#because that's the only correct way to escape hell

[technically-human]

In the reverse AU, when they escape from Hell, would they be trapped in the room of Lust? And if so, who would be the one trapped? I feel like the actions within the room of Lust carry a lot of symbolic meaning, so I'm really curious about your thoughts!

Oh, what happened in Lust is DEFINITELY meaningful. For the reverse verse, I feel like the one who the damned try to drag down is still Edwin.

Charles feels absolutely no guilt over his desires. I think, if anything, he considers he gets a free pass to sin as he pleases since he was already wrongfully condemned to Hell. He just discovered he's in love with his best mate, but that just makes him feel good.

(And he did tell Edwin, but that was more of an impulsive action. I don't think he would want to pursue anything because he still considers himself dangerous, and just like he hasn't flirted with any girls since he got out of Hell, he will not flirt with Edwin now, but that's an issue for another day)

Edwin knows he's attracted to boys and he feels terrible about it. He knows, I think, that he's also attracted to Charles. There's a lot of guilt there, and he mostly pretends those feelings aren't there... But there's no fooling the souls of the damned, unfortunately. So they will try to keep him there.

I think the scene will play similarly to the show one, except Edwin will use his weapon here, probably curse more, and he will be holding Charles' hand the whole time because Charles loves physical contact and he needs it right now.

[drdemonprince]

I worry that today’s generation of kids on the internet have never gotten to develop much digital agency or form safe, empowering relationships with older people. More broadly, I think our current culture of isolating children from all unrelated adults, supposedly in the name of their “protection” only causes them to become more ignorant, lonesome, and vulnerable to exploitation.

There are many ways in which restricting youth access to information technology and training adults to avoid all contact with children makes kids even more powerless and dependent.

If a child cannot post their sexual health questions on Ask Alice or go searching around online, then they have to believe whatever they hear from their parent or priest. If a young person longs to taste the freedoms of adulthood but aren’t given any room to explore, then the grown-up in their DMs telling them that they are so mature becomes a hell of a lot more seductive.

And if a kid never gets to search for sexual content online, learn about adult sexual experiences, or touch themselves and find pleasure in the privacy of their own minds, they may never fully learn that their body is them, for them to enjoy and express themselves however they see fit.

For queer youth, the dangers of isolation are amplified. A study published in the journal Child Protection and Practice in April of last year found that LGBTQI+ children face an elevated risk of grooming and sexual abuse because they are discriminated against by peers, preached against within their religious communities, and mistreated or kicked out of the house by their families — and also, because an adult with no respect for boundaries might be the only person offering to talk with them about queerness or sex.

It’s very difficult to know the difference between a healthy relationship and exploitation when a predatory adult is the first queer person a kid ever knows. If a relationship with an abuser is the only way that a teen ever gets to live out their queerness or explore their budding sexuality, then it becomes immensely difficult for them to walk away — leaving the groomer is like tearing off a crucial part of themselves that never gets expressed otherwise, or even seen.

This is also true of children who have the early rumblings of kinky sexualities, too — when you long to be controlled or tied up, you need a safe outlet to learn and fantasize about doing such things consensually one day. If you do not know that such options exist, you’ll settle instead for abuse. The more options that a child has to learn about sexual practices, to meet other queer people of ages, and to form appropriate relationships with unrelated adults, the harder they become to manipulate, and the more power they have to walk away.

...

Being a minor is a position created by legal oppression, but most people consider a minor’s lack of freedom to be so natural and morally correct they don’t even recognize it as oppression. Instead, they see it as protection, a healthy separation between the world of the human and the not-quite-human yet. Though they would never admit it, a minor is not the same thing as a person to them, for a minor can be thrown out of public spaces, locked away, silenced, disregarded, and left to rot in the ways full persons are not.

I believe that we queer adults are failing our younger siblings by refusing to play a part in raising and looking after them. We have chosen to privilege our individual safety from accusations of ‘inappropriate’ conduct over the need for queer youth to see their own sexualities and identities normalized, envision a diversity of possible futures for themselves, and seek aid and understanding when they are mistreated.

For those of us who’ve had the liberty to escape our ignorant hometowns, get on HRT, have joyous gay sex in dark rooms, or even just dance tenderly with a sexy androgynous stranger’s cheek pressed against our own, we have a responsibility to pour from our filled cups, and to remember what it was like to have no such access. As terrified as we are of losing our documentation, our access to medicine, and our legal rights, we must remember those queer people who presently have none of those things, and do all that we can to extend our aid to them.

I wrote about the troubling culture of the "MINORS DNI" bio, and how it contributes to the mass isolation of young queer people. You can read the full piece or have it narrated to you by the substack app for free here.

[inside-lees-mind]

hi could i rq. general konoha 11 + sand siblings nsfw hcs ! (aged up/boruto ver obv) <3

Also: nobody understands Uchihas better than I do and I don’t even like most of em. /j Why are they all practically evil in fics? I’m going crazy. Most of them are clearly softies when it comes to love. Am I right or am I right???

And sorry, you can tell who I have more ideas for and who I was drawing a blank on.

Oh and sorry yall for the gap in my writing. This one took a while. I’ve been working on it for a bit. And part of it got lost and deleted, so I rewrote it. A long with a couple other stories got deleted and I lost some motivation for a moment lol

Konoha 13 + Sand Siblings HCs

Naruto Uzumaki

He’s energetic, and that 100% applies to in bed too.

Likely inexperienced, but eager. And a little nervous.

Talked big game beforehand, but even if you didn’t know before, you definitely know it was all talk now.

That being said, he’s a quick learner, even if he complains about being confused at first.

I think he’d have like little to no knowledge though, being such a loner for a while, in all. Hope you have patience.

That being said, he is a bit of a pervert with what he does know.

Overall though, he’d set a fast pace, but the sex would still be intimate and soft.

Praise. Praise. Praise. Giving and receiving.

Sasuke Uchiha

No experience, but he knows the ins and outs.

He wasn’t too concerned with sex or anything of that matter before, but when he returned to Konoha, he realized he had feelings for you. So he starts to think about it.

He’s not a pervert like Kakashi or Naruto, and he’d never lose his cool over sexy jutsu, BUTTT he’s secretly horny as hell. Like low sex drive usually, but just being around you makes it sky rocket to abnormal levels.

He’s very private about sex though, so usually only happens in your bedroom or… cough cough in a quiet forest with nobody around cough cough (if you know, you know)

He’s got a breeding kink. Next question.

Uses a mix of degradation and praises.

Lots of demanding, but also lots of giving soooo…

I truly believe Sasuke would be a softer partner than people make him out to be. Like did yall watch Boruto or not?? He’s got awkward and sweet energy. He’s TRYING. He’s emotionally stunted yall.

More dominant and likes to be in control, but will fall apart in your arms anyways. Usually more of a soft dom than anything.

One of the most likely to be fairly kinky though. I think he’d slowly discover he’s into things as they occur or cross his mind.

Sakura Haruno

She knows a lot about the human body.

Might have experience, might not. I could see it either way.

I think your first time with her would happen after like a romantic dinner together. And it would be romantic and slow.

But… that depends on you, because she’ll mostly go with what you want. It makes her happy.

She’s okay with being degraded or praised, but she really only likes to praise you.

Low sex drive.

She likes any position she can see your face.

She’s a switch, depends on her partner’s preference.

Sai Yamanaka

(Obviously not married here but just to have a last name to add)

He read a book about what to do.

Probably does something incredibly stupid at first, but that being said, he’s not an idiot, so not too bad.

You’d probably have to correct him a little bit. Also, tell him to forget the book and just go with the feeling and follow your lead.

You’d be in the lead at first. Probably go down on him first thing.

He’s not small. (I mean did you hear the way he talked to Naruto? He’s probably got something to work with if he’s talking so confidently LMFAO)

So you’d probably have to use your hand for the base while your mouth sucks on about half or so of his cock.

His hand tangles in your hair/rests on top, not pulling, but resting there.

He throws his head back, letting out soft sighs and small moans that escape his lips. He’s not trying to be quiet, but he’s not loud either.

Although, he might have read girls don’t like when guys make noise. Who knows. Then you might have to tell him that’s not true.

At first, sex is just discovering things with him. You’re both exploring how everything feels.

But, after a few times, he starts taking the lead and initiating.

He has a low sex drive though, so he won’t initiate too often.

It’s also hard to get him to realize what you’re asking for if you drop hints. He saw your underwear when you bent over… okay. He might even comment on how you should be more careful since he knows you don’t like to expose yourself so much.

You just deadpan and tell him it was supposed to turn him on.

“Oh.” And now he’s unbuckling his pants and asking you to come sit on his lap. :)

Shikamaru Nara

Low sex drive, usually at least, because now he’s consumed by the desire to be rode by you. Like he dreams about it.

He calls you troublesome to himself when he wakes up hard in the morning occasionally.

He lowkey loves to just lay between your legs or have you sit on his face so he can eat you out (pussy or ass, don’t matter)

Lazy morning sex. He loves it.

He’s dominant, but he can be rather lazy most the time. That being said, he will fuck you how you want him to if you ask.

Degrading but he’s not super mean about it at all. More like soft grunts with degrading terms, but the rest of it comes out more like soft sighs and groans of pleasure and praise.

Choji Akimichi

The sweetest. He takes his time with you every time.

Body worship. More so giving than receiving, but he’ll be a blushing mess if you give back the same energy.

Praise. Lots of it.

He’d be the type to kiss down your body, from your lips to your neck to your chest all the way down til he gets between your legs.

He can’t bring himself to be rough or harsh with you in anyway. No degradation, rough sex, or anything.

Likes to be able to see your face during sex.

He’d like to try food play.

Ino Yamanaka

Pillow princess unless asked to do otherwise.

She loves to be praised and worshipped, but also likes things rougher.

She’s a bit of a brat about things. Constantly going against what you say for fun.

She does it on purpose so you’ll go rougher on her, she likes it.

She also likes when things are slow and romantic though.

And she’d love it if you planned like a candlelit dinner and put a trail of rose petals on like Valentine’s Day, or even just cuz.

Shino Aburame

He’s in charge. He’s on top. Whatever. He doesn’t like to not have control.

He also just wants to please you, and often he’s not too worried about himself.

Might get a little self conscious if you skip over touching him or giving him head more than once. Like if it’s been a few times now and you haven’t bothered… did he do something?

He doesn’t need it, but he just… you know how he is.

He doesn’t make much noise.

But I do believe that right before he cums, he whimpers. He can’t help it, and don’t bring it up afterwards. He’ll be so embarrassed and not want to do it for a while because he’s scared he’ll do it again.

If he gets like that, just tell him you loved it. Then go down on him and tell him you wanna make him do it again.

He’s good with his hands, I just know it.

He can go rough and be stern and demanding, but other than that, he’s rather vanilla.

He’s a big fan of missionary so he can see your face.

