite. Once his lips retracted from your skin, he tucked your hand between your bodies as he leant down to place a kiss on your forehead instead. It was a rather gentle touch—the most intimate one he’s ever bestowed on you, but it didn’t linger long before he pulled back and released your hand.

“Jesus, burnin’ up all for me?” He remarked, pressing the backside of his fingers to your forehead before they caressed the expanse and moved to push back the loose strands of hair that cascaded around your view. “You’re hot as shit.”

“I am, thank you,” you said suggestively, adding more earnestly, “it happens sometimes—I think my body is literally trying to kill me.”

He pulled back his hand from your hair, finger trailing down the angle of your jaw before he withdrew his touch entirely. “Yeah, well, you’re tough as nails, so tell the biological bitch to dial it down a notch.”

“Duly noted,” you murmured, reaching for the orange atop the bedside stand, your attention deliberately downturned to the fruit in clutch as you began to peel it while simultaneously reflecting on the situation presented before you.

You were thankful for the medication, but it felt odd to hold a sense of gratitude for a man like Negan, and you had not the slightest idea on how to handle the foreign phenomenon. Even a month ago, when he’d quite literally plucked you from death’s claws, there was no gratitude to behold—his motives in sparing you had always been selfish. But this instance? This was an action you thought beyond his emotional capacity.

You’d thought his better conscious had been so far lost to a history of bad and reckless decisions that there was not a slither of DNA left still capable of holding regard for others—but this act of his prompted you to reconsider that notion. After all, he owed you nothing, and you owed him everything, yet it was him that had come to settle.

A manipulative tactic? Possibly. You weren’t all that naive to allow this instance alone to so easily sway your opinion on him. He was still of questionable character—and that moral debate could ricochet for an endless amount of hours.

You spared yourself the turmoil and brought yourself to it, lifting your head to meet his stare once more. He’d been watching you enigmatically, without his usual running commentary to fill the void—it felt uncomfortable to have a silence so long settle between the two of you.

You decided to settle for a simple, “thanks, by the way,” as you set aside the discarded orange peels and began to thumb at the centre to separate the slices. “For the medication,” you clarified, popping a slice into your mouth. The first bite was an explosion of sultry sweetness, a true pleasure to behold.

Negan gave somewhat of an accomplished smirk. “I got ya,” he answered, his gaze lingering incoherently on you before he blinked away the haze and straightened himself from the bed with a grunt. “Take a hot bath—” he suggested, hoisting up Lucille from her position on the ground, “—hopefully that Lady Uterus o’ yours will let loose for a bit.”

He strung the bat across his shoulder—the rightful queen atop her throne, and turned to begin his amble toward the door.

“Are you going to draw it for me?” You asked him hopefully, which made him halt and partially turn his torso to face you.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “What’re you, ten?” He jested.

“If only,” you retorted wistfully. “The only stomach ache ten year old me ever got was because of one too many bags of chips.” You caught yourself at the mention of chips, then felt the need to clarify, “the good kind, not these ones.”

Negan lips spread with amusement. “What a goddamn time to be alive,” he stated.

“I’ll say,” you murmured, then turned your attention back to your diminishing orange. “Anyway, if you’re done bothering me now, I’ll draw that bath.”

“Damn, I stick my neck out for you and I don’t even get to stay for the show?”

“You’re always getting a show,” you retorted. “Let a girl have some alone time, for once. Besides, there’s no such thing as you sticking your neck out, seeing as you’re the one usually holding the guillotine.”

Negan chuckled, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. “Touché,” was all he offered. “I’ll draw you that bath.”

You perked with surprise, the last orange slice popped between your lips. “Only enough water for one,” you mumbled around the sweet, stringy flesh, brows lifted with implication. “Just in case you were getting any ideas.”

“Oh, I got ideas,” he hummed, scheming grin on his lips. “The meds I got ya? On the house. This? This’ll cost ya a little something. And once you’re feeling right as rain, I’ll come and collect.”

You gave a slight flicker of your eyes. “Okay, tax man,” you said, reaching for the bottled water and pill. “Whatever Negan wants.”

“Atta girl,” he praised, hand raised to point an index finger in your direction. “Now you’re startin’ to sound like a commendable wife—almost enough to make good ol’ Lucille here jealous.”

“Leave your weird bat out of this,” you said before splitting open the seam of the sealed bottle and taking an eager swig at the liquid. You popped the pill into your mouth shortly after and gave a hard swallow, your expression furrowing in disgust when it momentarily lodged itself against your tongue with the kiss of a bitter tang. After another gulp of water, it slid down uninterrupted.

“Somebody’s parched,” Negan remarked. “Never seen you take my seed that eagerly.”

You gave him a hearty middle finger, to which he scoffed amusedly and disappeared a short distance into your offside en-suite. “How hot?” He called back to you. “Three quarters to the hottest?”

“Sounds right,” you called back to him. “And add the bath oils, too!”

“Useless shit.”

“Let a girl indulge, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, settling against the mattress while you listened to the sound of the drawing bath. You noted the calm of the weather beyond the window, where a barely perceptible drizzle thrummed down gently.

It wasn’t long before Negan reappeared at your side, Lucille carefully discarded onto the foot of the bed before he inched his way onto the mattress and you felt his frame curl around your backside. Heat radiated from his body and flushed your back with a sense of comfort, his lips then finding the nape of your neck. He pressed a kiss there, his hand gently curling around your abdomen, as though he knew to take precaution around your sensitive area.

You shifted your neck away from his teasing lips, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “Why are you doing this?” You felt compelled to ask—this tender facade of his was disconcerting.

Negan’s held your stare levelly. “You’re my wife,” he stated simply. “A real man takes care of his wife.”

“Yeah, but that’s not real,” you said. “None of this is real—it’s all a made up, a twisted way for you to pass time. Us wives? We’re nothing but entertainment to you—so why all this effort?”

There was a brief pause from his side before he answered you with a sense of solemnity that you’d never truly seen him possess. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” He asked. “Hell, I know what desperation feels like. She’s a stone cold bitch, and you were nothin’ more than a husk of a person when we picked you up in those woods. You’re a fighter—death ain’t got a fuckin’ lead on you. I mean, shit, that deserves some respect—and I give that only where it’s due. So, call it respect, call it whatever you’d like, but just take the goddamn win, won’t ya?”

You listened intently, an emotion of something other than annoyance settling within your chest at his somewhat glorified image of you. For the first time ever, you didn’t know how to respond. It was easy to strike back when most of the conversation shared between the two of you was shallow, bitter banter, but as of this moment, this situation-ship was starting to feel as though the foundation was being built on something other than debt, and that thought was daunting.

“Bath should be drawn by now,” you said eventually, settling your head back into the pillow, glad to displace the view of Negan’s face.

The hand at your abdomen slid away as he lifted himself up with a grunt of effort. “Then you best go and dip your toes,” he said.

You took a moment to heave a breath before rolling over and sitting yourself up from the bed, to which Negan stepped a pace back to allow you the room to stand up. You straightened from the mattress that had held you captive for the entirety of the morning, offering Negan a long stare, who returned it with a grin that felt as though your thoughts were transparent to him.

You shouldn’t, but you wanted to. Fuck it, you would—you’d said it yourself, nothing left to lose, right? You brushed past him and hoisted a beckoning hand over your shoulder, followed by a sparse, cheeky glance.

“Come with me,” you told him.

“I like the sound of that,” Negan chuckled, trailing after you with a confident charisma. “Looks like I’m gettin’ that show after all.”

“Shut up about it.”

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[radio-writes]

What is Left of Me Without You?

Synopsis: Your husband didn't love you, not yet at least—that's what he told you. First, he wanted to see just how much you loved him.

Warnings: dubcon, smut, oral - m receiving, sex, abusive relationship, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, some misogyny, angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader, reader is somewhere on the ace spectrum too

MDNI

To everyone in your town, you and your husband were the picture perfect couple.

Alastor, the bright, charming, down-right intoxicating radio host, walking down the street with you, his absolute darling of a wife on his arm.

Smiling, giggling, sharing hushed whispers. It looked as if the two of you were lost in your own lovely little world.

Even behind closed doors, Alastor proved himself to be the perfect gentleman. You never wanted for anything, never grieved, never felt lonely. 

If you so much as glanced at something by a storefront, Alastor would have it tied with a bow at the foot of your bed.

If anything caused you grief, or even inconvenienced you the slightest bit, Alastor would have dealt with it by the end of the day. 

If you ever felt lonely, well...

You supposed you didn't really have the right to feel lonely. Alastor was always there, wasn't he?

You woke up to the sound of your husband's humming. His smooth voice glided over each note skillfully as you peeled your eyes open.

The sight before you wasn't anything new: the other half of the bed empty and already fixed up. 

You turned to sit up, and found Alastor in front of your vanity as he straightened his bowtie. He caught your eye through the reflection, and his smile broadened.

The greater half of New Orleans would probably kill to be in your place right now. Seated in a lavish bedroom, your famous, dapper husband walking to your side of the bed to place a kiss on your hand. 

"Well good morning, darling! Don't you look adorable in this state." His sweet words greeted you.

It was there again, that odd feeling that sunk in your gut. What was that?

"Good morning, my dear." You greeted him back, ignoring whatever it was. A tired smile graced your lips as you peered up at him. "Headed to work already?" You asked him. 

"Why, of course! Who else would wake up New Orleans and tell all those sleepy bones to shake a leg and hop to work?" He struck a pose, hand on his chest. "Only yours truly, of course!" 

His warm chestnut eyes met yours through the lenses of his glasses. You let out a tired, soft laugh as you glanced away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks.

You adored this man—every single bit of him—so you found it hard not to get flustered over him, even after all this time. Hell, you were still counting your lucky stars that he chose to marry you of all people.

Why? Well, you tried not to ask yourself that.

He'd already given you his answer, hadn't he?

Alastor placed a chaste kiss to your cheek, quickly pulling you out of your thoughts before they could spiral. You looked back at your husband as he said something about having to run off or risk being late.

You remained sat in your bed, smiling and watching with hearts in your eyes as your darling husband waved on his way out of your room. 

"Looking forward to what you'll cook up this evening, sweetheart!" Alastor grinned, right before the door shut behind him.

And it was there again.

The gnawing feeling was coming by more and more frequently now. What was it?

Was it actually loneliness? But that would be so silly, wouldn't it?

Your husband didn't love you, but he trusted you. And that should be enough for now.

At least, that's what he said when he proposed.

You and Alastor knew each other for a very long time, and basically all of New Orleans knew you took a very strong liking to him.

Alastor had raised the proposition back then. You remember how he had explained that it would be a good thing for both your sakes. How you'd get to be with someone you loved oh so much, and how convenient it would be for him to finally get marriage out of the way. And even more so with a cherished friend like you!

Sure, you hesitated back then; unsure if you really wanted to marry a man who didn't love you the way you did him. But he sung you praises, he sung you promises.

You were darling, you were beautiful, you were smart, you were kind. How could he not grow to love you in your marriage? How could he resist falling for a such a doll who was offering him her heart?

So you said yes. 

Because you loved Alastor with every bit of your heart, but he simply just wasn't ready to love you back yet.

And he was such a lovely man who never failed to shower you with affection. Maybe you were just asking for too much—fretting over such small things—for you to feel upset about waking up without your husband beside you. 

And—and he was a radio host, after all. Of course he had to get to work early.

You really didn't need to spare it another second of thought.

No, what you really needed to focus on was how you could help your dear, hardworking husband.

You shook your head and slapped your hands softly against your cheeks. You've got to knock that annoying feeling loose. It was all so pointless.

With a more determined look, you got up from the bed. You neatly fixed the sheets and pillows, taking extra care to make sure every single wrinkle was smoothened out.

You silently ran over the list of tasks you had to do today.

Obviously there's cleaning and making sure the house was in order. It would be a real shame if Alastor came home to an untidy space. He's already out working late for both of you, the least you could do was make sure he had a clean home to rest in.

You ought to make time to drop by the market for some fresh meat to cook up. Alastor would surely be famished after work, right? And your mama always did say that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. 

You could also drop by the tailors and get the hem of one of your Alastor's dress shirts straightened out. He hasn't said anything about it, but he's avoided using that particular one for a while now. You knew the uneven stitches had to be bugging him.

Oh, you really needed to pass by a locksmith, too. That dang lock on the basement door still had not budged no matter what Alastor did, and you just could not find the key anywhere.

You've been waving the issue off for a while now—Alastor was right in saying there's no real rush to it, nothing really important down there, anyway—but it'd be nice to have the extra storage available to you again.

You let out a huffed breath and placed your hands on your waist. You held your head high and ready. "Right. Let's get this show started."

It was a busy day, as it always was for you. The hours ticked by as quickly as loose sand through an open palm.

You didn't have time to feel lonely, not when you were too busy scrubbing with all your might against a particularly stubborn grease stain on your sink. 