And he doesn’t want to do anything unless it’s in your own home or absolute private, like an inn.

Kiba Inuzuka

Hickeys.

He loves giving them.

You will have like 20. From your jaw to your thighs, he’s marked. Plenty of them are visible and hard to hide because they’re dark.

He doesn’t exactly take his time. No, those hickeys are from the entire act. He starts leaving them during foreplay, then when he’s pounding into you, he quiets himself down by latching onto your skin.

When he eats you out, he leaves bite marks and hickeys around your thighs.

He calls it “marking his territory” then has to explain himself because no he doesn’t mean you’re a territory, you’re not a place or an object… he just… you’re his partner!

He’s rough.

Likes doggystyle most, but then he gets upset that he can’t see your face and next time he sets up a mirror.

Quickies. He can’t wait. He’ll whine if you tell him NO he can’t fuck you under the blanket, because YES people will notice the movement.

You might want to settle and pull him into a bathroom and let him fuck you over the counter, but he won’t force or beg you to the point of you giving in or anything. He’ll wait if you really mean no.

He’s got a high sex drive

Very likely to be pretty kinky. He’d be willing to tie you up, spank you, degrade you, etc.

He won’t do pet play. Thinks that shit is weird. So don’t think that because he’s a dog user, he’s gonna act dog like or have you act dog like. In fact, he’s more likely to hate it as a dog user.

I think he’d find any roleplay to be useless though. You could convince him if you wanted, but he’ll complain.

Hinata Hyuga

Much more intimate and gentle sex is what she wants

She’s not a pillow princess. She literally fantasizes about pleasing her partner.

Like probably day dreams, gets lost in her own thoughts, then is a blushing mess when she realizes that somebody is talking to her and she’s imagining what your moans would sound like when she’s between your legs, ESPECIALLY if the person talking to her is you.

She likes to do it in private, but she can’t deny that she imagines doing it where you both currently are. Not that she would.

Secretly has a high sex drive

Long refractory period though. She needs breaks between rounds.

Neji Hyuga

Took him a while to get vulnerable enough to take off his clothes if he’s being honest

Also I think Hyuga’s are very reserved and conservative until marriage, but he has such a tough time following that.

He really wants to jump your bones. And it’s almost like the fact he can’t because of his clan’s reserved and traditional nature just makes it WAYYYY more tempting.

You’re literally irresistible to him

Secretly, he’s just a little bit of a pervert. (Like Rock Lee’s Ninja Pals says he is)

I think he would have wet dreams from sexual frustration. Like the longer he holds back from having you under him, the worse it gets. Like a disease with no treatment.

I think your first time with him would be sudden, and it would be his first time ever.

You’d look WAYYYYY to good, and this time he can’t bring himself to ignore the boner he gets. No he’s gotta see if you’ll indulge him.

He may stop and pull away, get his act together if you remind him of his clan’s pride, and how he was so bent on following it before.

Maybe the first time, but by the next time he tries to give in, there is no try. He is cancelling any plans y’all had and tearing the outfit that made your body look so irresistible off.

He doesn’t have a super high sex drive, but he has such a hard time resisting just laying you down when you look so damn good. You are the reason he’s horny.

He loves when you ride him, and he WILL whimper. He tries not to, but Neji can’t be silent with the way you are squeezing him. The way you do it is so perfect, every bounce is drawing a noise out of him until he’s literally just letting out a stream of loud whimpers as he cums.

I think his cum would actually taste good. Next question.

Rock Lee

Perverted…

He feels bad for it when he catches himself, but Oop it’s too late… he’s got a boner

Boners are obvious in that green spandex…

He wouldn’t agree with doing it in public or semi-public though, but if you noticed his behavior or boner and pulled him off into the bathroom, ignoring his “this is indecent!” Protests because when you look at him before diving in to give him head, his eyes are literally pleading and he shuts up, pushing his hips towards your face.

He can’t be quiet so you’ll have stuff something in his mouth or cover it with your hand.

He secretly wants your chest in his face. He’s a chest guy. Boobs, pecks, whatever. He loves everything chest.

But he also loves ass. Small or big. Wants to grab a handful anyways.

Total switch

Because listen, he loves to pin your hips down and force you to accept the pleasure you’re trying to deny yourself.

Loves to pound his hips against yours until you’re a mess, but he also loves to do as you say.

He loves to be broken down until he’s in pieces by your mouth, body, words, whatever.

He whimpers like constantly, especially when he’s submissive. He tries to shut up when he’s dirty talking as he’s in charge, but he lets GO otherwise.

Tenten

I’m sorry her portion of this will be… lacking. I don’t know enough to say much. I love her, but I’ve never really thought about this at all.

I think she’d be a switch, but prefers to be in charge.

I think she’s depend greatly on you though.

If you don’t want to bottom/sub, that’s good.

Or vise versa.

She likes to take her time when she’s in control.

She’s fairly willing to try new things if you want to.

She enjoys going down on you most of all.

Gaara of the Sand

He’s very private about everything. He believes that his private life and his kazekage life should stay relatively separate. However, it is known that you are his partner. That’s no secret.

He’s not super into PDA, so it’s no surprise that he refuses to do anything risky or public in anyway.

He will not do it in the kazekage’s office. He has too much respect for it, but he also doesn’t want to get caught anyways.

He’s very intimate during. Slow and sensual for sure.

I can see him being into bondage, but like you get tied up, not him. But… depends. And might take some encouragement.

Refuses to hurt or degrade you for any reason. He only does praise. He could not bring himself to call you names or anything. Or to draw blood from you or hit you, etc. he doesn’t see why those things should be brought into the bedroom for “fun.”

He doesn’t think they’re fun.

He knew like nothing about sex before you. I actually think he’d have no idea how to initiate at first so you definitely initiated it.

I think he’d be the type you have to teach what to do a bit, but he gets the hang of it quickly. Then next time, he’s got every spot memorized.

Awkward. Like the first couple times were awkward, but romantic and cute.

Kankuro of the Sand

One word: kinky.

He likes to degrade you with a shit eating grin on his face. His degradation feels like a compliment most of the time though. Like he calls you a slut and it feels like he’s calling you a prince/princess. It’s confusing.

He’s so good at dirty talk. He’ll have you writhing in your spot, desperate for him and he’s not even touched you yet.

He’s got incredible patience when it comes to you. He takes his time breaking you down into a mess for him.

His face paint would 10 billion percent be smeared across your thighs and chest. Your neck is purple from bites AND his face paint to the point you can’t tell which is which.

Only when you wash off the face paint do you realize he left way too many dark hickeys that’ll probably take at least a week to fade away.

Confront him about this and he’ll just laugh.

Don’t tempt him to leave more, because he will.

He forces you to maintain eye contact when he goes down on you. If you look away for more than like 3 seconds, he give you a little tap as a warning, but twice and he stops.

Orgasm denial for sure. He would be the type to make up an excuse as to why he pulled away. He tells you all sorts of excuses. “You weren’t moaning enough.” “You moved your hips too much. Stay still.” And of course, “you looked away.”

He can make you cum hard almost every single time. You see stars.

The most fun part for him isn’t dicking you down, it’s the breaking you apart and putting you back together again.

Temari of the Sand

Dominant. Dommy mommy for sure.

Even when she decides to “sub” or “bottom,” she’s not doing a good job at it. She’s still telling you what to do, where to move, etc.

She’ll pull your hair, slap you, etc. as long as you are okay with it and want her to.

Loves to boss you around, telling you what she wants. Demanding you to please her.

“Get on your knees”

Head pusher for sure, but you two have a like physical que to let each other know when it’s enough.

All that being said, sometimes she really really just wants sweet, slow sex. Intimate nights filled with nothing but love.

She likes to keep all of this private though. No public or risky stuff.

However, she does like to do it beyond just in bed.

Would be the type to start kissing all over your neck, unbuttoning your shirt while you’re trying to cook breakfast.

You might want to turn the stove off.

[choerypetal]

Hide and Seek / Homelander

(pt 2. of Meet and Greet)

summary ; In part two of the meet and greet, Homelander's obsession reaches new heights, leaving him unsatisfied at his core and willing to do anything to make you his.

!! read part one first! ; !!

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammar mistakes, xo' (as it will be eventually corrected if needed)

tag list; @private-eye-on-you ; @lins-shenanigans ; @horrorxgorewhore @siredtom ; @certain-tragedies ; @hotchners-wifey ; @naelis-open-sea

enjoy xo'

Homelander's comment, 'You look lovely in the costume,' lingered in your mind for a week. You couldn't escape his presence. His silhouette, his maddeningly perfect face seemed to follow you everywhere—from your usual coffee shop to the special limited editions of The Vought, and even as you continued watching the show for longer periods of time. From Deep's special cupcakes to the coffee most loved by Homelander, his influence was everywhere, not just keeping the city alive but himself as well.

Although you didn't realize it, Homelander had become just as obsessed with you as he was with seeing his own face on the cup you were holding. From a distance, he watched your every move—the way your plump lips touched the cup, how you drank your coffee, and even how you covered his image with your hand. Despite finding your behavior an offense, he knew he’d eventually have to tease about it. The sadistic man that he was, wasn’t afraid to even acknowledge it. Especially during their weekly Seven meetings. 

"So, I suggest we review some new recruits," Ashley said, her nervousness palpable. She wanted to please not only the public but, most importantly, Homelander. This was no easy task given recent events and the current situation. Homelander's obvious boredom showed his lack of interest, and Deep, poor thing, was just as disinterested, staring blankly at the screen and agreeing with whatever Homelander mumbled. However, Deep was secretly relieved not to have any of John’s powers. Especially right now. Because, at that exact moment, it was your face, and your face alone, that occupied his thoughts. Murmuring your name under his breath, he was fortunate not to get caught up in the moment. That of course, when a single cough from Ashley’s mouth was enough to slip his mind elsewhere. 

"You know, Ashley, just pick whoever you think will fit for now. Sign their papers. My brain is going to fucking explode from this hell hole," he said, standing up without even glancing at her. Not even Ashley's whiny complaints about the complications it might cause could stop him. He paused, considering for a moment that she might convince him. "Don't come to me for the next 24 hours," he snapped, his piercing blue eyes conveying a clear threat. When wasn't he a threat, anyway? "Or I'll personally fuck up every single one of you." That was enough to make her quickly nod in response. Poor thing, she only wanted to make him proud. A satisfied grin played on his lips, mirrored by Ashley's, though hers was a little more nervous. His, however, was genuine. 

You, on the other hand, had been fortunate enough not to see Homelander's face for a while. From the bookstore you frequented to the coffee shop, his presence seemed to pervade your life. Your mother didn’t help either, as she insisted on framing a picture of you with him in the living room—a gesture Homelander found endearing. On some nights, he would see you through the window, dressed in your pajamas, reading whatever caught your interest, with that picture always in the background. Unlike Homelander, it haunted your dreams.  

Deep down, Homelander struggled to resist the urge to invade your personal space, not wanting to frighten you. However, when he saw your forced smile at the meet and greet, he was reminded that a smile meant nothing to him. To him and you alone. It was your scent that drove him wild. At first, he considered going undercover, posing as one of your father’s coworkers, but he realized it would be futile. Why cover his own shame, when he could let his ego take it over?

So, he waited until sunrise. When he could finally entered your room, imagining you in your shortest pajamas, which hugged your curves so perfectly, he had to bite his bottom lip to control himself. Just by the thought of his fingers sinking into your flesh as you leaned toward him for more...

"Goodbye, Mom!" Your voice echoed in Homelander's mind as he realized he'd been lurking around your house since last night. He had been trying to dismiss, the missed call records provided by Ashley, however, unable to ignore them. Fortunately, he was hidden well enough that you didn’t notice him as you exited the house.

Your hair meticulously washed, your skin fresh with makeup, and that dress. Never in a thousand years, aside from his own enemies, did Homelander think he would become so obsessed with someone. He wanted to chuckle to himself at the irony, knowing he wasn’t being the most subtle superhero. When your gaze shifted toward his hiding spot, he quickly concealed himself behind a tree, exhaling in relief when you shrugged off the feeling of being watched. You then left for work, something Homelander knew all too well. This also meant he could meet your mother, who, after all, was his biggest fan. 

Fortunately, you managed to get through the day without a single client yelling at you. However, what you didn’t expect was an unexpected visit from the man himself. As you approached the door, you overheard some mumbling. Did your mother have a visitor today? 

And then it hit you.

Hearing the all-too-familiar voice say, "Oh, these look lovely," with a genuine smile, you froze in your tracks. Seeing your mother so happy, even more thrilled than a fangirl, like she’d seen god himself. She noticed you immediately. "My dear! Look who came to visit," she exclaimed, taking you into her arms for a hug. Before you could greet the guest, your eyes met his—Homelander, in your own home. 

"No need for theatrics, ma’am," he said with a casual chuckle, hushed by his own hand as he munched on the cookies your mother had made, casually wiping a droplet of milk with his thumb. Your mother giggled and said, "Mother is the name. We don’t have to get formal, right darling?" You blinked twice, hardly believing what you were hearing. Your mother was genuinely making Homelander feel comfortable, right inside your home. Given what you knew from your coworkers and the constant rumors, it was hard not to be creeped out by the thought that he might have done more than just a knock on the door that evening. Yet, you shrugged it off, thinking that perhaps playing the same game he did might be what he wanted after all. Like a cat and a mouse. 

There was a brief pause, then an idea sparked in your mother’s eyes as she looked at John one last time. "Why don’t you stay for dinner? Tonight is roasted chicken and mashed potatoes." How could he refuse? Spending more time with you was just the beginning of his obsession with protecting you and never letting you out of his sight. He smiled, his grin seemingly bigger than before, and nodded. "If Y/N doesn’t mind?" he said, his gaze shifting to you with a more serious expression. You gulped nervously, knowing you couldn’t just say no. "Yes—yes, of course," you stuttered. Oh, how adorable you looked.

“Then, make yourself at home dear.” 

Dinner was only just a few hours from now, with your father now back from work had asked for a personal photo with the Homelander, and a talk John appreciated more. Considering his own father exiling him completely, it was a breath of fresh air for him, especially when he’d be glancing a few times at you, doing whatever you had in mind before the dinner. “My daughter is going to be working for us,” your father would be saying proudly, Homelander could only nod listening actively. “She’d do a great addition I am certain.” his gaze now meeting yours immediately, when you gaze up from your book, he could notice a light shade of pink coming your cheeks. Cherishing it a little too much when your father’s voice then abrupt his mind, “She’s beautiful isn’t she?” he’d said a little too proud. 

She is indeed… Homelander thought to himself that same night. Just by how attentive he was with you. Even if it wasn’t  much of a conversation shared, the glances were enough to please him alone. Which during the dinner, he was not afraid to show. 

Dinner had passed rather quickly, you were glad it did. Considering you listening to whatever nonsense Homelander had to offer to keep your mother so relonctent toward him. Let alone, praise him as a her own god. Boosting an ego, to whom you couldn’t comprehend yourself, and that Homelander was sure to make it seem tonight. 

"Thank you so much for dinner, truly," Homelander said, wiping the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving you. Your mother’s gasp was enough to momentarily distract him, and he asked if everything was alright. She quickly assured him it was and invited him to stay until her cake was done baking. Naturally, John didn't decline the offer. "Y/N," your mother called your attention just as you were about to excuse yourself, "how about you give a little tour of the house? I'm sure Homelander would appreciate it." The formality of his name seemed daunting, but John quickly corrected her. "John it is. No need to be formal, now, do we?" A shiver crawled down your spine as your mother’s eyes gleamed with hope, her slender fingers clapping together. "Oh, well, of course! Now, Y/N, make yourself useful and make John feel at home." 

A sigh escaped your lips; there was no way to avoid this, was there? "Yes, of course. Where do you want to start?" Your eyes never left his, feeling yourself getting lost in them, becoming his little mouse to play with. "How about..." he began, his eyes wandering as if he couldn’t be bothered to think. "The bedroom," he finally said. You blinked twice, a third time to fully process his words. "What?" you replied, incredulous. He chuckled, amused by your reaction, and shrugged off the question as if he hadn’t meant it seriously. "Nah, kidding. Lead the way," he said. 

So you did. You felt his shadow hovering over you as you both walked through the house for a little tour. John was no longer hiding his presence, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his breath. By the time you reached your bedroom, the tour was complete, and your mother’s cake would be ready. However, John had something else in mind, and he wasn’t shy about showing it. “And this is the bedroom,” you said nonchalantly, hearing an obvious scoff from him. 

"Funny, isn’t it?" he said, this time his tone serious enough to make your muscles tense. His back was to you as his fingers touched the doorknob, ready to close the door. And he did, pausing momentarily. "Finally, we meet again." His remark made you tilt your head. Meet again? As far as you knew, he had been stalking you all along. But knowing who he was—Homelander, with his omniscience and twisted games—you had no say in the matter. Neither did you, especially after hearing his chuckle. 

“Now why so quiet?” the question was enough to make you unsease. You wanted to tell him, to oppose to him. But you couldn’t he was now yours to torment completely. When he leaned further, scoffing once more by your vulnerability. In that precise moment, Homelander knew he won. 

“Heard you were a good, fuck.” his voice so nonchanltly, a gasp leaving from your mouth as you were unable to speak more than standing right in front of him. How his eyes would wondered around your figure, approaching near to you, his fingers now leaning toward your waist. Gripping by its touch, hungry to fuck you there, in the bed. Raw. 

"Thank you?" you stammered, eager to please him. His grin broadened, fighting not to turn into a frown at your response. He was so satisfied that he gently caressed your cheek with his other finger. "You need me, not just to save you, but to satisfy you." Though your heart was broken, you were a toy Homelander cherished without fear. You were his perfect little toy, as he began to lick his bottom lip, his breath drawing closer, closing the gap between you. "Mine," he growled, his voice hoarse, undeniably hinting at his intentions. He was Homelander, able to do whatever he wanted. And that included you being his. "Got it, little mouse?"

Oh, how he longed to watch you squirm between his legs, begging for more, moaning his name. His persistence knew no bounds; he would do anything—from leaving bite marks to scratches, and even hickeys if necessary. But he couldn't just stand there without having a little fun, right?

"You see," he said, his voice dripping with teasing malice. Disgust welled up in your mouth, but you fought the urge to look away. He loved watching you squirm, the fear in your eyes fueling his twisted envy of every inch of you. "How about we play a little game tonight, hmm?" His thumb brushed gently over your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

"W-what game?" you managed to say, breaking your long silence. Even he was momentarily surprised, but your stutter made it worth it. "Hide and seek," he said, pausing for effect. "You hide, and I seek. If I find you, you're mine. Got that?"

You gave a quick nod, followed by a satisfied smile from him. "Good then, I'll start counting. One, two..." You hesitated for a moment, just as his grip shifted from your waist to your arm, preventing you from fleeing your own home. When your eyes met his, they were dark with passion, lust, and a desire to capture his little mouse until its very last breath. "Run..."

Little mouse.”

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks. 

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public. 

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once. 

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend. 

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute. 

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best. 

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head? 

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume… 

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…” 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form. 

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form. 

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.” 

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.” 

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.” 

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.” 

“Not if it’s your name.” 

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?” 

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.” 

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?” 

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him. 

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.” 

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy. 

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening. 

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu. 

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin. 

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?” 

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.” 

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?” 

“Yes, but not this Earth.” 

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?” 

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.” 

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?” 

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.” 

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.  

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.” 

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.” 

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet. 

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?” 

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal. 

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…” 

“Eighteen.” Tim said. 

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.” 

“The bridge?” 

“Balance. The living and the dead.” 

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”  

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.” 

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down–both his own standards and other peoples. 

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.” 

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The power of ruling an entire realm…” 

“Exactly.” 

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.” 

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.” 

“I’ll put them at ease then.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?” 

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities. 

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good. 

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.” 

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating. 

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for. 

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy. 

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way. 

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.” 

“You cook?” 

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.” 

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.” 

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.” 

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared. 

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.” 

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.” 

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.” 

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation. 

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad. 

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask. 

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit. 

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return. 

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.” 

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.” 

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.” 

Tim stared, “What?” 

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.” 

“Yeah?” 

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders. 

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata. 

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away. 

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…” 

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching. 

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass. 

“I gotta kill my brother…” 

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first. 

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down. 

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added. 

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.” 

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

[two-white-butterflies]

for the plot

Description: You have a boyfriend, and the entire firm is trying to figure out who he is. One thing is for sure though: Mike Ross is good at hiding secrets from everyone except Rachel Zane.

Part two of slowburn, but can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: harvey specter/reader

Warning: slightly oc harvey because trust me, he wouldn't date anyone during this era.

It was Monday morning when a bouquet of flowers was spotted on top of your office desk. Correction, you could barely see your office desk because all the interns and associates were gathered around your office like they were gawking at an animal inside a zoo enclosure. "What are all of you doing here?" You raised an eyebrow.

You suppose that some of the interns don't get paid - but the associates most definitely are - and they shouldn't be doing this during office hours. "Someone sent you some flowers," Phoebe points out as she shoved her way through the crowd.

The associates and interns alike opted to stare at the floor, prepared to hear you reprimand them (and in your defense, you don't reprimand them at all, but the circumstances were different this time), but you hold your tongue. A sigh escapes your mouth - typical Harvey, always showing off - you think to yourself while feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

"Get back to work!" You ordered as the crowd dispersed, as if they weren't even there in the first place.

Everyone returned to their proper workstations, everyone except Phoebe who was quite adamant in following you inside of your office.