When the house was finally all neat, you got yourself ready to head out. Hair done, just a touch of make up, and a rather modest dress—at least as modest as Alastor had bought you. That man did lean towards the more finer tastes.

You felt it was a bit much just to do a few errands, but you were the sweet wife of a local personality. You had an image to uphold. You had to make sure you didn't do anything to tarnish your darling husband's reputation. 

This was just part of the whole package, you supposed. Nothing that can be done about it.

Heading out into the afternoon sun, you painted on a bright smile for all the kind people that greeted you. Cheery, happy, friendly. Oh, but not too friendly.

Meek, quiet, all prim and proper. The makings of a fine lady worthy of her spot by the dapper radio host's side.

You dropped your husband's shirt off by the tailors first. They seemed to be more than happy to rush your request once you let slip who it belonged to. They promised they could have it ready in just a few hours. You thanked them softly, and noted how they were such jolly workers, laughing even as you left the store.

You dropped by the locksmith before the market, not really wanting to carry out a bunch of raw meat as you went about your day.

The nicely dressed man was a bit—difficult to talk to. He seemed to think you had no idea what a door even was. He had just started explaining how you open a doorknob when you felt your cheeks start to strain from how hard you worked to maintain a smile.

"Oh dear me, would you look at the time," You politely cut him off, pretending to be shocked at how late into the day it was. "I am so sorry, sir, but my husband should be coming home any minute now and I haven't even started on dinner!" 

A lie. Alastor always came home late.

The man raised a brow at you in disbelief. Not that he didn't buy your act, but more judgmental that a woman would be so careless as to forget to take care of her spouse.

You ignore the look he gave you, keeping your shy smile on. "Maybe you could just sell me the tools. I could get my husband to work on it."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," The man shrugged. "I'll get what you need in a split, so you can run back and make a quick stew at the very least."

He ended up selling you the tools, along with a bunch of other needless things, with the assurance that your husband would definitely need them all.

You bit your tongue as you smiled and thanked him.

Why on earth would you need a box of nails and a bottle of glue to split a lock open?

But you really did not have it in you to stand in that shop any longer.

Besides, how would it look if the papers caught whiff of Alastor's sweet little wife yelling and lecturing a local shop keeper.

You couldn't burden your husband like that.

You hurriedly rushed to the market before they could close, buying the best cut of meat they still had at this hour, before you made your way back to the tailors to check on the progress.

The workers snickered as you entered, but you really didn't think much of it until they pulled out the dress shirt you dropped off.

A large, nasty stain of lord-knows-what sat right at the center of what used to be its pristine white color.

Your smile strained badly. "Oh dear, what on earth happened?" You asked with feigned worry. You already knew what happened.

"Afraid we spilled a bit of lunch on it, sweetie." One of the ladies explained, her companions giggling behind her. "Couldn't be avoided, unfortunately."

You felt your eye twitch.

"I'm sure a lovely doll like you could find a way to fix it. Wouldn't want that hotty husband of yours to leave your pretty face for something like this, would ya?" She went on.

"You better run, though. I heard the cleaners were planning on closing up early today." Another bitch woman spoke up.

Had you been any less horrified at your husband's ruined shirt, you would have been fuming.

You quickly took the shirt and paid, rushing out before you did anything stupid. Like cry.

Oh Alastor's rivals would have a field day twisting a story like that.

As you left the ladies called out "We did straighten the hem, darling!" And a more snarky, muttered comment, "Although, you'd think someone as handsome as Alastor could find a gal that could do something that simple herself."

The walk back home was probably the most tiring part of it all. Having to keep your back straight, your smile lovely, your voice friendly. Never letting the kind people know anything was wrong.

Because you knew those kind people were all itching to have any reason to gossip about your husband.

And you just couldn't have that.

Your shoulders finally sagged as you closed the door to your house. Your smile dropped immediately as you leaned against the door in exhaustion.

You stuffed the ruined shirt in your bag, thinking maybe your can throw it out later on, but you just knew Alastor would notice it was missing. He won't be happy with you, that's for sure.

Never mind that you've bent over backwards for the better half of a year to cater to him. Never mind that you've hidden all your faults under the rug. Never mind that you've been absolutely devoted to him even before your marriage.

You had to be perfect.

But you weren't. And you knew that. It seemed every other woman in New Orleans knew that. And now with the ruined shirt, Alastor would know that too.

He'll see you as less.

It's there again, that's stupid heavy feeling in your gut. Whatever it was.

You sighed in defeat. If you couldn't get the shirt fixed, maybe you could at least make sure he had a good meal to come home to? Maybe that could make him overlook your faults this time.

You burnt it. Somehow,—despite normally being an amazing cook every other time besides tonight—you managed to burn dinner.

You put your hands over your face, groaning in frustration, just absolutely exasperated. Why on earth was everything going wrong today. Why couldn't you just do one thing right? Why couldn't you just be of some help to Alastor? Why—

You lifted your face from your hands, attempting to slow your breathing. Your eyes glanced around your ruined kitchen and your burnt dinner, and that stupid shirt peaking out of your bag, and...the door to the basement? 

Right! Maybe there could still be one thing you could do right today.

You wiped your hands over your apron, immediately scrambling for the tools you bought earlier today. 

While you weren't the smartest when it came to these things, surely you could figure something out to try to loosen the lock.

You've watched your gentle husband fiddle around with the lock many times before, never opting to break the thing. You suspected he didn't want to look in any way violent in front of you, but you always thought it was so needlessly complicated.

You grabbed a hammer from the pile of junk and made your way towards the basement door. You tested the lock's strength with a few, rather light, taps of the hammer head. It didn't feel that sturdy. You thought you could definitely break it with a bit of force on your end.

You gripped the handle with both hands and brought the hammer down on it.

Once. The sound of metals clashing echoed in your house

Twice. You had to do at least this today.

Thrice. You can't be useless to him.

You smashed the hammer down onto the lock one more time and the battered thing fell to floor. 

Your eyes widened, lips spreading into grin out of relief.

Thank heavens, you managed something today. Alastor would be glad to hear this, at least. 

You bent over, picking up the fallen lock from the floor.

A weight pressed against you from behind.

Startled out of your wit, you stood up straight, just in time for whoever it was to flatten your body right against the basement door.

"What a lovely sight that was." You hear Alastor's voice right by your ear.

His head found home where your shoulder and head met. His nose trailed up against your skin as he breathed you in.

A gasp escaped your parted lips as you feel his hands squeeze the flesh of your hips harshly.

"Alastor?" You were partly dazed, confused what was happening.

His hips pressed against yours at the sound of his name from your mouth, and you all but recoil.

Alastor was rarely handsy, and that was fine by you. You actually realized that you much preferred it that way. Alastor's love being the only thing you ever really wanted from him.

Moments like these have always caught you off guard.

Because your husband knew that. He knew you weren't comfortable with being intimate. He knew you'd much rather have him just sit by you. He knew you weren't one to jump his bones.

And Alastor normally respected that.

"What a naughty little doll you are," Alastor's breath hot against your skin. "Welcoming a man home all bent over, presenting yourself." He whispered.

Your eyes widened, attempting to turn to face him, but his body kept yours pinned to the door.

"Baby, no. I," Your breathing had gone a bit ragged. "I was just picking up this lock here."

You raised your hand, showing the broken, battered lock in your grip. "I finally managed to open the stubborn thing." You tried to smile up at him over your shoulder, expecting praise.

Alastor's eyes stayed on the lock for a second too long you think, before his hand circled your wrist and yanked your arm behind your back. His swift hands made your other arm follow after it immediately.

The ache in your limbs, the grip he had on you, the shock of it all made the lock tumble right out of your grasp.

Alastor let out a hum of disappointment. "That's a real shame, sweetheart. I thought you were finally opening up to me." He said, his voice still filled with mirth. "Could have really used it tonight, too."

You felt him ground his hips against your clothed ass. His half hard cock evident against you.

He used one hand to keep your arms where they were, the other made its way to caress up your torso. His large palm trailing past your breasts, ending up by your soft cheeks.

Contrasting with the ones that held you still, his fingers were gentle against your face. His fingertips barely ghosted over your skin.

"I had a rather rough day at work, you see. Could you blame a man for wanting a little comfort from his wife?" He whispered.

The words hung in the air. Your lips unable to deny him, but unable to agree all the same.

A heartbeat passes, and suddenly you were free. Alastor stepped back from you, your body relaxing at the absence of his towering figure. 

"But what kind of ruffian would I be to force a lady to do that against her will," Alastor said, his tone rather carefree.

You turned around to finally face him, only to see him looking else where.

Your eyes followed his line of sight and you noticed the ruined shirt, pulled out of the bag, sitting right next to a burnt dinner, all framed by a horribly messy kitchen.

Alastor looked back at you, his charming smile ever present. "I'm sure you excel at all the other aspects of being a wife, anyway." He says, as if he hadn't just seen the failure you've made of your day.

He began to walk away, and your hand reached out before you could even think. Almost as if on reflex. Almost as if it's what you had to do.

You meekly pulled him back. His eyes watched you, almost expectantly, as you cupped your palms against his cheeks, and invited him down to meet you.

Your lips brushed chastely against his as he let out a satisfied hum.

You pulled away just enough to speak, your eyes looking up at him as your breaths mixed. "What...what can I do for you, my love?"

Alastor's smile stretched, his lips dipping down to meet yours again for a second time. His hand quickly found its way to the small of your back, heavy as he ushered you out of the kitchen.

"I think that's better discussed in the bedroom, darling." He purred against your ear.

You swallowed thickly against your tightening throat. 

Normally Alastor's hands on you were cherished, but you wanted nothing more than to squirm away from his hold right then. You knew where this was heading, but it just was not something you ever found appealing.

But you could do it for Alastor, right? You have done it for him before, anyway. 

Even if you didn't particularly enjoy it, at least you'd be satisfying your husband. At least you'd be close to him. At least you'd be useful to him.

Alastor, like the chivalrous gentleman he is, opened the door of your bedroom for you as he lead you in. You heard the click of the lock behind you, right before you were quickly tossed onto your bed.

You squealed as your felt your body bounce against the soft sheets. Your dress bunched up your thighs as you adjusted your legs.

Alastor stood at the foot of your bed, working his bowtie off with nimble fingers. "Darling, why so tense? It's only me." He says, his voice almost soothing.

But it was there again. That annoying feeling. It seems heavier than ever.

Was it really loneliness? 

How could you even be lonely now, when the man you love was waiting to mount you.

"I'm just nervous, that's all, darling," You managed to say honestly. "It hurt quite a bit last time."

Your eyes watched closely as Alastor's hand made quick work of the buttons in his vest, shrugging it off and placing his knee on the bed. His eyes trained on your reactions all the while, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty on your face as you bit your lip.

"I know a way we can ease that," He said. He reached out his hand to you, inviting you to take it.

Your shaky hand didn't hesitate. Because you'd do anything for this man.

You loved Alastor, so much, with your whole body, but he seemed to revel a bit too much in that knowledge.

He knew you could never deny him. So when your hand was in his, he pulled you closer, watching with delight as you awkwardly crawled to the end of your bed.

"Care for a box lunch, darling? It'd hurt less if we're a lot more slick." Alastor teased, chuckling as you looked at him with confusion.

The gears seemed to click in your head when one of his hand rested on your hair, the other worked his belt off.

"Oh," Was pretty much all you managed to squeak out. It was definitely not what you expected. 

You hadn't noticed that you tried to pull away until Alastor applied a bit more pressure on your scalp to keep you still. 

He pulled his heavy cock free from its confines. He ran his hand over it, lazily pumping the hardening member in his palm as his gaze was transfixed on you.

Your wide eyes watched every movement of his hand. Panicked, you seemed. Not unlike many panicked does he's shot down in the past.

Not unlike many panicked other things he's felt lose life under his hands.

"Something wrong?" Alastor mused, head tilting as he watched you flinch at the sight of his dick twitching.

Your eyes finally pulled away from your husband's groin, looking up to meet the man's lidded gaze behind his glasses. "We haven't really tried that before and," You bit your lip, unsure on how to proceed. "It just seems a bit deviant." 

"Well then it's lucky we're both in such safe company then, isn't it?" The hand in your hair loosened it's grip, opting to softly comb through your hair. The slight tension in your shoulders melted away. "I've been rather curious about what all fuss was about, didn't really have a partner I trusted enough before to try, though." 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. He saw how bad you messed up today, didn't he? He saw how miserably you failed at the simplest of tasks. But he still trusted you? He still trusted you enough to do something as unorthodox as this?

"I suppose I've been rather curious about it myself." You smiled up at him nervously, your hand reached out by your own choice to hold his hefty cock in your palm.

You were lying.

He knew you were lying and he loved it.

"Then open up, my dear." You heard him say, gently guiding your head closer to his crotch.