She tilts her head slightly.

"Aren't you going to tell me who sent you those flowers?" She asks. Your eyebrows merged. "My boyfriend, who else?" You answered plainly - a teasing smirk plastered on your lips as you settled on the desk. Donna has certainly been rubbing off Phoebe with her (caring) nosy abilities. It unnerves you how much those two know about the people in this office - they know eveything! Even what Jessica eats for breakfast (hyperbole).

You tapped your fingers impatiently on the desk, reaching for Harvey's small but toe-curlingly sweet note.

Happy Monday, my little duckling. I hope that this day treats you well - H. Reginald ;)

On your second date, you fell into a koi pond, and a few ducklings gathered around your body as if you were their mother, or part of their family, which is why Harvey has given you that nickname. The story sounds embarrassing, but that's the crazy thing about love: you can do the most embarrassing things, and they'd still be in love with you.

"What's it say?" Phoebe sits on the chair parallel to you, a bundle of files clutched near her chest, and you know that she only brought those files so she could have a reason to march inside of your office. A genuine smile ghosts your lips. She's already being such a good lawyer by asking you all these questions - it's obvious that she wants to know everything. And you will reiterate, she knows everything. Everything except who you're dating...

"Nothing to you," you placed the note inside of your pocket.

A whine escapes her mouth as she settles the files on your desk. There are at least twenty files already beginning to pile on your desk, and it's only Monday morning! Being a lawyer is such a boring job. "When are you going to tell me the name of your lover?" She emphasizes the word lover, knowing how much you hated that word.

"The day that you stop being so damn nosy," you rolled your eyes, a mischievous plan beginning to form in your mind. Phoebe and Donna always know the juicy workplace gossip, and they refuse to share it with you! Them not knowing the identity of your boyfriend makes your stomach giddy with mischievousness. This is basically their payback for not telling you about that thing with Harold Brink.

"I'm not nosy. I'm just curious and you told me that curiosity is the weapon of a good lawyer." She used your quote against you.

"A good lawyer also knows when to stop asking questions, so get the hell out of my office and get back to work!" You used your boyfriend's favorite catchphrase against her, a teasing smile still plastered on your lips as you hoped she wouldn't recognize your tone.

A few words of complaint exit her mouth, but she goes back to work nonetheless. Sorry Phoebe, let me have my fun, you'll find out soon enough anyway...

It was during lunchtime in the partner's lounge that you were able to meet your boyfriend. He was eating his favorite salad when you walked in with your warm moussaka, courtesy of Phoebe, who gave it to you in the hopes that you'd tell her who your boyfriend is.

"I thought your lunch break was at 12?" He pulled the empty chair beside him, leaving you ample space to sit down and open the metal lunchbox. "I eat my lunch when I want to eat my lunch," you answered with an eyeroll. "Whatever you say," he chuckles while reaching for his lunchbox to bring out a box of Chuckie, your favorite chocolate milk from the Asian supermarket.

Chuckie is perhaps mankind's greatest creation besides Milo.

"I saw your fridge filled with this, so I brought one for you," he whispered, and you gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you!" You pressed a kiss to his lips. You've never seen Harvey act this way before - he always keeps his feelings hidden in his chest. He's an action guy more than a words guy, but you can see that he's trying to be both for you, and the thought of that warms your heart.

"Don't worry, I got it from your fridge." He says, and a gasp escapes your mouth. You hit his forearm lightly, and he releases a chuckle.

"I'm joking," he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'd never steal anything from you." He emphasizes the word 'steal', which makes you frown because he has already stolen your heart (cheesy).

"Oh, by the way, thank you for the flowers. Phoebe has been asking me about you the entire day, but she doesn't actually know it's you." You giggled while taking a bite of your moussaka. "Donna has also been bugging me about your boyfriend, and I told her that I didn't know and didn't care if you were dating anyone." he informs.

Your eyes having a conversation of its own.

"It's so annoying how they know everything," you groaned endearingly. "So we have the same idea then?" He asks, aware that your minds work in the same way. It is part of the reason why he loves you with all of your heart - you are his intellectual equal. He likes the way that you are whole even without him, and you like him for that same reason, too. He doesn't make you perfect because you are already perfect. He just makes you feel more and vice versa.

"Try and drag this thing on because it is quite scary how much they already know about us then tell them who we're dating when the time is right?" You inquired, checking to see if he had the same idea.

"Exactly," He confirmed.

"Cool," you smiled.

"Cool," he repeated your phrase while taking a sip of your chocolate milk.

Wednesday noon.

You leaned on your office chair, popping your headphones on as you continued watching your third episode of the day. Normally, your weeks are filled with cramming and stress, but miraculously, there is nothing to do today. Well, maybe your motivation (Harvey) just makes you work a tad bit faster than before.

You lowered the brightness of your laptop.

If Jessica finds out how fast you finish these cases, she'd be very mad and impressed, but the thing is...she doesn't have to know.

You pretended to type away on your laptop, but truly, you're watching a Turkish drama that Harvey's sister-in-law recommended. You were about to reach the scene where Serkan Bolat finds out about his secret daughter, but your MS Teams begins ringing loudly, almost rendering you deaf because hello, you're wearing headphones.

Harvey Reginald Specter is calling you...

DONNA PAULSEN

"Hey, baby."

Donna hears a female voice from the other side of the intercom, specifically, Harvey's intercom. Her ears almost pulsed at the sound of a strangely familliar voice from the other side of the line, but the voice fades in the background when Harvey switches his intercom off. Donna's head went careening, her office chair spinning around so that she'd be facing Harvey's office.

She almost feels proud of him for going on a date after so long, but knowing him, he's not the type of person to commit, and knowing him, the only person he's ever been fond of is you, although he doesn't really say it out loud. To that thought, Donna's heart sinks to her stomach - right you had a boyfriend and Harvey has a fling.

At least both of you aren't married yet.

You still have time to date each other.

Donna's eyes narrowed, trying to read his lips, but Harvey, being clever and private, turned his office chair around so that he'd be staring at New York's skyline. His back was entirely facing Donna. She couldn't even see his face through the window's reflection.

Damn!

But thankfully, just as Donna was about to give up, Phoebe (her best friend in the whole wide world alongside Rachel) was strolling by. "Pst, Phebes!" Donna called out to her in a half-whisper, and the associate turned to look in her direction. "What?" She asked.

"I just heard Harvey talk to a woman on the phone. He even turned off his intercom, he never turns his intercom off! It must be serious." Donna added a personal opinion to the story that she was telling. A gasp escapes Phoebe's mouth. "Could it be (Your Name)?" Donna inquires - able to remember that you were also dating someone whom Phoebe speculates also works in the firm.

"Nope, she was on her laptop the last time I saw her, and her phone's literally charging in my cubicle." Phoebe shot the question down quick. "Damn, love is in the air in this office I guess." Donna thought to herself, and a giggle escaped the associate's lips.

"All this love and no boyfriends for us," the associate complained.

"I know, right?" Donna continued watching Harvey's figure.

"So, are you going to try and figure out who Harvey's dating?" Phoebe inquires, always the one to try and piece two and two together. Donna reminds herself that the associate worked as a detective for two years before going to law school.

Donna shakes her head. She knows her best friend like the back of her own hand. "I know how Harvey gets when it comes to his lovelife. If she's important, we'll know - if she's not, she'll be gone." Donna sighs, and Phoebe nods her head.

"I guess, plus, I feel like he'd get mad at us for trying to pry into his personal life like that..." She agrees.

"You're doing the same thing to (Your Name), for your information." Donna teases. "If she doesn't like me trying to know, she'll tell me, but I have a feeling that she's only hiding her boyfriend because she likes annoying me," Phoebe mumbles.

"Yeah, you do look a little cute when you're annoyed." Donna chuckled. "Whatever, Donna." Phoebe rolled her eyes.

MIKE ROSS

"I already prepared the restaurant you're going to, the flowers are ready, yes, I also booked a private room because I know how busy and loud La J'amie gets during Sundays." Mike Ross opened his mouth to speak, partly annoyed and confused as to why Harvey was treating him like he was his personal assistant.

"Good," Harvey replied while highlighting the mistakes in the contract that Mike Ross drafted. "Why are you making me do this, anyway? You have Donna," Mike pointed out.

Harvey's eyebrows merged together, personally offended. "Why am I making you do this? Because I'm the reason you work in this office?" Harvey rolled his eyes while handing the contract draft back to the associate. "Right," Mike stared off to the side.

He's thankful to Harvey for giving him this job, but sometimes he just wants to leave - because he knows that this isn't his place. He loves being a lawyer and all, but it feels wrong practicing when he doesn't have a law degree - when he has cheated his way through everything that he's pretending to have now.

But that's a problem for another day.

"When are you going to tell them that you're with each other?" Mike asks in a rather pressing tone because Rachel has been suspicious of him - mostly because he spends a lot of time outside and he no longer has free time to go on dates with her - because Harvey is making him plan everything that he's doing with you and it's horrible because Mike doesn't even have the reigns to anything. Harvey micromanages him with this date-related nonsense. Harvey doesn't even care about half of the work that Mike does in the lawfirm!

"That's for me to know and for you to find out, now get the hell out of my office and get back to work." Harvey commanded.

There were a million things that Harvey Specter loved about you, but what he loved the most was your ability to persuade and tell a story. You had a silver tongue, and you were an expert raconteur. Whereas he relied on his charm and his ability to see through everything, this union of yours proved to be divine as you covered his blind spots and he covered yours.

In the courtroom, both of you were formidable lawyers (which, you admit, sounds a bit like liars, but you've never lied, only partly obscured the truth). "You know, the funny thing is, I hate mergers and acquisitions." You confessed while tracing the imaginary lines of his chest. "That used to be your field," he scoffed.

Yep, because it's the field that brings in the most clients!

"I know, and it's so repetitive. If I were able to choose my specialty again, I'd go to family law." You mumbled, eyelids fluttering as you fought against your inevitable drowsiness. His hands slither down to your waist, pulling you closer and lifting the covers over your shoulder. "Please, you'd be too stressed there, all your hair would fall out." He mumbled while pressing a kiss to your temple.

"It's the most interesting specialty, please. You know how Anna Karenina said; All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." You remembered the quote from the time that your high school teacher forced you to read the book.

Harvey is silent for a second, perhaps, relating to the quote.

"Harvey?" You raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering the story about his family. "When we have a family, if you want to have one, let's try to make everyone happy." He asks, as you burrowed deeper into the crook of his neck. "We'll have a happy family, Harvey. I promise," you gave him a smile.

"Good," he nods his head.

Perfect.

RACHEL ZANE

Rachel Zane's eyebrows merged together.

"It's a Saturday and you're going somewhere?" She inquired, watching as Mike hurried to wear his clothes.

"I'm sorry, it's Harvey." He reasoned, his voice apologetic.

"What is he making you do now?" She interrogated, a hand on her waist as she stared up at him. "Classified client interviews," Mike pressed a kiss to her forehead. She wants to believe him - Mike is not the type of person who lies just to get what he wants, but she's been cheated on before - she's been someone's mistress before.

All liars think everyone lies.

She feels guilt bubble in the bottom of her stomach. "I'll see you on Monday, then." She mumbles underneath her breath, watching as unease floods Mike's features. "I love you, okay." Mike repeats.

"I love you, too, Mike." She replies.

.

.

.

Rachel was about to put Mike's coat in the laundry, but her hands brushed past a few papers inside his coat pockets. She pulls each paper out, thankful that she thought to check his pockets before throwing them in the wash - these could be important - she thinks to herself as her hands danced over a thicker piece of parchment.

Reservation in La J'amie for two. Sunday 7:00pm. Private room.

"Private room?" Her eyebrows merged, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. Her previous thoughts echoed in her head. All liars think everyone lies. All cheaters think that everyone cheats.

Is Mike cheating on her?

She knows that she deserves it - she deserves losing this perfect dorky and nerd guy because she isn't entirely a perfect person. But, she promised to change a long time ago - and she has changed. She knows that karma doesn't care, though, but she hoped that karma would gloss over this man because she really, really loves him.

She loves Mike with all of her heart, without any doubts, and without asking for anything else in return. Rachel sank to the floor, her eyes trailing back and forth as she contemplated her next actions.

.

.

.

Thankfully, Phoebe was free - Donna was on a date.

"When you catch them together, we have to beat Mike up. Of course, we have to ask the girl if she knows, and if she does, I will drag her off the pavement!" Phoebe rambled with anger pulsing through her veins as if she were the one cheated on. "I'll assault them. I'll make sure their parents won't be able to recognize them -"

Phoebe's words are interrupted when they see a familiar car pull up the restaurant's driveway. Harvey Specter's car. A 1961 Black Jaguar E-Type - Rachel remembers from Mike's drunkish ramblings (mostly complaining about his boss).

He sees Harvey Specter step out of the vehicle, walking around the busy streets to open the left-side door - revealing you.

"Oh my god, they're dating each other," Phoebe mumbles out loud as Rachel pulls her towards a pole that is big enough to obscure their slender bodies. It isn't lost on the girls - the way that Harvey's hand curled around the small of your waist while guiding you inside the restaurant, there were basically hearts in both of your eyes, drunk at the sight of each other that you were unable to notice Phoebe (who was wearing a neon magenta coat) and Rachel.

"So, Mike isn't cheating on me. Harvey's just making him do restaurant reservations because he doesn't want you and Donna to know." Rachel says to herself. She's smart - very smart.

Phoebe releases a deep breath - good - because she wasn't exactly sure that she'd be able to drag Mike and his alleged mistress through the crowded streets of New York City. "You know that there's only one way to find out, right?" Phoebe raises an eyebrow while dragging Rachel inside of the restaurant.

Phoebe marches in the direction of the receptionist with a cadence that only a woman who could afford to eat there could. "Good evening, ma'am, may I take your name?" The receptionist looked around nervously; he was obviously new here.

"Ross. I have a reservation in the private room." Phobe announces with her chin held up high. Rachel is almost thankful that the other woman decided to wear a neon magenta coat for only someone rich could have the courage of wearing something as ugly as that.

"Sorry, ma'am. We don't have a reservation under the name Ross. We have one under the name Specter, though." The receptionist says with a forced smile. Rachel and Phoebe exchange a knowing look.

Rachel relaxes.

"I think that was in another restaurant, Phebes." Rachel suddenly blurts out, a wave of relief washing over her features and soul. "Oh, right, apologies for that, darling." Phoebe smiles while turning around to leave. The moment that both of the women stepped outside the restaurant, a happy shriek escaped Phoebe's lips.

"Oh my fucking god," she cheered. Happy to finally know the identity of your boyfriend - there was only one thing in Phoebe's mind, 'I told you so', that was the first thing she was going to tell Donna. Rachel forces a smile on her lips - her personal issues with infidelity were a conversation for another day. Today, she's going to be happy for you.

You tilted your head slightly, seeing a familiar magenta coat from your periphery. "Phoebe and Rachel are here." You pointed out, and Harvey twists his neck his eyes meeting those of Rachel and he gives a nod of confirmation.

You share a smile with your boyfriend and he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "One thing is for sure, they know." You hummed.

"We'll deal with them tomorrow," he chuckled amusedly.

[r66dusthewriter]

Fallout

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: Been working pretty consistently on these so i thought i could spare some extra fics this week 😙

Genre: Angsty fluff

Warnings: suggestive comment

Word count: 1k

You sat on the other side of that table, spine straight and face blank, as though your entire career hadn’t just been put under a microscope. Simon stood across from you, the skull mask making him unreadable but you didn’t need to see his eyes to know the storm behind them. 

“I didn’t leak shit,” you repeated quietly, arms folded. “And you know it.” 

Ghost didn’t answer, only stood perfectly still with his arms behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders, except he was the order now. Your badge of CIA clearance sat on the table between you, useless now.

“Laswell tried to stall,” you added. “Said it was external but I was benched anyway and then someone with a personal vendetta against me changed the orders.” You leaned forward, voice sharp. “That someone sent you.” 

Ghost didn’t deny it either and you let out a breath, leaning back. “Jesus Christ, Simon. If they think I’m a mole, why send you specifically? They think I’ll crack under your gaze or something?” Still nothing from him, just breathing in a slow, methodical way, like he was buying time or bracing. “Say something!” you bit out. 

“You’re not the only one being watched,” he said finally, voice low and steady. “They’ll be listening.”

“Should I sign the confession now then, so you can take me to a cell and let me rot?”

“No,” he said, something like strain curling at the edges of his words. “I’m here to find the truth.” 

A bitter laugh escaped you, that was never within his obligations or orders. “That’s rich, coming from the man I’ve slept with for the last six months.” 

He flinched, just barely but you saw it. “Fuck it,” you added, voice low and accusatory. “You want the truth, Lieutenant? We both have secrets, yours just come with a balaclava…but that wasn’t me. You have to believe me”

He finally moved, pulling out the chair and sitting across from you. The gesture made your stomach twist. It was too normal and too intimate, the way the room felt like it was closing in. 

“I’ve been through the files,” he said, accent thick. “The breach happened through a secure CIA node in Jordan. Yours was the only login used in the last 24 hours.” 

“I was in London,” you snapped. “Ask Laswell, hell, ask Price… I was in a fucking debrief.”

“They scrubbed the logs.”

You stared at him expectantly despite the obvious continuity this situation would follow. “So that’s it then.” You shrugged, “You’re gonna take me to a shadow site, interrogate me…break me like a fucking twig and watch me die!?” 

“No,” he barked, voice dropping. “I’m going to prove it wasn’t you.” 

Silence spread between you, thick and pressurized. You watched him closely, trying to understand what was going on in his head.

“You’re not authorized to do that.”

“I don’t give a damn.” For a moment, the mask didn’t matter, his voice did. You felt it settle beneath your ribs, somewhere between fury and relief. 

“What’s the plan then?” you asked. 

Ghost leaned forward, lowering his voice. “In 2 minutes, Soap and Gaz are going to simulate a containment breach. While everyone’s distracted, I’m getting you out.” 

“You’re going AWOL.” you whispered, shocked.

“I’m gettin’ answers.” he corrected.

“You’ll get court-martialed.” you said, every word deliberate while looking into his eyes.

Simon’s gaze didn’t waver. “If I fail.” 

You stared at him for a long time, something clenching in your chest. “Why risk it?” 

He didn’t blink. “Because if they break you, they break me too.”

The lights cut before you could say anything else. It was a flicker and then pure darkness for seconds before the emergency lights turned on, barely bright but enough to shroud the room in shapes and outlines, enough to make your pulse skip.

You heard the shift of his boots first, slow and sure, then the quiet clink of the cuff key in his hand. Your wrists stung as the metal shifted, the weight of suspicion falling away with it. You didn’t say thank you, didn’t say anything at all.

His gloved hands brushed your skin, steady, methodical but you could feel the tremor anyway, beneath the practiced calm, the soldier’s mask…he was furious, not at you, not really but at them. At the idea that someone thought they could put you in a box, tie a noose around your name and make him the one to deliver it.

"You’re risking everything,” you whispered, breath catching. “For me.”

Simon didn’t answer at first as he fiddled with the key in the dim light, getting angrier by the second. 

“I thought we agreed,” you say, softer now, “we weren’t… this.”

“This what?” His voice was a murmur, barely audible above the hum of emergency lights outside the door. “Stupid? Attached? In too deep?”

You exhaled, shakily. “Whatever this is. It doesn’t belong in debriefings and holding cells.”

Another beat of silence and then suddenly, the cuffs tighten back around one wrist.

Not locked, not harsh. Just enough pressure to make your eyes widen and your breath hitch.

Your head jerked toward him. “Need help with the fucking key?”

In the near-dark, you heard a breathy low chuckle before the cuffs slipped free from one wrist, then the other, the metal clinking to the floor like a secret dropped too loud.

“I thought you liked it when I took control.”

You blinked, standing and rubbing your wrists to ease the pain from having them on too long. Your voice came out flat. “You’re an asshole.”

“Mm.” He hummed, handing you a gun, holding it for just a second longer between you before letting go. “Takes one to love one.”

The word love landed heavier than it should have. You didn’t flinch but you felt it and chose to ignore it. You stepped back, tucking the gun into the back of your waistband but he followed, just a fraction too close.

The air between you simmered with misplaced heat, unresolved tension and all the things neither of you ever said out loud, but that conversation wouldn’t happen anytime soon because whatever this was, you’d just stepped into something far bigger than either of you.

[florencemtrash]

Leather and Blood - Part I

Jason Todd x f!Reader

Summary: Jason never imagined falling in love, so when he fell, he fell hard. He couldn't deny her anything, not even the leather jacket he'd tried burying in the back of his closet along with the rest of his secrets. But he'll soon realize the crucial mistake he made when he lets the love of his life walk out with Red Hood's signature leather jacket.

Warnings: fluff, violence, sleazy men

Leather and Blood Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Next chapter ->

Two years. They’d been together for two years.

Every argument, every moment of hesitation from Y/n had made Jason wonder, Is this it? Is this the final slip up? The last mistake I make before she goes out that door and never comes back? 

And every time, the answer had been a resounding no. Once Y/n had chosen him, she’d chosen him, and after some time, Jason had finally accepted that there would be no last argument, no last mistake. No final straw. 

“I’m going to tell her, Dick.” 

His brother had smirked over the phone. “There’s a lot of yapping going on, but not to your girl.” 

“I mean it.” 

“I know! I know! All I’m saying is, you’re moving in with your girl before telling her about the vigilante stuff. Don’t you think you should be talking to her like… now?”