You decided looking up at your husband was easier than watching your own hand pleasure his shaft. You kept his gaze as you parted your lips, letting your soft tongue meet the skin of his head before wrapping your lips around it.

There was a rather salty taste in your mouth, a bit of his precum leaking onto your tongue. You tried not to cringe at the taste, choosing instead to focus on the way Alastor's brows furrowed when you took more of him into your warm, obedient mouth.

"How do I taste, darling?" He teased, knowing you couldn't answer. 

He looked down at you expectantly. Not knowing what else you could do, you began to slowly bob your head, keeping your lips wrapped around his shaft.

You took your time, slowly letting more of him past your lips each time you sank your head back down. Eyes trained on your husband's face, part of you wondering if he'd praise you if you did a well enough job. But it seemed your efforts offered far too little friction for Alastor's patience.

His hips started moving against your face. Softly at first, but he soon began to push at your head to meet his thrusts.

The head of his hard cock nudged your throat and you choked. Your hands immediately went to his hips, nails digging in with how hard you held onto him. 

Tears forms in your eyes as you looked up at your husband, and your heart immediately filled with panic when you were met with a look of disappointment. 

"Hmm. Seems this might have been too much for you to handle." He sighed, finally pulling you off his dick.

A string of saliva stayed between the head of his cock and your lips as you coughed and gasped for air. 

But even as your jaw throbbed, you went to reach your hand out and tried to lean back in towards his dick. "No, no. I can do it, I promise," You said hurriedly.

"There's no need to force yourself, my darling wife," Alastor tutted, pushing you back by your shoulder, stopping you from getting another chance to prove yourself. "We can't help that you have your limits."

"I just need practice." You swore, looking up at your husband. You hated that you disappointed him again.

His fingers reach out to tilt your chin up, making space for his lips at your neck as he slowly pushed you back into the bed with his own body.

"If you ask nicely enough, I'm sure we can have you try again another time," Alastor said softly, as if granting you such a troublesome request.

The back of your head softly met your pillows as Alastor nudged your legs apart with his knee.

He slotted himself between your legs, grinding his slick cock impatiently against your panties. His groan was practically breathed into your ear.

You wanted to hear more of it. While you weren't particularly eager for sex, you were starved for your husband's praises. And if this is what it took then so be it.

You bucked your hips up to remove your underwear, your groin meeting his lazy thrusts as you did. 

"And here I was beginning to think you didn't want me." Alastor jested as he parted from your neck to help you rid yourself of your underwear. His long fingers slid the flimsy thing down one leg and let it stay on the other.

"There probably isn't a woman in this apple that doesn't want you, my love." You half-joked, but your soft laugh abruptly ended in a gasp.

Alastor pressed the thick head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pushing in just the smallest bit. "You're most likely right," He said, watching as your eyes closed at his trespass. "But you are the only one lucky enough to have me."

And you should know it.

Your back arched as your husband pushed past the tight hole of your entrance. What little resistance your walls made barely bothered him as his throbbing head forced your walls apart.

His hands dug into the sheets by your body. The smooth covers wrinkling in his grip as he strained to stay still.

"This alright for you, darling?" He asked, running his thumb softly under your eye to coax you into looking at him.

Your heart fluttered. Even when in such carnal need he cared about your silly little wants. You pry your eyes open to see Alastor peering down at you with a smile.

"I could stay with this much if you need me to." He told you, rocking hips barely moving. The head of his cock nearly slipping out before he pushed back in, just until it disappeared again into your warm walls.

He was being so kind and accommodating, you couldn't bring yourself to be so needlessly selfish.

Your cunt strained to take even just his very tip, but it was so pointless to let something like that get in the way. Your petty little apprehensions shouldn't matter. Not when you're with your husband.

Your lips strained to force a smile. "I think I can take more, my dear."

It was all Alastor really needed to hear. he dragged his dick out of you, letting it slip out. Wanting you to feel how empty you were without him. Before he rammed his hips against yours; sheathing his cock fully in your warm cunt.

"What a gal," Alastor praised. "Loving, kind, and gentle, but takes a cock like she's on the clock in a call house."

Alastor loved the way you keened at his words.

He loved the way you yearned for his touch, even when you both knew it wasn't your game.

He loved the way you worshiped him, always so desperate to please him.

Oh, how he loved how you were always so ready to give him everything. 

Alastor loved you, but just not in the way you hoped.

When you woke up the next morning, the view in front of you wasn't anything new.

Alastor's half of the bed was empty. The previously rumpled sheets for the previous night's rendezvous were pristine and smoothened out once more.

It was there again. Whatever that feeling was. 

You assumed it's going to be here for a while.

Alastor seemed to have already headed out before you awoke, not that it felt any different from other mornings.

With a sigh you made your bed. Once again going over everything you had to do for the day.

You had to clean—because you always had to clean—but more so now knowing you left quite the mess yesterday. You have to stop by the market once more, maybe look through clothing stores to find a new shirt for Alastor.

You didn't want him upset with you over that after all. While he didn't bring it up, you knew it still likely bothered him.

You made your way to the kitchen, ready to get the day started.

Except something glimmered as you walked by it. Your head turned to its direction, seeing the same padlock you broke the night before in perfect condition—back on the door to the basement.

Your brows furrowed as you approached it. Fingers gingerly examining the cold metal.

But, how could it be back on here? You swore you broke this stubborn thing last night.

From the corner of your eye, you see a note on the counter, immediately recognizing Alastor's messy handwriting. 

Yes, of course. He must have replaced the old one and fixed whatever damaged you did on the door while you were asleep. That would easily explain it.

You picked up the note, smiling softly to yourself at how silly it was to be confused.

It was a brilliant bash, my darling, but it seems this lock is just much too sturdy :(

Don't fret! I'll find a way to open it eventually! Do try to stay away from the tools though, dear. We wouldn't want you hurting your soft delicate hands!

Yours, Alastor

P.S.

I'd prefer a little less char on the meat this time! Haha!

You tried to reread the note several times, wondering if your husband was pulling your leg again. 

You broke this lock, you knew you did.

You swung a hammer at it thrice and it broke. 

Thrice? Or was it four times?

Whatever, the count didn't matter.

Or did it? 

You remained where you stood, confused at what to believe. The note still clutched in your hands.

Did you really break the lock last night? Or were you just so desperate to get something right that your fooled yourself into thinking that?

If you broke the lock then why was it still there now? Why would your darling husband tell you otherwise?

The only reasonable conclusion was that you didn't.

Surely, that made sense, right?

Your eyes stared at the note. Alastor's name seemingly bright against everything else. 

No other possibility made sense. Besides, if Alastor trusted you enough to marry you, it only made sense to return that privilege.

Right.

Your eyes lifted from the note, to the kitchen in front of you. The mess you made still loud and present and ugly. 

There was no use standing there fretting over such a silly, pointless, thing. Not when you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Who really cares about a dumb little lock, anyway? Didn't you have such a long list of tasks to do today?

Like proving your worth

To yourself

To the world

To your husband. 

Part 1 of 2 I hadn't intended for this fic to run as long as it did, and the best part was yet to come. It would have taken ages to get this out if I didn't cut it into half. Anyway, Read part 2 of 2 here!

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓 .

# with eustass kid.

kid knew you were oftentimes untamable — he had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, (late) day six. smut (mdni!). dacryphilia. orgasm denial. mentions of blood. sadistic!kid. slight degradation kink. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2k.

eustass kid was far from the definition of kindness. brash, ruthless; a force to be reckoned with. those who dared to present a bother were to be annihilated, the merest glance enough to ignite the inexistent temper. kid was but the precise definition of the color who had become his since birth — dangerous, courageous, dominant. above it all withstood his drive and persistence, the unmovable obstinance used to fuel the achievement of his goal. he was a man that wanted — a famished hand outstretched and demanding, striving to steal from the world if the object of his desire was not willingly given.

your adhesion to his crew was a product of such a thing. a capable individual — whose abilities would be far more useful to his crew — trapped in the command of an incompetent captain. his intervention was but a blessing, for now you could revel in a life where stronger crewmates — him, as per usual — had the means to protect you from powerful foes. and it was clear that you had fitted right in; a perfect addition, made to be his. kid fell for what was diligent and strong; he had no time to waste with weaklings. and you were a force to be reckoned with.

unfortunately, as any storm, you were oftentimes impossible to tame. eustass kid adored a challenge whatsoever.

it didn’t matter the amount of times his cock left you wrecked and limp, unable to take yet another step. the tameness in the aftermath of his punishments was short-lived. he had but an hour or two until you regained enough strength to pull at his strings, and to poke his temper until it exploded. you were a devil, lurking, teasing and coercing; coaxing him to fall straight into a well-placed trap. regardless, he’d follow — and he’d wreck you.

the weather was hot; the waters were calm. dive had managed to convince half the crew to scavenge the town for some ice cream, whereas those who remained opted for a swimming session near the shore. you were sprawled on a resting-chair, sunbathing with a stolen lollipop inside your mouth. the sweet was round; red. your tongue made circular movements before you sucked on it, hollowing your cheeks, well-aware of his persistent glare. a few droplets of crimson sugar coated in saliva stained your cleavage, and your thighs rubbed together; legs crossed as you pretended to care for a tan.

kid’s cock twitched at the glinting of sweat on your bare stomach and shoulders, and he abandoned the pretense of being busy with his tools. driven steps guided him towards you, and he hovered above your frame with maddened eyes.

“you’re blocking the sun,” you pointed out, frame engulfed in his shadow. kid all but grunted in response, taking his time to unravel the sight you posed.

at last, sensing the approach of yet another set of unwanted words, he snapped. “i’ll block whatever the hell i want.”

“is that so?” you hummed, placing your sunglasses on your head. he was given the entire grace of your uncovered eyes, piercing through his own with growing amusement.

“you’re bolder today,” kid noted, leaning forward until his weight threatened to overpower you. “think you need a reminder of how i deal with disobedience.”

you grinned — all teeth and delight —, sitting up with crystal clear excitement. challenge dripped down your sweet-coated tongue, sentences half-understandable through the lollipop wrapped around your lips. kid tugged at the plastic stick with enough strength to have your teeth colliding against one another, a clinking sound at the action. you sent an annoyed glance his way, and kid shoved the lollipop into his mouth, biting on it; sharp fragments flew past his lips and settled themselves on inches of your face and breasts, and before you could complain of the theft, kid threw you over his shoulder as though you were but a sack of potatoes. he could have fucked you — then and there at the deck — bare and whimpering for the crew to see. it would serve as a delicious punishment, to have you reduced to a mere puddle of lust; the force and reputation you were known to have, crumbling into a thousand pieces. yet kid was as vengeful as he was jealous, and the thought of his crewmates, having the sight of your naked figure etched into their memories, had him reeling in anger.

boisterous, heavy steps guided him to the captain’s quarters. he kicked the door open, falling hinges causing it to pend sideways. kid threw you on his bed and spat the lollipop stick on the ground, gripping your ankles and dragging you through the mattress. your feet grew free of his grasp and you teased his clothed erection, weight supported by your elbows. kid grunted — a warning. one thoroughly ignored, for your ministrations continued. at last, he snapped, wrapping a metallic hand around your neck, towering over your lying figure. you gasped once he rubbed his erection against your thigh, pre-cum staining the light fabric of his pants. his eyes had a glint of a challenge within them, daring you to retreat; to fear his size and what was to come due to the lack of proper moisture. the intensity explicit in your eyes mirrored his own, reciprocal desire and impatience pouring through every pore.

“what, captain?” you taunted, wrapping your legs around his waist. “lost your touch?”

kid wiped the fragments of the lollipop from your face, his large tongue swiping over your cleavage. his palms spread your legs, and his chest pressed against your own; forced your back deeper into the mattress. your feet slipped inside his pants, teasing the surface of his ass. kid clicked his tongue, annoyed at the coverage as his hand moved swiftly to remove them both, swollen cock pressed against his abdomen. his fingers curled around the waistband of your bikini bottom, and he tore it in half.

“will have to teach you a lesson or two, won’t i, brat?” he snarled, his tip slipping through your folds. you gripped his shoulders, breathing heavily in anticipation. kid grinned, gripping both of your wrists and pinning them to the bed, leaving you but prone to concede to his every wish; a cornered prey.

his cock did not slip inside, rather split your walls. you shouted, arching your back as the pain overcame the previous pleasure. he was embraced by the warmth of your intimacy, leaking head presenting a ruthless press to your spongy spot. kid did not bother to spare you a second to adapt, moving right thereafter. his shaft invaded you — base-to-tip; base-to-tip — balls smacking against the flesh of your ass, leaving it sore and sensitive.

“kid!” you pleaded, fighting against his grip.