Jason hated talking to Dick sometimes. Not only was he the pompous, perfect golden boy in the family, he was — on occasion — right. 

It was annoying as fuck. 

Jason hung up the phone with a scowl, spitting over the guardrail of the fire escape onto the sidewalk below like he was shooing away an omen. He rolled the stale gum around in his mouth, nicotine long gone, and watched the mailman try to squeeze his truck down and around the slim bend in their street. Jason smirked as the truck took off the side view mirror of a double-parked car — sleek black paint now sliced through with orange and white. A string of profanities billowed out the open truck window like smoke, spilling into air already heavy with siren calls, car alarms, and the beeping of horns. 

Just because this was a safer part of town didn’t mean people were any nicer. It was still stripped down. The right level of grime filling in the cracks in the sidewalk and clinging to the foundations of buildings to let you know it was lived-in. Just how Jason liked it. 

He folded up his gum in a tissue and expertly threw it into one of the trash cans on the side of the street before squatting down and folding himself through the window back into Y/n’s apartment. 

Y/n clicked her tongue against her teeth, shaking her head as she swung her switchblade open and sliced through the taped up cardboard. Black marker screamed “JACKETS” on the side of the box. 

“I don’t know why you insist on taking calls out there.” The fire escape was rickety as hell and covered in so much paint it peeled. Y/n liked to smoke or drink her coffee there in the morning in her fold-up chair, but she wasn’t built like a mountain. Jason was large enough that she could imagine the whole fire escape crumbling like tin foil. 

Jason readjusted the sleeves of his shirt, folding them back carefully to expose his forearms just the way she liked. She smirked at him as he wrapped his arms around her, playfully biting her neck and squeezing her sides. His distraction worked and the phone call was forgotten about. 

She dug around the box, pulling out pair after pair of leather jackets crinkled and soft from use. “Did you buy the whole fucking cow, baby?” She asked, snapping out his clothes with a flourish. 

“Shut up.” He kissed her cheek before stealing the pile from her, bumping his head against hers as he went. 

Flat, empty cardboard boxes littered the floor in Y/n’s room marked CLOTHES, BATHROOM, and BOOKS. The KITCHEN box had already been organized and put away last week and the corner of his mouth ticked up at the thought of his mugs mingled in with Y/n’s, his mismatched utensils finding a home in her drawers. 

Their drawers. He corrected himself. It was their kitchen now. Their room. Their apartment. 

His new home. 

“Hey baby!” Y/n called out from the living room. “Can I keep this?!”

Y/n was already pulling on the leather jacket when he exited the bedroom. Browned, bleached, and weathered from countless motorcycle rides and hours in the sun, it kept the shape of Jason’s body even as she adjusted the sleeves and lapels. She smoothed her hands down the front of the jacket, tracing the tiny stitches where Jason had patched up bullet holes and knife wounds with curiosity before deciding to ignore them. 

She tugged the jacket up to her face, breathing in the scent of wind, smoke, and Jason’s cologne with a sigh. 

Oh yeah. She was totally keeping this. 

Jason chuckled, already knowing that her mind was made up. She spun around, snatching up Jason’s sunglasses from the kitchen countertop before striking a pose. She leaned against the kitchen island, shooting Jason a dark glare from beneath his shades as she spoke in a rough, gravelly voice.

“I’m Jason Todd. I smoke cigarettes and coffee for breakfast. But only black — like my soul. I can’t sleep longer than three hours at a time. The nightmares… they’re too dark for a pure soul like you.” 

Jason blushed thinking back to some of the notably cringy things he’d said to her back when they’d started dating. “You finished there, baby?” His eyes glittered with amusement. 

“Never.” She puffed up her chest, swaggering around the kitchen and living room, blue knee-high socks padding across hardwood. “I’m Jason Todd. I’m filled with so much teenage angst. I like to wear smudged eyeliner after 6pm and—” 

“Hey!” He snatched her in his arms as she passed, sending her into fits of laughter as he tickled her sides. “You said you liked when I wore eyeliner.” She shrieked as he attacked her neck, blowing against the sensitive skin just above her jugular. He sent them both sprawling over the living room couch, rattling the coffee table and sending a few carelessly stacked books tumbling onto the rug. 

“Mercy! Mercy!” Y/n giggled, gasping for breath as Jason finally let her go. He lay on top of her, pressing against her front until she could feel every hard, rigid line of his body. They sank into the couch cushions, trapping her in a position that had her eyes falling shut and her legs drifting up and around Jason’s hips as he kissed her breathlessly. Liquid heat pooled between them and she began to wonder if this would be the moment Jason took things further than they’d ever gone before. 

He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger before widening his grip to brush against her jaw. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

“But you love it.” 

Jason smiled, all pearly teeth and stretched lips. The scars he had at the corner of his mouth and the center of his brow stretched, crows feet crinkling like paper at his temples. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I really do love you.” 

Y/n blushed. Hard. “Does this mean I get to keep the jacket?” 

Jason snorted. “Yeah you can keep the jacket.” 

But that was a mistake. 

He should never have let her leave the house with his old Red Hood jacket. It was innocuous enough. No more or less different than the harsh attire Gothamites preferred. And it had been the first he’d ever worn out on the job. It was ridiculous to think that anyone would see that jacket and tie it back to Red Hood.

But someone did…

Y/n popped the collar of her coat, warm leather trapping the heat of her body as she stumbled out of the hospital at midnight. She cradled a to go cup with shitty coffee and too much cream in her hands, steam rising into the night sky like breath. 

“Hey Y/n!” A mousy haired nurse sporting bright yellow crocs and cat-eyed spectacles caught her at the employee entrance. Janice looked Y/n up and down, smelling the disinfectant that clung to her cracked, dry skin, then scrunched her nose. “Rough night?” 

Y/n sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I was supposed to be off at six and they scheduled me for another twelve to twelve shift tomorrow.” 

“Today, you mean?” Janice pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket, handing it over to Y/n. 

Y/n rolled her eyes, lighting the cigarette and breathing in deeply. Orange light flickered in her eyes like a candle, smoke billowing out from between her teeth as she muttered, “Fuck, you’re right.” 

Janice knocked her shoulder into Y/n’s. “Go home and get some sleep, girl.” 

“When’s your shift ending?” 

“6pm, so I’ll catch you when you get back. I just wanted a smoke break.” 

“Lucky us.” 

“Fucking tell me about it.” 

They both snorted before drifting off into the night air with goodbyes and good lucks trailing behind them along with cigarette smoke. 

Y/n waited at the shuttle stop one block from Gotham General. Light flickered in and out from the lamppost above her, the pool of yellow at her feet sputtering with an asthmatic wheeze of electricity. The shuttle was five minutes away when a trio of greasy men in black suits trickled in from around the block. They were shadows swaying drunkenly in the darkness. Lanky blondes wearing tiny, shimmering dresses hung at their arms, flashing necklaces and earrings worth thousands like peacock feathers. Y/n bristled as they approached smelling like cheap booze and nightclub sweat. She dipped her hand into her jacket pocket, fingers closing around the switchblade Jason had gifted her last Christmas. She had less to fear being this close to the hospital, but that didn’t mean she would be caught off guard. 

“Hey!” One of the men hollered, tripping into her circle of light. The woman at his side frowned at Y/n, pulling the man as close as she could. For a split moment his suit jacket parted enough to see the gun strapped to his hip and Y/n felt her stomach sour. “Can I bum a smoke?” 

Y/n didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch as the man lost his patience and reached out. He stole the cigarette from between her lips and breathed in deep, the end of the cigarette flaring to life like a drop of orange sun. 

He tried fitting it back between her teeth, blowing smoke into her face as he did so. 

She stepped out of reach. “Keep it.” 

He eyed her up and down, gaze snagging on the name tag hanging from her scrubs.

Y/n L/n APRN, ENP Gotham General Emergency Department

She closed her jacket. 

He tilted his head to the side. “Nice jacket. Where’d you get it?” 

“Tommy, what the fuck’s the holdup?” His friend shouted at him from halfway down the block. His tie was undone and hanging around his neck. The red-sequined woman at his side twirled the narrow end around her fingers. 

“I’m just asking the doll a question!”

“Well be a gentleman about it and hurry the fuck up! I’m trying to get laid tonight! WHOO!” 

Tommy snickered, shaking his head. “The guy’s telling me to be a gentleman and those are his manners? Right?” He spat the cigarette bud on the ground, stamping it out beneath patent-leather shoes. When he turned his neck he showed off the scar just beneath his jaw, pale and pink. Any further down and it would have sliced through his jugular. 

Y/n fingered the trigger of her switchblade. 

“Anyway, back to the jacket. Where’d you get it? It’s a fine piece.” He looked up, oily black eyes blown wide. “Boyfriend maybe?”

“Thrift store,” Y/n answered as calmly as she could. She could hear the wheels of the shuttle as it hit the pothole on the corner. “39th and Weston.” 

 Tommy sucked on his teeth and spit on the ground once more. “Thanks, doll. Was a pleasure to meet you. A real pleasure.” 

She side-stepped him and jumped onto the shuttle, the doors opening before the bus had fully wheeled to a stop. They closed just as quickly, slamming shut on the oily trio before speeding away. 

Y/n let out a shaky breath, grasping for the bars before sinking into the lumpy seat at the front of the shuttle. There were only two other people — the driver, Leonor, and a custodian whose name she couldn’t place. 

“You alright there?” Leonor asked, Gotham accent laid on thick. 

“Yeah… yeah,” Y/n whispered, earning a backwards glance from the concerned driver. 

“Do you need me to drop you off somewhere else tonight? Closer to home?” 

Y/n swallowed thickly and nodded, letting out a meek, “Thank you.” 

He watched the shuttle hug the corner and disappear from sight.

“Tommy, what the fuck?!”

“Shut it, Paul!” He swore under his breath, untangling a phone from his pockets and shrugging off the girl he’d picked up at the club. “Just give me a fucking minute would you? Heyyyy boss.”

From the other side of the phone came the distinct wet sound of fists meeting bloody flesh. A low groan echoed, fritzing over the poor connection as the Penguin finally asked him what was sooo important that he’d interrupt a man as busy as himself. 

Tommy smirked, scratching at the scar beneath his jawline and shivering. “Remember that fucker who tried to slit my throat?” 

“Are you… are you trying to insinuate I don’t know who the fucking Red Hood is? Are you a fucking moron?! YOU GODDAMN SON OF A B—” Tommy held the phone a careful distance away from his ear, waiting for the expletives to trickle off. 

“I think I just found his girl.”

There was a pause on the line. The beatings stopped. “You better have a name.”

Next chapter ->

[transhitman]

Ok I posted about this in anger a while back but I'm gonna say it more intelligently and actually tag it because I think it's something people need to hear. Something that bugs me about how people talk about the morality of the men in this game is that a lot of analysis totally glosses over Anya's motives and what she actually asks of people, and in doing so once again strips her of agency. Like. The reason Curly sucks isn't because he failed to properly punish Jimmy, it's because he ignored Anya in favor of her abuser. He didn't listen to her regarding how to move forward, he didn't give her a way to protect herself. No matter what he would have done to Jimmy, Anya is still traumatized and in danger, and that's the most important point of failure.

I think a lot of people are projecting a revenge fantasy on Anya, and while I'm not gonna argue about the validity of revenge here, for Anya specifically I think that's a major mischaracterization. She's the one who says that our worst moments don't make us monsters. And while yes, this could just be her trying to appease her abusers, she still doesn't strike me as a particularly vindictive person. She's a nurse, symbolically in a role associated with care and healing. Before the crash, she seems like a very soft-spoken and restrained person. Hell, she can't stand giving Curly his meds because she feels so bad for him. There isn't really a point in the game where she calls for violence at all. And even if punishing Jimmy or Curly is morally correct (subjective), saying that it's what anyone Should have done still glosses over Anya's wants and needs. It still centers the abuser, even in vitriol.

It's especially weird to see people judge Swansea on these grounds, because like... We don't know what his dynamic with Anya was like. We don't actually know what she said to him, if she even confided about her pregnancy or the SA at all! I honestly think Swansea's actions give more credence to the idea that Anya herself wanted a peaceful resolution. The whole "Oh, I'm holding it together" thing, him becoming more hostile after speaking with Anya... He waits until Daisuke AND ANYA are dead before trying to kill Jimmy. I think the obvious reading is that he wants Jimmy dead, but Anya asked him not to do anything crazy. Genuinely, I think Anya just wanted to be safe. She wanted out above everything. She didn't want more violence. The only violence she commits is against herself in the end, in order to escape this hell her coworkers made for her.

And like. Swansea is kind of the only one who actually did try to protect Anya in a meaningful way. I won't say that he couldn't have done more for her - all of the men on that ship failed her in some regard - but Swansea intentionally keeps the axe out of Jimmy's hands. He keeps the pod a secret, probably to give to Daisuke, but we can't say anything for sure. I joke that Swansea should have killed Jimmy from the start, but if we're being real that would have been an insane thing to do given what the characters know. But Swansea isn't the point of this post. Like. Idk I just think it's really bizarre that when people discuss Anya's assault, they still do it from the perspective of the men involved. It's weird and I don't like it. Like people have said before me: it's not enough to hate abusers, you have to love victims.

[gunsandspaceships]

The elephant in the room of Spider-Man: Homecoming

It's understandable that in a system as huge as the MCU, it's very difficult not to make mistakes in the sequence of events. I've already touched on some relatively minor issues in my timelines (like Fury's eye in Winter Soldier vs. Captain Marvel, or when Barnes fell off the train). These things are really small and hard to notice unless you're watching these movies under a microscope. They can also be fixed with CGI magic (yes, Marvel, you can do that right now).

There was even a whole "Fury's Big Week" disaster, but that too can be fixed by throwing the whole idea in the trash.

But there is one mistake that is not easy to correct, because this is the entire beginning of the film.

I'm talking about that scene in the car with Peter and Tony.

Don't throw rotten tomatoes at me, guys, nothing personal, but that scene just couldn't happen. At least not in the same universe with the Civil War we were shown.

Why? This is what happened in Civil War:

Wanda injures Tony's left arm. After the airport battle, he wears a sling when he's not in armor. A month after the whole Civil War thing, his arm still shakes.

Peter gets punched in the right eye (to match his mentor, I guess) and also appears to have some rib damage. Tony sends him home right there on the battle(air)field.

Peter resists at first, but apparently feeling pain in his ribs, he agrees with Tony's conclusions.

A minute later, Rhodey falls from the sky, and Rogers escapes to Siberia with Barnes on the Avengers' jet. From then on, Tony has no time for Peter.

At that time, the only person who could pick him up and fly with him first to Berlin and then home was Happy. Alone.

About 15 hours later, Peter was delivered to his apartment in Queens with a black eye starting to form and Tony's web shooter still on his wrist (thus the entire suit was with him).

Tony went with Rhodey to the hospital, then to the Raft, and from there straight to the bunker in Siberia. There were ~13 hours between the battle at the airport and the fight in the bunker. Tony spent most of that time flying to those places and couldn't be in two places at once.

He suffered more injuries during the fight in the bunker, apparently including head and chest injuries, and it is unknown when he returned to the States or in what condition. The most realistic guess would be that he spent some time in the hospital, probably sharing a room with Rhodey and Secretary Ross, who was having another heart attack at the time. Just kidding about the room, but the rest is true.

Either way, Tony's mental state would be terrible. And it's still bad a month later, in this scene:

What happened according to Spider-Man: Homecoming:

Neither Peter nor Happy cared what happened to Rhodey or where the hell Tony was:

Tony accompanies Peter as Happy drives him home. Tony's left arm is fully functional and he doesn't wear a sling.

His mental state is fine: he smiles, jokes, his eyes glow, etc.

Peter has no injuries either. No black eye, no pain, no bruised ribs.

Seems like NOTHING bad happened.

Some argue that this scene took place after Siberia to get around the time conflict between the airport battle and the bunker/return to Queens. This idea makes even less sense. It directly contradicts the Civil War post-credits scene, and also does not take into account the fact that all of the above still remains for at least another month, plus additional wounds were added to Tony, including cuts on his face that are clearly visible in CW and are absent in Homecoming.

This whole scene is simply incompatible with Civil War. Period. The elephant stays in the room and I don't know how to get it out.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Prologue/Prequel Snippet.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

So, I’m not sure if this is a prologue or a prequel, and honestly, I can't even figure it out, so I’m just calling it both?? If anyone wants to correct me, PLEASE do because I’m losing my mind over here. 😭

Anyways, the prologue/prequel got so out of hand that it’s now 20k words long. I’m anxious as hell to post it because… yeah, it’s long, and it’s probably going to flop (I know I’m supposed to write for myself or whatever, but like... I care what you guys think, okay???)

Here’s a little teaser of the reader’s first time with WandaNat in the “You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry” and “I Think You Both Need Daddy, Hm?” universe, while I try to work up the courage to post the rest. 😬

Oh, and I’m now officially calling the whole thing 'Our Little One' because it somehow turned into a series.

NSFW below the cut.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, and you were. You hadn’t even realised it until she pressed her lips to your shoulder, slow and open-mouthed, breathing in the scent of you like it grounded her. “You’re being so brave for me.”

Your face burned as she then reached for the drawstring of your joggers, slipping it loose with deliberate care. She didn’t rush. She didn’t tease. It wasn’t about making you squirm; it was about seeing you, piece by piece, letting you feel every second of it.

She slid the fabric slowly over your hips, the backs of her knuckles grazing sensitive skin on the way down. “Lift your hips for Mommy, baby.”

You obeyed without hesitation, thighs quivering as you raised your hips, trusting her completely. In one fluid motion, Wanda drew your joggers and underwear down together, baring you to the cool air and to her gaze.

Then you were exposed, and Wanda just…stared. Like she couldn’t quite decide where to look first, like every part of you demanded her full attention.

Her hands settled instinctively on your thighs, her thumbs tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin as her eyes darkened. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, reverent and a little awed. Then, without looking away from you, she spoke to her wife, “Natasha, look how pretty she is.”

Heat flared instantly in your face. Your eyes flicked toward the chair across the room before you could stop them, and there she was. Natasha hadn’t moved an inch, still lounging like a queen at rest, but her mouth was curled into a sharp, pleased little smile. Her gaze caught yours and didn’t waver, all dark promise and patience.

A quiet, shameful sound escaped your throat, and Wanda lit up. “Oh,” she laughed, wicked and delighted. “I knew it. You like being watched.”

Mortified, you dropped your head back onto the cushion and slapped a hand over your face, trying to hide. But Wanda only laughed again, sugar-sweet and cruel in the way that made your stomach flip.

“No, Little One,” she scolded gently, tugging your hand away with ease. “None of that. You don’t get to hide, not when you’re this perfect.”

You whimpered again, thighs twitching as your hips shifted against the cushions. Your legs squeezed together, then fell open, helpless. You couldn’t stay still. Every part of you was burning.

Wanda tilted her head, her lashes low, eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “Such a sensitive little thing,” she whispered, the words sliding like velvet over your skin. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Before you could speak, she leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that left you aching in the chest. Her hand slid up, not between your legs but along your waist, curling around your side to hold you close.

Her mouth moved over your jaw, and down your neck, where she latched onto your pulse, sucking deeply, deliberately. The sensation jolted through you, and before you could even think, your body arched into it, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Wanda's lips lingered, the bite sinking deeper, her mark burning into your skin like a brand, sending heat spiraling out in waves across your chest.

You whined, your body trembling beneath her, every nerve alive with the intensity of her touch. She hummed against your throat, her tongue sweeping over the mark, and her breath came slow, heavy, each exhale a silent promise of more.

“There,” she breathed, her voice thick with a dark, possessive pride, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she pulled back just enough to study the mark she’d left on you. "God, you look so fucking perfect with my mark on your throat."

[technically-human]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. I'm absolutely in love with your fem!payneland art. If it's not too much trouble, would you consider doing one with the confession™️ but with fem!payneland?

I've been hiding some things from you...

[slashire]

one hell of a headache pt three

Summary: a week after the mission you and Sebastian were sent on, the tension grew and grew. Late night reading in the library turns out to be a good option…or a regretful choice.

Sebastian Michaelis x fem!reader

Warnings: sexual acts described MINORS DNI

WC:5530

part one part two part four

It had been a week since the kiss.

A week since you’d crashed your mouth against his in the middle of a mission, furious and breathless and too close to snapping. A week since Sebastian had kissed you back with the kind of precision and hunger that had haunted your sleep every night since.

And nothing had been normal.

If anything, it had gotten worse.

The insults were sharper. More frequent. The two of you barely made it through a hallway without exchanging barbs, and even Ciel had begun watching you both with the wary expression of a boy caught between two impending explosions. Every eye roll, every sarcastic retort, every deliberate brush of shoulders in the corridor was laced with something taut and electric that neither of you acknowledged.

You refused to talk about it. So did he.

But the silence between words said enough.

Now, on the eighth night since the mission, you sat alone in the manors east library- legs curled beneath you in a high backed chair, a thick novel propped open across your lap. The only sounds were the soft crackle of fire and the whisper of turning pages. Candlelight flickered across the dark wood shelves, bathing the room in gold and shadow.

It was late.

You knew it. But sleep has been a stranger lately. You haven't told anyone why.

The door creaked open.

You didn't look up. You didn't have to.

“I should've known the stench of arrogance would find its way in here eventually,” you muttered.

Sebastains voice was as smooth as ever. “And I should've known the source of my migraines would be ignoring curfew again.” 