“no captain?” he taunted, shoving himself inside yet again. “you’ll take what i give you, brat. and you will enjoy it.”

his cock twitched at the sight of your tear-stricken cheeks; fat droplets escaping past your hooded eyes. kid grunted, forcing his chest to brush against your own, his entire weight pressed onto your figure. you sobbed as he hammered his cock inside, stretching your walls; inflicting pain as his tip maintained a ruthless pace, an aggressive brushing on your cervix. kid groaned, reaching deeper into you the second your legs tightened its grip on his waist.

your once half-moist cunt grew damp, essence dripping down your entrance and being shoved inside yet again with his every thrust. the pain made you twice as excited, walls squeezing his cock in a manner that had his eyes rolling back ever-so-slightly. the metallic grip on your wrists maimed the bare flesh; left it aching, although not quite as much as your sensible, abused cunt. kid felt the creation of small fissures, thin trails of blood smearing both metal and flesh. you whimpered, trashing under the pressure of his weight.

“lost your words, brat?” kid taunted, grunting right thereafter. a pointed snap of his hips had his girth shoved deeper as he bottomed out, ripping a loud moan from your throat.

you squirmed, legs falling limp on the mattress. kid felt every stretch; the pleasure that made you soak his erection. his lips latched on your face, tongue swirling and swallowing the tears. you were crumbling, desperate. your lips were parted open, and drool trailed down your chin. he could see his tip through your stomach, the blood that smeared your forearms. you were close. kid’s cock was dismantling your insides, invading the past dried cunt. the pain you were submitted to had been equal to that of being torn in half, yet, you were close. ache and devastation mingled with the pleasure imposed by ruthless thrusts that had the large bed complaining; headboard meeting the wall. regardless, you were close. he could sense it through the squeezing of your cunt; the roll of your eyes.

he stopped moving. your head snapped at him, mouth agape; shock-etched expression. kid laughed, ignoring the painful twitch of his cock, still secured inside.

“what?” he mocked, using his other hand to twitch your hardened nipple.

“kid,” you sobbed, failing to roll your hips; to feel his cock deeper into your walls. “i’m close.”

he raised his head, angling it in a manner to catch a glimpse of your pitiful face. you were trembling, desperate. your cunt gripped his erection, threatening to milk him dry. your lips were scarred from the constant biting, your eyes were filled with unshed tears. marvelous — the prettiest —, and his altogether, body and soul.

“and what do you expect me to do?” kid inquired, snapping his hips; a violent thrust that stole the breath from your lungs.

“m-more!” you begged, trashing the second he stopped his movements yet again.

he smirked, clicking his tongue. “but do you deserve it, brat?”

“yes?” you tried out, unsure, observing him through the tears.

“pathetic,” he taunted, twisting your nipple with further strength. you mewled when he tugged at it, behaving as though he planned on ripping it off. “don’t even know what you want, do you, slut?”

you clenched tighter around his cock at the degradation. he barked out a laugh — loud enough to be felt through the walls. the pressure applied on your wrists increased; another violent shove of his cock. he stopped altogether right thereafter, pleasure from your desperation.

“what do you want?” he demanded. four, spacious and violent thrusts pointing out every word, at every breath given. you bit down your lips, scratching against the metal of his hand; drawing blood from your nails.

“i want to cum!” you screamed, moving your head in utter desperation.

kid clicked his tongue in annoyance, hips unmoving. his lips quirked up to form a wretched smile, cock aching amidst your walls, his balls growing heavier at the lack of further contact. yet, the pleasure came from your desperation; your lack of words; the inability to produce proper words. he could drag that moment for a while longer.

“and?” kid proceeded, daring to sound bored. you seemed frustrated; confused. “you’re not stupid. i’d not—ngh, fuck a stupid cunt.”

“kid,” you started, words retreating once you caught on the sight of his disappointment. “captain, please!”

“please,” he mocked, copying your strangled intonation.

“captain, let me cum,” you sobbed, biting your lower lip. “please, p-please!”

kid smirked. “no.”

you gasped, frustration overcoming your will to obey him. kid snapped his hips, abusing your cunt with a violent pace. he could sense your willingness to shelter his size, a never-ending shouting at the unstoppable hammering of his erection inside of you. he was taken — inch by inch — at each particular thrust. kid grunted at the sight of his tip — swollen, leaking, in-and-out — a crown of white around it. fresh, fat tears rolled down your cheeks and kid all but laughed, pouding into you without an ounce of regret.

you were moaning; desperate; clinging to him as though he was the anchor that tethered you to the earth. the knot was close to unraveling, the orgasm nearing its arrival, when kid stopped. you tried kicking him; fighting against his grasp. all but feeble attempts that made him twice as aroused.

“again,” he demanded, controlling the tide of his own high that threatened to burst.

“captain,” you sobbed, words but a half-understandable croak. “make me cum, please, i want to cum.”

“again,” kid stated, scratching your stomach. you whimpered — though he knew you’d rather snarl at him.

“captain,” you weeped, choking on your tears.

“that’s it, slut,” he encouraged, regaining the snap of his hips, thrusting his aching shaft inside. “again.”

“captain, captain, captain,” you kept begging; drooling. your words became slurred right thereafter, your mind embracing a haze of nonsense led by the ministrations of his cock.

kid dug his knees deeper into the mattress, snarling as his pace quickened, growing sloppier. he spat on your opened mouth, his tip hammering against your g-stop, gummy walls smeared with his essence. this time, when your orgasm neared, his hand gripped your chin to force your face to meet his own. your tears wetted the tip of his index, and he all but snarled, shoving himself deeper, a particular snap sending his load straight into your awaiting cunt. you crumbled underneath him, your own orgasm washing over you; tides coating his leaking cock as he persevered.

kid let go of your wrists to roll over and press his back on the mattress, the limp side of your body placed on his chest. he wrapped an arm around your waist, cursing under his breath when you tried to move.

“it’s warm and i’m sweaty,” you complained, hugging him closer in shock at the sound of undoing metal; pieces of his faux arm thrown all over the room.

“and i’m tired,” he rebuked, cuddling you closer. “shut it and rest.”

you cursed him, figure growing rigid at the movement of his chest underneath — for he had heard your every word.

“you’re a tough learner, aren’t you, slut? guess i’ll have to teach you again.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : bumpin’ that bumpin’ that bumpin’ that

[mythronic]

Wayne Family Persona TIME (Pt 1)

Brucie Wayne thinks he did it best? Nuh uh, his kids are a multitude of little shits who like to one up their father.

Richie Gray:

Hot boy supreme, instagram model, verified on all platforms, spoiled little brat. Dick’s persona revolves around posting shirtless pictures of himself on social media and posting about his lifestyle as an Olympic gymnast and 4-time champion medallist, social media heartbreaker and sexyman of Gotham type shii. He posts GRWM’s while gossiping and complaining while posting about brand deals and promoting products online.

Trust me, he’s absolutely been so absolutely flustered and embarrassed posting all those pictures cause man actually does not know what to do with himself. Golden retriever soft boy he is,,,

He makes friends with other models and influencers, (if anyone imagines Young Justice the show instead of the comics, then Garfield Logan) and would later whine about them to Wally, Donna, and Roy.

Dick: “Why do these wannabe makeup influencers think that promoting faulty product is fine as long as they apologise for when they inevitably get caught? Why??”

Wally: “Money?”

Roy: “Attention.”

Dick: “WhYYYY—“

Jayce Todd-Wayne:

Charity boy from crime alley who’s always trying to help. Jason pre-death went with his persona, genuinely putting money into improving the things that genuinely needed to be improved, like the orphanages and foster care system as well as helping work to eliminate as much homelessness as possible by reinforcing and providing camps and shelters that provide the help they need.

Post Ethiopia I imagine Jason doesn’t go to any galas or anything anymore, content with making change as Red Hood and not wanting to feel his anger flare at interacting with privileged and ungrateful millionaires.

No one in Crime Alley believed that Jayce was his actual personality, growing up on the streets in the Narrows or Crime Alley doesn’t exactly foster naïveté like that, but they understand the necessity and appreciate his help.

Jason, to Blue Hood: “Yeah. These are the good places, they can’t always provide shelter, but they’re always up to date on space, food content, all that stuff.”

Tyler: “Ooh, I heard that Jayce Wayne was the one who made that system.”

Jason: “Ug-ac— Ack- Yeah kid.”

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne:

Business mogul and the genius heir of Wayne Enterprises as its current majority shareholder. Tim went for the fear route. His family choose to stick to the ditzy, air headed natures, Tim went with a cruel ruthlessness that can freeze over hell. Strategic, business savvy, and knows everything about everyone—socialites fear and respect him, and the people appreciate his cold and brutal, but honest and fair method of running the Neon Knights.

Tim in actuality, being a more laidback and sarcastic person, and as Cardinal, the sly, chaotic little brat who makes friends with villains and rogues for fun will never be mistaken for cold hearted Timothy Drake-Wayne.

He’s a messy little shit with a messy relationship history, the media is not surprised when he publicly dates Conner Luthor, the heir of another ruthless businessman. They fear what kind of order these two will create.

Tim: “Bern, Kon, look: ‘Breaking News: Conner Luthor caught in a scandalous kiss with mysterious blonde?’ How do you think we should twist this story, hm?”

Bernard: “Ooh- ooh! You can go to the location and take a picture with you both in that exact position and pose as a selfie, and use that selfie as a claim that the author doctored the picture.”

Kon: “That’ll be fun.”

Cassandra Wayne:

Stuck up rich kid, accomplished Dancer, protective sister. People believe that she and Tim are twins, and therefore, Cass matches his cold energy with an… ‘Entitled sister’ energy. It’s not that hard for her to fake, people at galas were disingenuous and fake, all she needs to do is silently stick her nose up at them and people made their own conclusions. She’s Tim’s other half, and together they would scare the socialites back to their corners.

Although she may be a ‘stuck up brat who mooches off of her little brother’s work, she’s a respected dancer and her media presence doesn’t affect the views on her performances. (Socialite gossip sticks to socialite gossip)

People also have learned never to piss off Cassandra Wayne, especially in the form of insulting or harassing her brothers. You will regret it.

Xanthe: “You punched a politician?”

Cass: “Insulted Tim. I did warn him.”

Xanthe: “How is your persona both so inconvenient and convenient at the same time?”

Cass: *shrug*

[simp-ly-writes]

Professionals

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Spy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a MI6 spy with a secret mission different to what the CIA has requested you for; using your information gathering expertise, you pose as Russell Adlers wife as the both of you go undercover abroad, the catch? MI6 wants to know everything about your "husband" just as much as you do.

─ · · TAGS: no use of (y/n), non-canon compliant, flirting, use of pet names, teasing, fluff.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,607 | Part 2

─ · · A/N: I always wanted to try and make one of those series that stems off into prompts and scenarios so use this chapter as the basis! 😊 (I hope this somewhat makes sense lol).

─────── · ·

Monday Night | MI6 Agency, London

It was one of the few nice nights of the year yet here you were sat inside your Directors office. A couple dozen high ranking officers swarming around you, the room tense in wait as the leather of your seat groaned as you took a seat.

One thing happened after another, a team was preparing your looks, another briefing you on culture, customs and speech. You had worked for the secret intelligence service for over two and a half decades, starting right out of university yet had never experienced something quite like this in all your history. All you could do is nod along.

"He'll be sat there waiting when you arrive. He is CIA, Clandestine special officer. A full report will be sent to your room when you arrive, deployment immediately. You are dismissed, officer," was all you gathered from your Director before you were being followed out into a car, your belongings already packed for you, ring box sitting heavy between your hands in your lap. You couldn't find it in you to open it.

"You ready, (last/name)?" one of your fellow operators, Bill asked you, driving the car another office sat shotgun, so much security... you think to yourself, worried for what the hell kind of a mission they were sending you on and with who of all people?

"What am I not ready for?" you ask back, faking confidence yet feeling frustrated by the lack of information you were receiving before going overseas and acting as a double-agent.

"Well, from knowing you, marriage," he chuckles, fixing the rear-view mirror as you shuffle around in the backseat. It was obviously meant to be a joke to cheer you up yet the word marriage rung through your head, echoing on repeat.

"Well it's not like I'm actually gonna get married, Bill. Just got to look all pretty, get the information, and get the hell out. The ring is just another thing of the disguise at the end of the day," you reply with nonchalance before opening the ring box- immediately regretting so as you stare at the most gorgeous ring you could ever dream of.

What the fuck, is all you can mutter underneath you breath before Bill is pulling into a parking sport at the airport. The other officer already running around back to the truck, unloading your gear. Bill lets out a long low whistle after seeing the ring.

"Well, everyone's going to know your a taken woman with that rock on your finger." You flip Bill the finger, placing the ring onto your left hand before throwing the box into your handbag and stepping out of the car. A plane waits for you on the tarmac, engines already roaring and with one wave back to the boys, you are off up in the air on on your way to America.

─────── · ·

Tuesday Morning | Hotel, Washington, D.C.

When arriving to the "Land of Freedom," you quickly hailed a cab to your to-be-shared hotel room for the next few days. Your boss mentioned it as a speed, "get-to-know one another" meeting but in your eyes it would be the opportunity to get the upper hand on information.

Your mission was simple, do the missions the CIA wanted you in, provide them with the information they wanted all the while taking what your agency wanted- who exactly is Russell Adlers and what the hell they were doing with brainwashing.

You were surprised to see how many lanes of traffic there were on your want to the hotel room and once arriving to the five-star hotel, staff members were there awaiting your arrival, "Mrs. Adler, please allow me to hold your belongings and bring them up to your room for you. An assortment of breakfast has been prepared at your husbands request and will arrive in 30 minutes."

White gloves swiftly took your baggage from out of the trunk another holding the door open for you both before leading you up to your room. Deep stained hardwood made your heels click against its surface in tune with the live performance piano. You took in the dazzling crystal chandeliers of the lobby with its panelled walls and luscious plants. The elevator was glass with a gold banister that you leaned upon, examining every exist and staff member positioned for the "just-in-case" that came with the job.

With a ding, you were up to the ninth floor and lead down a cosy lit hallway before being presented with your keycard. A white glove motioned to the scanner before holding the door open for you to enter first.

The room was moody and romantic just as the lobby was fit with golden accents, walls in that signature wood paneling, and floor finished in a plush cream carpet. A kitchenette, small living space and bed set with fresh white sheets and a few too many pillows off to another room set within the suite. You were impressed to say the least once hearing the last of your luggage be placed within the room.

"Is there anything else we could assist you with Mrs. Adler?" the staff member asks, eyes hanging onto your every word- eager to help. You smiled at the young man before shaking your head with a smile. A strand of your hair falling out of place in doing so. "No, I am quite alright. Thank you for your work, I'll be sure to make my husband reward your service this morning." And with that, the door closed behind you as you took in the silence of the space before going digging.

Grabbing your gloves from your purse on the counter you opened every drawer and cranny, looking underneath every piece of furniture in the main room before heading towards the bedroom. The singular bed mocked you as the white sheets glistened through the sunlight peaking through the sheer curtains.

A singular small suitcase sat on an armchair that faced the bed. Delicately zipping it open you took apart its components yet finding nothing out of the ordinary, not a sloppy worker, you praised your "husband" before placing a small tracker into one of the open seams.

Standing back up and looking outside the reflection of another body behind you had you freezing in the moment. A tall man stood behind you by the outline of his broad shoulders, your eyes flickered between the two of you in the reflection. His voice casting goosebumps across your skin before you were reining yourself in, remember who you are, remember what the job is, remember-

"Hello, Sweetheart. Anything your looking for in particular?"

Shit. You turned around, casting a quick signature smile before slowly taking off your gloves and walking over to the side table. You felt his stare watching as you moved around the room as you took a seat on the corner of the bed.

"Just making sure that my husband was leaving me with no surprises after all you do know how much your wife hates them so," you retort now taking your time to stare. You took in the loafers he wore, freshly polished and leather matching the belt looping through pressed dress pants with the collared shirt he wore, a pair of aviators hanging from the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

His muscles bulged from the sleeves, veins casting up from his fingertips and up to his neck, beard freshly shaven and fitting the classy affluent couple look you both were assigned. Your eyes stopped at his face, watching as his head tilted in a silent demand for you to dare ask about the scar running up from his cheek to his nose.

"Already getting protective of me?" Adler teases catching your ring finger twitch at the name with a smirk.

You didn't appreciate him already trying to be above you, "the papers never said my husband would be handsome. How could they leave such an important part out?" you smile, your words genuine but the way in which you cross your legs after saying it as your husband raising a brow before rolling his eyes.

"I'm not the one you're trying to charm over. Save it for when we get overseas, I'm sure they'll enjoy it more-"

"And you didn't enjoy me calling you handsome?" you press forwards watching Adler roll his shoulders before scoffing. "I know I am, didn't need you to say it."

You gasp playfully, standing to tease more of his personality out of him but before you can reach Adler has your wrist in a firm yet gentle grip, cautious of his own strength. "I'm not going to break if you hold me so gently, Mr. Adler."

"Well, Mrs. Adler. If you think I'm going to get handsy you're wrong. Take the bed tonight, I'll settle on the couch."

Breakfast arrived shortly after your teasing match and while eating you appreciated that Adler did in fact hold table manners. Always making sure your coffee and water was filled yet apparently it was a step too far in asking for a bite off his plate as he waved you off.

It was the first day of a mission that you did not know when it would end but as you laid there in the cold sheets listening to Adler hum along to something on the radio before taking a drag from his cigarette. There was the smallest part of you hopeful that he would not hate you after all of this that became overshadowed by the job and everything you had at stake. There was no question but being the utmost professional.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: what did you think?? 👀 I've got some ideas of Adler finding out you have a side mission, introducing you to members of the team, missions gone wrong-AH! So many ideas, let me know if any of these stand out! 😄💕

[casuallyanidiot]

The Beta Test | Prologue

[yandere male x gn reader]

Local party animal and known social butterfly [name] wakes up to find that they've been abducted by their very reclusive and very wealthy classmate. Why, you might ask, did he do this? Well for one reason of course! He needs to know how he's going to talk to his crush! So now, with their freedom on the line, [name] has to figure out how to get this kid with the one of his dreams or risk never leaving at all. Lots of weird conversations ensue, of course.

600+ words Tw. Swearing, mentions of alcohol and drug consumption, kidnapping, drugging Table of contents

The first thing that came to your groggy mind was: “Shit, I need to work on that research paper.”

The second was: “Oh my god I’m absolutely going to die right now.”

Now, normally when you would wake up somewhere random it wouldn’t be too weird considering the fact that you were a frequent presence at many parties occurring on and off your campus, but you couldn’t say that you had ever found yourself laying on the floor behind a set of bars. Well, the on-the-floor part you had. Just not all that other stuff. 

The first thing, and the most logical thing at that, to consider was that you had somehow wound up being arrested last night. While you would like to say that you were a very responsible person when it came to substances of various degrees, there would be times when you would end up getting swept up in the heat and frenzy of a good time and good music, hence the whole waking up in strangers homes thingy. You had never gotten into any trouble while being in a state like that, but hey, there was a first time for everything. You could only imagine how embarrassing you had behaved last night if you ended up in jail.

It really sucked that you had been arrested though. “What the hell am I going to tell my parents?” you thought with a groan as you pressed your hands to your face. Your knees were placed to your chest and the soft material of your pajamas-

Wait a damn minute.

You looked down to find that you were in fact wearing something that would only be taken to bed or to take out the trash. The stains and faded fabric were proof enough of their use, and there was absolutely no way you’d be wearing sleep clothes while getting blacked out at a party. When you actually thought about it for two seconds, it became apparent that yeah, you had been in your apartment wearing comfy clothes, preparing to actually study, and winding down for the evening before BOOM, Nothing. 

Your brows were furrowed and your lips were pursed as you wiped at your eyes. Your brain felt fuzzy, and the room ( cell?) was blurred. Though the second it cleared up you realized that you were utterly and unequivocally fucked.

Yes, you were inside a cell, on the floor, sitting on a little mat. The floor was gray and cold and hard, but on the other side of the solid metal bars was a kitchenette and a dining table. From what you could see with the virtually nonexistent lighting were clean white marble countertops and sleek wood accents decorating the entire other half of the room. It looked nice, like one of those backdrops that you would see some social media model posing in front of, pretending that they were cooking.

Oh, and there was this guy sitting on a chair just staring at you.

You blinked harshly in surprise. How you hadn’t noticed him before was beyond you, but to be fair you weren’t exactly in the clearest state of mind. Still despite the terror growing in your gut like a weed, you put on a wobbly, awful, nervous smile and said,

“ Oh hi, what’s up?”

[procyonloser]

Adam didn't know what to say, how to react, or what to do - nothing could have prepared him for this. Upon his creation, many things were confusing, strange, befuddling, and upon his removal from Eden, he got a taste of how the world could sting.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared Adam for walking into Lute's condo and finding a body pillow with him on it.

She turned fifty shades of gray and stammered over her words, trying to defend the purchase. She hadn't ordered it, she said. She got it from Peter.

'Peter dating my son, Peter', Adam had asked her, to silence, as Lute broke out a window to jump out of an fly away.

Adam looked down at the pillow, it was his normal outfit. He turned it over and found art of himself face down, ass up, with a little bunny tail.

Nope. He burned it right to hell.

Adam tracked down Peter next, who smiled upon seeing him, then turned pale as he realized Adam wasn't happy. He tried to escape, but Adam was quicker and larger than him. Peter turned bright red when Adam slammed him up against a wall, letting out a small moan that made his skin crawl.

'Explain the fucking pillow,' Adam snarled in his face.

And Peter did.

They hadn't been made in heaven, which was less shocking - they'd been made in hell, but Peter didn't know who by. He just found a truck load, and apparently there was a line around the block to pick one up. Why people wanted a pillow of Adam in a slutty pose, Adam had no idea. He was a badass exorcist alpha male rock legend, not some bitch.

Peter said as far as he knew, the pillows had come out of the Greed ring. Which Adam wasn't supposed to go to. He wasn't allowed there. It wasn't part of the agreement, he wasn't supposed to upset the heirarchy in the hellborn by reminding them all they were nothing compared to him a human soul.

Adam went anyway.

He found one of Mammon's factories, and felt stunned silent for the second time in one day. There wasn't just one pillow of him in production, there was an entire series of them, and some were blatantly pornographic. He was happy they gave him a totally accurately sized huge dick, but he wasn't as thrilled with the things that were up his ass or down his throat in half the pillows.

Technically, he wasn't allowed to kill hellborns, but he was allowed to pull the fire alarm and then blow the whole place to smithereens.

Flying home, he had to pass through Pride, where he was quick to run into the face he hated most.

Lucifer hung in the sky, arms crossed, horns high.

'Mammon told me what you did, you know we have cameras now, right?' Lucifer asked tiredly, and Adam just parroted him mockingly, before telling him to get the fuck out of the way. 'No, you can't just attack the private property of one of my people, my sins, without answering for it. Those sex dolls cost Mammon a lot to produce.'

Adam stared, and stared.

'... Dolls? I burned down the body pillows.'

Lucifer froze, nervously laughing. 'That's what I meant, of course. Pillows. Right. That's all he's made of you.'

Adam decided in that moment all sinners must die.

[milksuu]

𓆩🖤𓆪 Screw Your Bike! 𓆩🖤𓆪

❥ prompt: You hated to admit it but, you were jealous of a damn motorcycle. How was it possible to feel second place to a vrooming object with two-wheels? What did it have that you didn't? A leather seat and a holo-graphic chrome wrap, really? Well, if Kayn wanted to take a ride, he'd have to go through you. Literally and figuratively. ❥ content/warnings: nsfw 18+, dom!kayn, dirty talk, bratty behavior, profanity ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!kayn x f!reader

You were going to be in so much trouble. Good. That's where you wanted to be. After being blown off recently, you weren't trying to be nice. If Kayn wanted to keep having fun with his new toy, then he'd have to go through you.

"Where the hell are my keys?" He growled out loud. Frustration igniting that irresistible scowl across his features. "I swear, if Ezreal thought It'd be funny to hide them, then it's going to be funnier when I murder him."

Oh. Poor Ezreal. You hated if he ever took the blame for your misdeed. But your secret wouldn't be kept for long. It was only a matter of time before you were found it. Which, you wanted to be. Very badly.

Kayn asked for your help in looking for the missing keys. You played your part well; sifting through cluttered drawers and couch cushions. After searching the house, it was time to search around the garage.

"Probably left it in the ignition or something," Kayn mumbled to himself, scanning the body of his motorcycle.

You stood a few feet away. Smiling. Watching him wrack his brain about where exactly were those damned keys. It was time to be found out. You bounced on your toes. Jingle Jingle.

That definitely caught someone's attention. Kayn looked up, narrowing his green eye against you. "Did you just...jingle?"

"I don't know. Did I?" You posed with fake innocence. You bounced again. Jingle Jingle. "Mm, maybe I did. I can't really tell. Would you mind finding out for me?”

Kayn’s look spat fire, but his smirk crossed with intrigue. He sauntered over with a sway, and sucked against his teeth. “Clever hiding spot. But kinda uninspiring, don’t you think?”

You merely shrugged. Allowing him to bask in whatever verbal triumph he wanted to display. You had to keep your cool. Especially when he plunged a hand between your cleavage. You held in a shudder. The rough of his knuckles brushed against your nipples during his careless search.

That all-too confident smirk faltered at the ends. But where his ended, your grin began. Nothing was there.

"You were right. That spot was uninspiring." You shook your lower half. Jingle Jingle. "Wonder where else they could be."

Kayn's jaw tightened. You saw the clench of teeth. He didn't liked to be fooled with. The fire that blazed just behind his eyes told you the punishment he wanted to reign. All according to plan.

"You're a damned brat." He said with a bite, tempting to snake a hand up your black mini-skirt.

He almost barked when you gripped his wrist, pinning his hand against your inner thigh. You narrowed your mascaraed lashes against him. "And you're an ass-head. Think I'd be happy with you blowing me off over your supped-up tricycle?"

Kayn glanced from his motorcycle back to you. So, this is what this was all about. You wanted to pick a fight with him over his new toy. Fine, have it your way—but it wasn't going to be the verbal kind. Words were all pointless, meaningless, a waste of time. Fucking things out always worked better.

Kayn slammed his mouth down on yours. You yelped, gripping his wrist tighter. You wouldn't relent, not so easily. When he sucked and nipped at your lower lip, you wrapped your free hand around his neck, grasping for some semblance of control.

Kayn groaned from the slight pressure and claimed your mouth fully. He returned that pressure by gripping tighter against your thigh fat. You were going to let his hand go. Unless you wanted bruises. He wasn't afraid to leave a mark or two on your body. Actually, he preferred it. A reminder of him anytime you undressed.

You whined a moan. The digging of his fingers sending shocks between your legs. You gasped for air, your strength siphoned.

Kayn breathed a shit-winning smirk into your ear. You bit your bottom lip. He thrusted his fingers inside your panty line. Sliding the keys out, the metal jostled and glided against your folds. Wet slicked and coated.

"You're going to pay for almost tarnishing the metal. I don't think you know exactly how much I'd have to cough up to replace them. Nothing you could afford with cash, anyway." Kayn's features darkened, licking the keys clean of your taste.

Oh God. He was such a dick. This is exactly what you wanted. "You're such an ass—"

You cried out when frim hands smacked against your back side, gripping the now tender flesh. Yanking you off your feet, Kayn practically tossed you onto his motorcycle. With your back pressed against the control panel, Kayn settled between your straddled legs. He was going to fuck on you his motorcycle to make a point? Before you could protest, Kayn possessed your lips with a snarl and bite. Goose-bumps rose when you heard the undoing of his jean button and the down slide of his zipper.

"I hope I ruin the leather on this stupid thing," you said, gripping his hot dick in your hand.

Kayn growled and shoved your mini-skirt up to your stomach, snapping your panties to the side. "Ruin it and you're going to be licking your mess off the seat, while I fuck you from behind."

Shit. That sounded so hot. "Screw your fucking bike," you said with a shudder. His fingers swiped against your pussy. Completely drenched for him.

"Don't tempt me with the idea." Kayn took himself from you in his hand, circling your clit with the head of his cock. Slicking it up and down. You writhed, legs shaking against his sides.

Kayn shifted his hips. With his glazed tip, he dragged the length of his cock through your entrance. Your throbbing folds parted, spreading around his shaft. Pushing up to your cervix, he dragged up and back, coating himself with your fluids.

Your hands snatched his shoulders, finding your nails leaving desperate trails for him to take you, over and over and over again. Pleading for him to never stop.

Kayn bent forward, gripping the motorcyle handles. He dipped his head, pressing his teeth against the helix of your ear. "Think you're more exciting than my bike? Then you better purr louder." Bastard!

Kayn slammed inside of you, delivering all of his frustration, hunger and revenge. Taking you like the demon that he inevitably was. You cried out, tightening your legs around him, holding him closer. As if he was your savior and not your actual reaper.

Fuck. You were so hot, tight, and wet. Your walls pulsed and squeezed, making him swell and throb. Kayn gritted his teeth. He almost let himself reach his threshold before you—he was never going to let you fucking win.

Kayn lapped a long tongue across your neck, before diving and sinking a pair of canines into your skin. An apparent mark of his victory. You whole body jolted with pleasure. Your pussy clamped down so hard around his shaft, for a moment, Kayn's vision went black.

You screamed his name. Bucked against him. Coming all around him. Kayn went with you, catching his vulgar groans in his throat as he filled up your insides.

You got exactly what you wanted. Kayne think's he's won, and that's fine. But you were the real winner. He rode you before the damn bike. You smiled to yourself. All according to plan.

[cebwrites]

Hello !! Love the way you write the heart pirates 🫶 if it’s okay to request, would you be able to do head-cannons on the silly hearts with a reader who tends to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere around the polar tang?

They don’t do it on purpose- honest! But they don’t realize how tired they are and fall asleep on instant contact with anything comfy :’) ((inspired by my own tendencies to crash on the couch or floor with a simple pillow or soft blanket, the occasional chair if the sitting position complies))

No need to write if it’s a little silly!! You can take it any direction you want, have the bestest of days and keep on writing your awesome work, take care!!

a/n: eepy gang rise up!! i have a habit of getting very sleepy after eating too of course it's okay, this is just about what i need rn actually _〆(´Д｀ )

for anyone new here, here's the hearts name guide <- i use for them!

Heart Pirates with tired Reader

masc reader, they/them law word count: 1.4k

At first, it's just after a hearty dinner that your peers catch you on the verge of falling asleep—Bas, Laeno, and Dorie pride themselves on making such good knock-out food—but slowly they notice how you're seemingly able to pass out anywhere and everywhere you can find a comfortable enough position to curl into

Provided it's not during an important briefing or otherwise Heart-related meeting, since nodding off during those tends to make your captain quite upset and you've crossed them on the singular instance of doing exactly that before, the crew knows to leave you well enough alone

You pride yourself on never falling asleep on duty, at least

On occasion, someone will wake you for additional work at Law's behest if you've already finished or call you down for supper or Penguin and Shachi have the mischievous inkling to do something prank-related; either they're dragged away by someone more responsible or get chewed out by Law for putting you in ridiculous poses to take pics of while you were asleep, upset about something along the lines of potential injuries

The more you get to know your crew and the stronger your bonds become over the years, the more you start to lean on other Heart pirates for your impromptu naps instead of just cozy inanimate objects; none of them have ever beaten the sheer comfitude of the weighted blanket in your quarters, though

Bepo is the easiest suspect being as big and soft as he is, and the friendliest too, Ikkaku is more than happy to lend a shoulder as the resident "big sister" (although she's younger than half the other members), and hell even Pen and Shach were comfy enough pillows once you got them to swear not to pull any funny business while you slept - lest you made balloon animals out of them

The others all warm up to you on their own time, depending on whether you've been there from more or less the start or you're a relatively new member to the crew

Ani is reluctant for physical contact, it takes you getting to know them a little more before she's willing to shake you awake or spend a while sitting next to you taking a nap in comfortable silence, gay uncles Bas and Laeno with the addition of Fang have dubbed themselves the unofficial official "carries you to bed" squad

The other gay uncles (Marl and Gul) are content to leave you where you are whenever you drift off but always bring a blanket when it looks like you're getting cold or you don't seem like waking up any time soon - Dorie and Hoki try taking you to bed but Dorie's always too loud and ends up waking you before then and Hoki, well, Hoki can't quite seem to pick you up as a taller, heavier man

By god he's trying his best, though that also has the unfortunate consequence of waking you up; you once overhead Hoki training with Fang with the express purpose of getting strong enough to carry you to bed like "everyone else" and you genuinely didn't know whether to be flattered or mortified

Uni's content enough to let you lay your head on their shoulder (arm, because frankly he's huge) for a short while, though eventually he gets antsy and needs to move but since you're there he can't, but also Uni needs to move while not waking you up, like a cat asleep on its owner's lap trapping them for all eternity; other crew members have found him in this predicament every so often and find it hilarious/a perfect photo-op while he can't avoid the camera's embarrassing lens

Some of these pictures have both of you napping together (he accepted his fate and fell asleep sitting up, their back makes them regret it later)

You're awkward around Jean Bart at first, as you were with everyone else in the beginning, though you did puff out your chest a little at the thought of being someone's senior much like Bepo, and slowly as you took the initiative to spend more time around him, you'd find yourself falling asleep with his knee as you pillow every now and again, sometimes even with his very large hand over your back as a blanket; Jean Bart too would fall victim to the pictures taken while he was at the mercy of your slumbering form, unable to flee

Clione and Hake, as much as you adore them as friends, have the unintended affect of activating your sleepiness once they go on another one of their longwinded rambles about a topic of special interest; you've apologized time again that it's not because they're boring you, not at all! Their voices are just so easy to listen to, hearing them talk at length about things important to them, it's a comfortable backdrop to doze off to

Hake laughs this off with light teasing, flattered that their voice is as soothing as you claim it to be, Clione has to be coaxed with a bit more than that, but usually gives in after you agree to buying him a treat of his choosing at the next island they drop anchor at

The captain themself—you aren't quite sure how to act around them, you were sure that they'd been upset by the first and only time you fell asleep during that crew meeting, making it a point to never do that again in the hopes of avoiding Law's ire, and although it didn't seem like they'd been that upset with you again, being around them still set the hairs on the back of your neck on edge; like you were being watched

To your defense, you were, but not necessarily in the way in the way that you would've assumed

It took nearly a year of being in proximity with and hardship with each other for Law to finally ease up being around you and another year for them to fully let you in - you realize in that time that the staring is just something Law does with everyone, their crew, strangers on the street, marines they're supposed to be on watch for, it was just something your captain tended to do

Plus, observation wasn't the only reason for their keen eye on you, at some point, Law had developed these—day they say, absurd—feelings, for you, and were at a loss for what to do; so, without consulting anyone else like the massive dweeb they were, decided that intense soul-burning eye contact was the way to go instead of just talking to you and getting a boyfriend that way

Some days it was an attempt to get you to make a move before they did, other days it was trying to blow you up with their mind for daring to make them feel this way, and on the days you felt like you were ignored by your captain even more than before? Those were the one where Law doubted their feelings the most, wishing to hide them away and feeling if you looked too closely, you'd catch onto their "true" intentions and they would simply dissolve under your gaze

A bit unfair, but when has Law ever been anything but?

Now, comfortable with the relationship you've built with one another, Law calls you into their office often to sleep on the couch there, or take a nap on their bed while they worked tirelessly still at the desk in their room; whenever they needed a break or you'd call them over, they could simply recharge in the comfort of your arms and you'd get a warm body to slumber against

It does seem, however, that once the both of you got together Law started being a bit more scrutinous about your random cuddles with other crew members whenever you fell asleep per usual, almost pouting when you gave your attention, albeit unconscious but still physical, away to other people

You tease them about it once other Hearts inform you about this very interesting behavior and turn scowls into kisses with light laughter

The only person seemingly exempt from this "cuddle = angy Law" rule is Bepo, but that's only because he's the baby and Law is unwilling to give up their cuddles on their precious bear either, so the both of you will sometimes just nap on him together, sometimes to Bepo's chagrin when he needs to move just like Uni

Bepo obviously clears, but at least now it looks like there's finally someone to challenge your weighted blanket <3

[lamprophonia]

》 [ yandere!Jock. ] 《

masterlist.

yan!jock x gn!reader: introduction. 1273 words. reader referred to as 'you'. cw for general yandere behavior.

DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE.

elijah steele is the best goddamn actor in your school.

the theatre kids could learn from him, honestly, because there is no way in hell anyone else could have convincingly pulled off what he did: pose as the nicest, most helpful and kind student in the entirety of the sorry shithole that is eastview high for four years straight.

to literally everyone, elijah is so sweet it's almost vomit inducing. the school's golden boy — smart, nice, strong. best player on the football team, co-captain of the swim team, and part of the basketball team for good measure, helpful, always cheery, and he got good grades.

even amongst his peers, he was always considered the most straight-edge one; still, he was pretty much universally liked. he was genuinely friends with everyone, never judging or turning anyone away.

what's not to love?

well, probably the fact that all of that is a lie, an ever on-going act. a carefully crafted persona, custom made to hide the fact elijah steele is a colossal prick.

it's honestly almost too easy for him. help teachers out here and there, talk to the right people, go to the right parties, and play on some teams, and boom, the entirety of eastview wrapped around your finger. he's made high school a game for himself, and he has been winning for four years straight.

elijah's obsession with you didn't kick in right away. he saw you and was... eh, rather neutral. he decided you were pretty enough, and homecoming or some other stupid dance he didn't actually care about was coming up, so he needed a date to look good. you were just a pawn, after all, no different from anyone else. an accessory — good-looking and non-threatening enough.

no, the obsession started when you rejected him.

worse than reject him: you saw through the finely crafted veil he's always putting on — through the smile that's as fake as it is charming, the tone of voice that's almost a bit too nice — you saw through it all, and didn't hesitate to let him know.

and oh.

it hurt.

with a few words and an unimpressed look, without even realizing it, you broke elijah's game. you weren't playing along. and hey, he might be a prick, but he's a prick with feelings. a lot of very conflicting feelings, as it turns out; he's dealt with rejection before, but never when it came to relationships.

he probably should have seen the hurt he felt when you rejected him as a sign of what was coming, that being the growing obsession he can practically feel developing. you made him feel something other than smug superiority and mild annoyance. it wasn't anything pleasant, sure, but it was new. the week after that little encounter of yours, you were literally the only thing he could think about.

at first, it was a mixed bag. elijah was confused, weirdly hurt — he discovered he didn't like feeling either of those much — and angry. mostly angry. that was the only emotion he was really familiar with of those three, so he thought he would be able to use it pretty easily. he does football after all, he'd just tackle whatever poor sods that were unfortunate enough to be going up against him in practice and get it all out of his system. easy, right?

it wasn't easy.

he nearly dislocated a guy's shoulder before realizing that his usual method for dealing with his feelings — channeling them into brute force — wasn't working, which only made him more confused, which in turn only made him angrier. so used to being in control, elijah didn't know what to do with himself for the first few days.

fortunately for him and the rest of the eastview football players, his anger, hurt, and confusion subsided after maybe a week and a half, giving way to another unfamiliar, but much more welcome emotion: fascination.

you still occupied his thoughts constantly, but he finally got a break from the all-consuming contempt he felt. instead, he regarded you with intrigue, a curiosity. it was then he decided he had to learn more; you were an obstacle, a challenge. another part of the game.

he just had to figure out how to beat you.

in some strange way, elijah was excited. this was going to be hard, sure, but his mind was already hard at work, and he was sure it would eventually be rewarding.

and hey, most importantly, this was new! his rage turned to pure goddamn delight at the idea of someone who finally isn't drooling all over him. it's so fun! like a specimen for him to study, aren't you, darling? finally, he has to work for someone's favour.

once elijah comes to this... decision? realization? he gets started pretty much immediately. he knows now that the overly sugarcoated golden boy persona isn't going to work for you. he's going to need a new strategy, and he's giddy to get to work on it.

with negative hesitation, he starts stalking you. honestly, he probably starts stalking you before he actually buckles down and starts trying to win you over; at some point in the bafflement that comes with you not immediately falling for him, he just starts to follow you around from a distance, almost absent-mindedly making notes on your schedule, your friends, class mates, teachers... he decides to double down after that, though, deciding that if he's serious about beating you, he's going to have to up his game.

that's when he starts actually following you home, taking note of your family and your behavior outside of school.

the second thing he starts doing is shadowing you outside of stalking. that meaning, he starts sitting with you at lunch, making friends with your friends, switches classes to have them with you, and joins your extracurriculars; and he does so with the most smug, shit-eating grin on his face.

he starts talking to you as if you were one of his friends, and even though you knew that elijah was probably less nice than he seemed at first glance, you didn't realize just how starkly different his real personality is from the persona he puts on.

elijah starts to treat you more genuinely, in a way. he talks shit about his friends to you, bitches freely about all his classes and coaches. it's a distinction that would feel sweet, if not for the cognitive dissonance that comes with watching him be all smiles with someone right after he told you he hates them.

because here's the thing — now that elijah knows you're not fooled by the overly sweet and helpful guy he pretends to be, that his polite golden boy act won't work on you like it does with everyone else; now, he can stop pretending.

it's freeing. hell, it's almost more fun that way.

he wants to win with all of his cards out on the table. every nice, kind he does to make you like him will be colored by that tension, that dissonance, that confusion.

of course, elijah would never admit it, but slowly, as he makes friends with you, his obsession with you turns romantic. his intrigue turns to sincere care and affection. he doesn't realize it until he sees someone flirting with you — or worse, you flirting with someone — and jealousy hits him like a fucking brick.

he's left to collect himself, once again feeling hurt, angry, and confused at his own thoughts. he didn't even like you. you were supposed to be just a game, a challenge, an obstacle.

what the fuck was happening?

[unfinishedslurs]

matchmaking gone wrong (steddie)

“So,” Murray says, smarmy little smirk in place. Steve kind of hates him. “How long have you two been dancing around each other?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, now,” he says. “Everyone can see it. Or, well, maybe they can’t, but I can. Small town boys, both fighting against the odds. Alternate dimensions bring people together in the strangest ways, don’t they?”

“Hey, now,” Steve objects, shooting a panicked glance next to him. Eddie hasn’t moved a muscle since Murray opened his big mouth. His pose reminds Steve of a frightened rabbit, frozen in the eye of a snake. 

“Hey, now,” Murray mimics. “Real eloquent, Steve.” He says Steve like he’s saying something else. If he’s not careful, Steve is going to punch his fucking teeth in.“I gotta say, when I met you, you managed to take me by surprise. I really thought you were gonna be different. Small town rich boy, right? Big house, no parents, thought I knew the type. But you’ve managed to turn it on its head, haven’t you? Still, you’re lonely. Must be nice, having all those kids in your house. Less empty with them around. And Eddie here, too. I bet it’s real nice with him around.”

“Dude,” Steve says, prickling. He doesn’t know what eloquent means, or what that has to do with anything, but he really does not like what this guy is putting down. What business does this washed up mess of a conspiracy theorist have digging into Steve’s personal life? He chances another look at Eddie, who has unfrozen in favor of straightening up and glaring at Murray. 

“What the fuck do you know?” he spits, vicious in the way he only ever is when he’s defending someone. Steve is touched, really. 

“I know a lot,” Murray says, smile growing ever wider. “Like that you sleep in his bed, even though there’s…what, three perfectly good guest rooms here?”

“Two,” Steve corrects automatically. “The other one is Max’s.” Unofficially, of course, but she sleeps here enough that everyone else knows she’s claimed it. Technically it’s one and a half, given that Dustin is slowly taking over the one next to hers, but Ms. Henderson is actually responsible so he only stays the night occasionally. Robin just sleeps in Steve’s bed with them.

He realizes his mistake when Murray’s smile grows even wider. “Two!” He exclaims. “Two guest bedrooms, and yet you sleep in his bed, wake up next to him, end up with his pillow lines on your face. I bet it’s nice, huh? To have him soothe your nightmares, to fall asleep knowing he’s there. We like Steve, indeed. How could a man possibly resist? Tell me, Eddie, is that handkerchief in your pocket just for show? I’d have thought masochism was more your style.”

“Hey!” Steve barks. Eddie jumps next to him, and Steve puts his hand over his unthinkingly. Murray’s eyes track the movement, but Steve speaks before he can open his mouth. 

“Not cool, man,” he says firmly. Eddie’s hand is trembling under his, and Steve thinks that Murray is lucky that he cares more about comforting Eddie than he does about punching the smug look off his fucking face. 

“What’s not cool?” Murray asks. “Telling you two to get your shit together, for the betterment of us all?”

“You barely fucking know us,” Steve snaps. “There’s no ‘betterment of us all,’ Jesus. You can’t just…you can’t…” he lowers his voice, like he can protect Eddie from hearing it if he tries hard enough. “You can’t just out people, man. You should fucking know better.”

Eddie��s frozen again. Steve doesn’t look at him, instead staring Murray down like a challenge. The man does lose steam with that, wilting like a weed in the heat. “Ah,” he says. “I…ah, hell, I thought you knew.”

“What I know doesn’t mean shit if he’s not the one who told me,” Steve says. Eddie makes a sound, slowly sliding his hand out from under Steve’s. Steve lets him, resisting the urge to grab it back. He knows Eddie won’t run away from him, even if he wants to. “And what if you’d been wrong about me being cool, huh? Seriously man, aren’t you supposed to be smart or something? Act like it.”

Murray opens his mouth again, but Eddie interjects. “As fascinating and eye opening as this has been,” he says, clapping his shaking hands together, “I need to be gone, like, before this conversation ever happened. I appreciate your attempt to get me into golden boy’s pants over here, really, but, uh, yeah. I think the whole being straight thing kind of puts a damper on that, don’t you?”

“You’re straight?” Steve blurts out, hurt and embarrassed all at once. Well, shit, there goes whatever Steve thought they were hurtling towards. And after Steve just confessed he thought Eddie was gay. Is that discrimination? He’s going to kill Robin, dammit, she’s the one who pointed out Eddie’s hanky in the first place. 

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, you are.”

“I am?”

“Yes!”

“Uh,” Steve says, extremely confused. Is Eddie coming out as straight for him? He’s pretty sure this is supposed to go, like, the opposite way. “Since when?”

“Since—“ Eddie’s mouth drops open. “I thought since always, Harrington, what the fuck?” 

“Me what the fuck?” Steve sputters. “You what the fuck! You thought I was straight?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie throws his hands up. “You’re, like, the epitome of straight jock!”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says. “Because my painted nails and affinity for sucking cock scream heterosexual man.”

Affinity might be a stretch given that he’s only ever sucked one dick in his entire life, but hey, a little embellishment never hurts. He wasn’t awful at it. The painted nails weren’t actually his choice, either, thanks to El’s killer puppy eyes, but still. He’s been blatantly flirting with Eddie for months now. Would it kill him to notice?

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a response for this, mouth opening and closing without sound. 

“Well,” Murray says at last. Steve and Eddie both jump, having completely forgotten about him. “I guess you needed my help after all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says, rounding on him. “I don’t need your help for jack-fucking-shit, alright? I am a grown-ass man. I am not repressed, I am not in denial, and I am not thanking you for this. You messed up my plan!”

“Your plan?” Eddie asks. 

“Your plan,” Murray repeats, amused. 

“Yes, my plan,” he hisses. “You’re not smarter than everyone else just because you don’t like the government, asshole. None of us like the fucking government, we’re just not about to go off the rails and become total shut-ins about it. We fucking get it, you’re lonely and have no friends. We don’t need you to tell us our own business for us, okay? You want to talk about getting help? Go to a fucking AA meeting and leave us alone.”

The skin around Murray’s eyes tightens. Steve might feel bad, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d fucking outed Eddie. Mistake or not, it doesn’t matter that Steve already knew if Eddie wasn’t ready to fucking tell him. 

Eddie’s hand on his arm stops him from saying much worse. 

He doesn’t turn around, just stares Murray down like a warning. Murray looks back at him, seemingly unimpressed, but Steve can see shame in the line of his shoulders. There’s apology in his eyes when he breaks Steve’s gaze to glance at Eddie. 

He’s not a bad guy, Steve knows. Joyce tells them fondly about how he helped her and Hopper get their shit together. How they’d both be Russian chow ten times over if it wasn’t for him. Nancy, too, has some good things to say about the guy. He was the one who helped her get word out about Barb’s death. He helped her get with Jonathan too, even if that didn’t exactly work out. 

And it’s not like he blames Murray for Nancy cheating on him. She’s her own person, and makes her own decisions, even if they’re shitty, hurtful ones that he’s still not sure he’ll ever fully get over. 

Jonathan said it best, once. He’s weird, and nosy, and annoying, and I don’t really like him. But I think he really just wants to help, in any way he can. Plus he’s a really good cook. 

Steve breaks.

“Just get out of my house, man,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Joyce will be happy to host you for the night, they’ve got a spare room there. Tell her my house was too ‘rich kid’ for you, or something. But you’re not staying here anymore.”

Murray nods, accepting this at face value. He gets up from the table, pausing to snag the vodka. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” he offers, and disappears before either of them can reply. 

“So,” Eddie says, after a considerable length of silence. His voice shakes slightly. “That was, uh, enlightening.” 

He huffs a tired laugh. “That’s one word for it,” he says, finally turning to look Eddie in the eye. He’s shifty, eyes flitting around the room, hands playing out guitar chords against the counter. Steve takes one in hand. 

Eddie stills, finally looking at his face. Steve won’t force eye contact, but he needs to know Eddie’s focusing on him and not whatever shitty thoughts are flying across his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly. “I didn’t know he’d try that shit with us, when I told Hopper he could stay here.”

Eddie resumes his finger chords. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“I know,” he says. “Still, that wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Go? ‘Go’ what? What’s going?”

Steve shuts his eyes. “Us. I wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until after you told me you were…”

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly. “Right.”

“Yeah.”

“I can get out of your hair, man, if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“What?” Steve‘s eyes fly open. “No! I’m not kicking you out, what the fuck?”

“You’re not?”

“Literally what part of that conversation made you think that’s where this was headed?” He demands. 

“I dunno, man,” Eddie confesses. “Good things don’t really happen to people like me.”

“And I’m a good thing?” Steve tries to joke, raising an eyebrow. 

Eddie doesn’t take the bait, just briefly meets Steve’s eyes and lowers his voice. “Steve, you’re, uh. You’re kind of one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“Oh,” falls weakly from his lips. 

“Shit, was that too much? That was totally too much, sorry, I’m not good at this. You can totally kick me out now, fuck, that’s so embarrassing—“

Steve kisses him. 

“Honestly, I’m not that worried about it,” Eddie says, laying with his feet on Steve’s pillow and head hanging off the bed. 

“Really?”

“I mean, like, it was a dick thing to do, but what’s he gonna do? Tell the whole town? They all know about me anyway.”

Steve kind of shrugs at this, because as much as he wishes it weren’t true he’s right. He’s walked past fag sharpied on Eddie’s locker enough times to know that unlike Steve, he never really had the luxury of hiding it. 

“People always just knew,” he tells Steve. “Don’t know how, don't know why. I’m not sure I‘ve ever actually come out to anyone except Wayne, and that was more of a bitter, self-loathing explosion than anything. It backfired, obviously. Instead of kicking me out, he told me he loved me and I cried so hard I threw up. Totally embarrassing. But even with Wayne…I didn’t have to. It’s like it was tattooed on my forehead, or something. Too soft, too close with other boys, too obvious. So I leaned into it. Learned to fight, ‘cause getting beat up might end in something worse. Let my freak flag fly, let ‘em focus on the DND and the devil worshiping because somehow that was better than being queer.”

Steve, who’d also known about Eddie long before Eddie had told him, bites his tongue. 

“I think he’s safe,” Eddie finishes with a nod. “He really did seem like he wouldn’t have said anything, if he’d known I hadn’t told you. Which is hilarious to me, by the way, because I’d just kind of assumed I didn’t have to so you might have just waited forever. Plus I think he and Hopper have, like, a vibe.”

Steve chokes. “A vibe?”

“They’re not fucking,” he clarifies, “but they have fucked, yanno?”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“Nah, man. I bet that’s why Hopper asked us to host him, instead of offering up his spare room immediately. Your ex and your new squeeze living together?” He whistles lowly. “Awkward.” “I don’t want to know this,” Steve declares, flipping face first into his pillow. He pushes Eddie’s stinky feet away from his face, ignoring his squawk. “Why would you give me information? Now I have to look Hopper in the eye knowing that his taste in men is Murray.”

[luvyeni]

SEX FASHION AND GUITARS — chapter 9. five minutes until show time !

𐙚 pairings. rockstar!jaemin x stylist!reader

synopsis. l/n y/n fashion major and photographer on the side who says what she wants, na jaemin music major and lead guitar player for underground band DREAM. After yn forgets her to change her account and says something that catches the eye of jaemin she tries to ignore him — expect thanks to chenle she now works for them.

word count. 1005 words

"im here." you dragged the suitcases containing the outfits into the dressing , winter and sieun behind you holding all your extra tools. "yn they're naked." sieun said disgustingly , her face turned up. "because you have their clothes , and you're also late." chenle said. "i said get here early." he scolded.

"i know , i know , but i had a extra class i forgot about and then winter had a shift , im here now , plus its only 8:30 , the show doesn't start until 9:15." you said , pulling out all the freshly steamed outfits. "i steamed them during class." you smiled proudly. "hi guys." you finally acknowledged the half naked boys. "now let's get you boys dressed."

"okay , jeno you're good , jisoo and sieun will help you with hair and makeup." you said , he smiled. "thank you , it looks good yn , you're a beast." you laughed. "um thank you , i guess." you took a second break , waiting for the next member. "ynie." you cringed hearing the nickname. "im ready for my touch ups." haechan did a little pose. "im sure i already gave you one." you said, standing up. "im starting to think you just like when i'm touching you." you teased. "i do." he wiggled his eye brows. "can you both do that later , we're late and jaemin is missing." chenle rushed in.

"he always is , did you check a storage closet?" jisung said , handing out the microphones. "go a head , i'll make sure he get on stage in time." you said. "please hurry and find him , we have ten minutes." chenle said. "i will now go." you said , pushing them all out the door. "you all look good , i'll see you out there." you cheered. "don't worry."

it's not like you wanted to find the boy tucked away in a storage closet — doing god knows what , with god knows who , but you didn't want chenle and jisung to be anymore upset , so here you were , knocking and opening every closet in the small venue for the man. "jaemin." you shouted , his microphone in your hand. "where the hell are you?"

"you looking for me." you damn near jumped out of your pants. "jesus jaemin." you sighed. "where the hell were you." you said , looking at his disheveled look. "where does it look like princess?" he smirked. "disgusting." you muttered. "just come , chenle isn't gonna yell at me , cause you can't keep you dick in your pants." you tugged at his belt loop. "you jealous?" you scoffed. "why would i?"

"that's right, you do have haechan , right?" he said. "you seem obsessed with him." you bit back , he dryly laughed. "if you say so princess." you reached up , putting his mic on — he grabbed your wrist. "you two aren't exclusive right?" he was closer now , your noses almost touching. "that means i can do what I want to you." he whispered. "right?" you realized how secluded the place you were was.

he smirked realizing how flustered you were. "cat got your tongue princess." you pushed your hand in front of you preventing his chest from touching yours. "we still have 5 minutes left." his hands left your wrist , grabbing your belt loop. "i could still do some much in those five minutes."

you finally came to , realizing what you were here for. "yo-you have to go on stage." you said. "so will i see you after the show then? or are you leaving with him?" you were silent , he took that as your answer , smirking. "i guess next time." he said. "let's go before they think we're doing something." he finally stepped back , giving you room to finally breathe.

"fucking finally , i thought i would have to send a search party for both of you." chenle said. "where the hell were you?" you struggled to find words. "i was having trouble with my pants and she was helping , don't worry , im here now." jaemin said. "yeah two minutes late, the guys are already on stage , go." he pushed the boy. "and you." he turned to you. "winter and sieun are over there with jisung , let's go." you nodded , about to walk away , when he grabbed your hand stopping you. "yes?" he scoffed , smiling. "you think im stupid , something wrong with his belt."

"we didn't do anything , i promise." you said. "i didn't say you did , im just saying if you do , find a better lie , than his belt." he said. "and not 10 minutes before i show when i send you to look for him."

the show was amazing and the guys did well , the five of you clapping for them as they said their goodbyes , exiting the stage to the back where you guys greeted them. "you guys did great!"

"did you see me?" haechan came straight to you. "yes i did , you did good." you praised , his arms coming around your waist. "let's get out of here and go back to mines." he said. "jesus , you still have energy?" he sheepishly smiled. "jesus , just go , no one wants to see that." renjun said. "or at least go to a bathroom."

"let's go." you waved to everyone. "i'll leave the door unlocked." sieun said. "okay." you nodded. "bye everyone, good show." you took haechan by the hand, walking towards the front. "leaving?" jaemin stopped both of you. "yeah." you noticed the girl standing next to him. "have fun." he wrapped his arm around the girls shoulder. "jaemin let's go." she whined. "come hyuck." he nodded following behind you. "have fun." you looked at him , he smirked watching you walk away.

"what was that all about?" haechan said. "you and jaemin?" you turned to him. "nothing , why you jealous?" you teased , he scoffed. "no you're free to do who and whatever you want , just let me know if you do do some with him."

"why you gonna stop this with me?"

"i don't share , especially with jaemin , but i will say i will miss fucking you into the mattress."

"good thing i haven't done anything with him yet , you still can do that."

"oh trust me i am."

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Bruce Wayne x villain!plus size reader

Batman lets a villain go when she startles him

Warnings: reader’s villain name is Styx, choking, fighting, stolen goods, reader and Bruce don’t know each other’s secret identities, implied smut, nudity, slight smut, fluff, sassy Alfred

WC: 1.2k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Oh c’mon Batsy, I thought you could fight better than that.” You teased, yet again dancing away from the vigilante who was getting increasingly aggravated with your fight. He might have been stronger and had far more experience but you were flexible and a hell of a lot faster than him.

“You won’t win this Styx. Those artefacts are not yours to take.” His fist connected to the wall you ducked behind, narrowly missing your jaw. You leg swept out in a powerful kick to his broad chest, forcing the Batman back a few feet. He recovered quickly.

“They did not belong to the museum either.” You snapped back as you leapt onto the ledge of the roof, eyeing the fire escape on the otherwise of the alley. You ducked down and grabbed the bag of ancient art just in time for his huge arm to wind around your thick waist and pull you back down.

You stumbled, dropping the bag as you were forced onto your knees. The white eyes of his cowl were fixated on you, no longer focused on the stolen goods. Your ribs screamed with pain as you rolled away and sprang back up. Your smile was beginning to waver beneath your half mask but you would not let him beat you. 

“Give up now and I won’t turn you over to GCPD.” You tried to feign going to the right but he easily predicted the move.

The breath was knocked from your lungs as his gloved hand wrapped around your throat and shoved you into the wall behind you. He loomed over you, all shadows and sweat. You just couldn’t help it.

“Harder.” You moaned and everything stopped.

“What?” That wasn’t the voice of Batman, it was the voice of a very confused (and slightly turned on) man. You laid your own gloved hand over his own, forcing his fingers to curl against your throat in an even tighter grip.

“I won’t break, B. Harder.” Your other hand grabbed at his utility belt and pulled his slim hips into your thick ones, letting him feel the heat of your body through the thin layer of your suit. His jaw clenched and teasingly tightened his grip on your neck, forcing another sultry moan from your lips.

Batman dipped down and seemed to be going in for a kiss but quickly threw himself back as he returned to his senses. “Just- just go.” He cleared his throat. “But this is the only time.”

“I’m sure it will be.” You teased back with a smirk. You skipped over to him and laid a wet kiss to the strong line of his jaw, relishing in the feel of his stubble against your lips for a brief moment before you twirled away. “Call me, batsy.”

You cooed and with your bag, you disappeared over the edge, vanishing into the dark streets of Gotham, leaving him behind to deal with his suddenly too-tight pants and a deep sense of conflicting feelings.

“You let her go?” Alfred’s voice echoed into his ear, shaking him from the daydreams he was quickly spiralling into. Bruce blushed under his cowl and turned back in the direction of the Batmobile.

“She didn’t pose a threat.” The older man hummed through the ear piece. Bruce’s flush deepened. “She’s just doing what she thought was right.”

“She was certainly doing something, I doubt if it was right.” Alfred quipped. Bruce ignored him, simply taking in a deep breath and willing himself to calm down (his suit did little to hide his issue) as he decided to call it a night. 

“I’m coming back to the cave.”

“Perhaps I can call Miss Y/N, I’m sure she could help with your dilemma.” He could practically hear the butler’s smirk over the radio crackle. At the mention of his almost girlfriend’s name, Bruce tensed.

He let Alfred keep talking as he slipped into the tank-like car and quickly started it up. “Oh would you look at that, she’s at the front door. It seems like she could use your help as well.” 

“Alfred.” He growled but put his foot down anyway, forcing the car to speed up.

“See you soon Master Bruce.” Alfred teased before the line went dead and Bruce was left along with his thoughts and his rapidly returning lust. You and Styx merged together in his mind- he wondered if you would let him control you like he did with her tonight.

It might give him away, considering you thought he was just Bruce Wayne and not the Batman. But was he willing to risk it? He knew his answer as he stepped into the cave, quickly shedding his suit as he ran to the elevator that would bring him up to the manor.

He was just pulling on a tight black t-shirt when he heard your voice in the hallway. “Is he just in the office?” His cocked throbbed in his sweatpants as you drew closer (and if he was in more of a right mind he would’ve noticed that this wasn’t the first time he was hearing your voice tonight despite not calling you today).

“Yes ma’am. Go right on in.” He barely had enough time to open his laptop before the door slammed open and you stood in the threshold, a smug-looking Alfred a few steps behind you.

Bruce looked especially delectable right now, his muscles bulged beneath his shirt and the outline of his cock in the light grey fabric was making your mind go fuzzy. You both toed the line of friendship and a relationship- flirting and touching each other constantly but neither of you were bold enough to make the first move but that was about to change.

Batman had effectively ruined your tight catsuit (like he always did) and tonight was the last straw. You needed two get fucked and if the Dark Knight wouldn’t do it then you would finally conquer Gotham’s playboy.

You stepped into the room, shutting the door behind you as you kept your eyes locked onto the huge man. “Take off your clothes.” Bruce blinked and suddenly your shirt was off and you were pulling your leggings down your plump legs.

He was hypnotised by the large curves of your body, overwhelmed by your beauty. You were Venus and he wanted to worship every inch of you. “Whatever you want.” He purred, pulling off his own shirt as he rounded the desk.

You reclined on the couch in the corner of the room, kicking your panties off. “Just fuck me already.” You snarled and spread your legs, finally letting Bruce see the heaven between your thighs. He groaned under his breath.

“Fuck.” He shucked his sweats down his muscular legs and practically dove on top of you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. Your teeth clacked together as he pulled your legs over his slim hips, letting his cock rest against the curls on your mound.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, tugging it from where his hand was planted by your head, and guided it to your throat. Unconsciously, he gripped your neck loosely, unwilling to hurt you.

“Harder B, I won’t break.” Deja-vu hit him square in the chest but he pushed it away. He squeezed and you moaned. He ignored the part of his brain that told him the truth, he would deal with that when you were thoroughly fucked out and pliable.

“You won’t win against me.” Your breath hitched and you tugged him closer.

“Then don’t let me get away.” You mewled against his lips. And you both knew he had no intention of ever doing that.

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