You turned a page, deliberately slow. “Did Ciel send his favorite lapdog to fetch me, or are you just bored of polishing silverware and your own ego?”

“Neither,” he replied, gliding toward you with irritating grace. “You've been neglecting your schedule. Again. As the manors butler, it is my duty to remind you that sleep is necessary for humans. Even those as stubborn as you.”

You glanced up, met his gaze, and let your voice flatten. “If you're trying to mother me, you’re several centuries and one apron too late.”

He leaned against the bookshelf beside your chair, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with that unshakeable calm that made you want to throw the book at his face.

“Why is it,” he said casually, “that every time i try to carry out a task, you interpret it as a personal insult?”

“Because you breathe like its an act of condescension.”

“And you speak like sarcasm is an art form you're desperate to fail.”

You closed the book with a snap and stood, stalking toward him until you stood toe-to-toe, looking up just enough to glare him in the eye.

“I don't need your help. I don't need your reminders. And I certainly don't need you lurking around like some smug shadow with a superiority complex.”

“And yet,” he said, head tilting, “you never seem to ask me to leave immediately.”

“That's because I know you won't.”

“Correct.”

There it was again. That look. That unbearable, unreadable expression that danced just on the edge of amusement and something else, something hungrier, darker, caged behind centuries of control.

You hated it.

You shoved past him, heading for the door. “Fine. ill go. If only to escape your voice.”

He followed, of course. Silent as always, stalking behind you like a shadow that smelled faintly of tea and fire and rain. The library doors closed behind you both with a soft thud, and the hall stretched ahead-dark, empty, echoing with the sound of your sharp footsteps and his measured ones behind.

He caught up.

Naturally.

“You're impossible,”

“So i've been told.”

“I meant it as an insult.”

“So did they.”

You whirled on him halfway down the courier, words spilling from your mouth before your brain could catch them. “What do you want, Sebastian? Why are you always there? Watching. Smirking. Breathing down my neck like some demonic mosquito-”

His eyes flashed red, just for a second.

“Mosquito?” he repeated, tone dangerously amused.

“Bloodsucking. Annoying. Impossible to get rid of.”

He stepped closer.

You didn't back up.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You're starting to sound obsessed.”

“Obsessed? Please. I've had splinters I cared about more than you.”

“And yet here we are again. Alone. Arguing at night.”

You laughed, a sharp, bitter thing. “Right. Because you showed up in my library.” 

“Correction,” he said, stepping closer, “it's the manors library. You merely infest it.”

You turned again, storming the last few feet to your room, and when your hand hit the doorknob, his voice stopped you cold.

“Running away again?”

You froze.

Turned.

The smirk on his face was smug enough to murder.

“You think you've won something?” you snapped. “You think this is a game?”

“No,” he said, voice low. “But I do enjoy watching you pretend it isn't.”

Your hand fell from the doorknob.

You turned, slowly, jaw clenched tight, the silk and lace of your evening dress rustling with the motion. The corsets pressure at your ribs was nothing compared to the heat pounding in your head. 

You took one step toward him, then another. The corridor was empty, save for the two of you and the echoes of war that hadn't even been spoken yet. Your slippers made no sound against the polished floor, but the look in your eyes was louder than a shout.

“You really are a smug bastard,” you said, voice calm in the way broken glass is calm, still sharp, still dangerous, still seconds from drawing blood.

He didn't flinch. He stood there, one hand behind his back, the other adjusting the cuff of his glove with infuriating precision. His expression betrayed nothing but an elegant boredom that only enraged you further.

“A bastard with a point,” he murmured. “Your anger always arrives when I'm closest to the truth.”

You stepped close enough to grab the lapel of his coat, to ruin the perfect fold of fabric he’d ironed into sharp submission. “You're not close to anything but a well-deserved punch in the mouth.”

His gaze flicked downward, briefly-at your hand, curled into his coat, at the pale silk of your glove against his black wool. “If you wished to tear my clothes, my Lady, you need only ask.”

The slap came instinctively.

He caught your wrist before your palm could land. Not rough. Not tight. Just firm enough to stop you. The fabric of his glove was smooth against your skin, infuriatingly cool while your blood burned under layers of velvet and lace.

“I'm not playing your game.” you hissed.

“No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You're losing it.”

That was it. The last fraying thread of patience snapped.

You shoved him back against the wall, the motion sending a curl of black hair over his brow. Your dress rustles sharply as you moved, skirt catching the candlelight in the fold of dark burgundy and cream. The bodice fit tight against your chest, every breath shallow, every word sharp. You stood your ground, shoulders squared, chest heaving.

He stared down at you like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or let his more demonic nature take over.

“You infuriate me,” you snapped.

“Likewise.” he said, voice low and quiet, not bothering to straighten his coat.

“I can't go ten paces without hearing your damn voice. I can't walk through a room without you looking at me like you're above it all-”

“Because I am.”

You shoved him again.

He caught you this time, his hands gripping your upper arms through layers of satin and corset boning, and before you could throw another insult, he pressed you back against your bedroom door-hard.

Your back hit wood. His mouth hit yours.

The kiss was sudden, brutal, a collision of hatred and hunger, and you answered it with equal force. There was nothing soft in it. This wasn't  love. This wasn't even lust. This was frustration, fire, rage- everything you'd both refused to name, now screaming through clenched teeth and parted lips.

His hand slid down your side, fingers brushing over the embroidered satin of your dress before gripping your waist, pulling you closer. The corset kept your spine stiff, chest lifted, but you didn't need leverage. Your hands tangled in his coat, yanking him forward as your teeth scraped his lower lip. He groaned against your mouth, low, controlled, the sound of a man trained not to show weakness, failing just a little.

He reached behind you, turned the doorknob without looking, and you stumbled backward into your room, still fused at the mouth, still tangled in silk and fury.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stepped back. He followed.

He crowed you until the backs of your legs hit the chaise at the foot of the bed. You fell back with a gasp, skirts fanned around you like a storm had dropped you there. He loomed above you, cravat askew, coat undone. You hated how good he looked like that. Disheveled. Messy. Uncontrolled. 

He climbed over you like a shadow, knees planted on either side of your skirts, one hand braced beside your head. He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less intense, like he was memorizing the taste of someone he’d vowed not to want.

Your hands found his cravat, yanked it loose. His gloves hit the floor without ceremony. You felt the warmth of his bare hands through the thin lace at your wrists.

“You're insufferable.” you breathed.

“You're exhausting.” he answered, his breath fanning against your jaw.

“And yet you're still here.”

“And yet you're still under me.”

That shut you up.

His mouth was on yours again, unforgiving and hot, and the back of your head pressed into the velvet cushion beneath you as he deepened the kiss. The silk of your dress rustled against his waistcoat as he leaned down, arm braced beside your head. One knee dipped into the bed, grazing the folds of your skirts, and you hated the way your stomach twisted when you felt the weight of him settling against you.

His hands, no longer gloved, were colder than they should have been. One slipped around your side, fingers trailing the curve of your corseted waist with unsettling precision, pausing just where the whalebone cinched too tight to bend. The other found your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips like he was taking inventory of something he never should've touched.

You bit his lower lip, hard enough to punish. He barely flinched.

“Still not submitting, I see.” he murmured against your mouth.

“Try harder,” you snapped back, eyes flashing.

He growled- soft, not quite human- and kissed you again, harsher this time, like he meant to bruise. Your fingers were in his hair now, tugging, pulling, ruining that perfect slicked back style he clung to like armor. You wanted it undone. All of it. The mask, the polish, the facade. You wanted to strip away the inhuman calm and see what he was under the suit and silk.

You succeeded, just a little.

He shifted against you, mouth trailing briefly down your jaw, tongue flicking against your neck once- cold, calculated, and deliberate. A warning, not affection. The threat beneath it curled something tight inside you.

“Do you think this means anything?” you said, voice breathless as you shoved at his shoulder- not enough to move him, just to make the point.

“I think,” he said, not moving away, “that you talk far too much for someone who keeps pulling me closer.”

Your breath caught. Because it was true. Your hands had curled into the lapels of his open coat, dragging him down with each gasp and curse, as if proximity could silence the noise in your chest.

He tasted like wine and heat and something darker- something unnatural. Every kiss left you dizzy, furious, and desperate to win a battle you didn't understand. He was still above you, weight braced just barely, like he was giving you a choice to push him off, daring you to do it.

You didn't.

Instead, you surged up and kissed him again, open-mouthed and unforgiving. His hand slid down your side, over embroidered satin, across the ruffled detail at your hip, to the fine silk and lace underskirt cinched beneath it all. The weight of him settled more fully against you now, and the heat in your cheeks spread down your throat, your chest, even as your mouth curled in a sneer mid-kiss.

“You're disgusting.”

“So you've said,” he replied, teeth dragging over your lower lip.

“Do not ruin my tailoring.” he warned.

“Do not ruin my sleep schedule.”

He smiled against your neck.

Bastard.

Your breath hitched as he dipped lower, mouth trailing down the column of your throat, just above the lace collar that peeked out from the neckline of your corset. He wasn't  touching skin- yet- but he was close enough to set your nerves alight. You hated that he knew exactly how close he could get before you snapped. You hated that you haven't snapped already.

“You'll regret this,” you whispered, voice low and dangerous.

“I already do,” he said simply.

But he didn't stop.

Neither did you.

The room was too warm now. Between the fire, the layers of silk, the sheer weight of him pressing against you- it was unbearable. You didn't want to think. You didn't want to feel. You just wanted to drown in the violence of this one thing, this one place where words didn't matter and power didn't shift like sand beneath your feet.

You kissed him again, slower this time. He answered with that same cursed precision, like he wasn't  just indulging you, but studying you. It made your blood boil.

You shoved at his coat again, and he let it fall, shrugging free of it like it was nothing. You almost hated how quickly he adapted, how easily he moved between composed butler and this-this inferno in a suit.

“I swear,” you muttered between kisses, “if you hold this over me, I'll stab you with a cake fork.”

“I'm insulted,” he said, teeth grazing your collarbone through fabric. “You think I'd need blackmail. You fold quite easily when angry.”

“I don’t fold.”

 “Then what do you call this?”

You growled and rolled him off of you, climbing into his lap in one seamless, angry motion that left your skirts tangled around both of you and your breath sawing in your throat. You gripped his chin, forcing him to look up at you, those crimson eyes glowing faintly under the low light.

“This,” you hissed, “is tactical dominance.”

He looked delighted.

“Of course it is.”

You kissed him again, biting his lip for good measure. His hand gripped your hips now, the layers of your dress crinkling between his fingers as he pulled you closer. You didn't care If he tore the damn thing, you'd consider it a favor. It was too hot, too heavy, too suffocating- and not just because of the corset.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless. His eyes were half-lidded, lips swollen, shirt wrinkled and askew. He looked, for once, less than perfect.

You loved it.

“You are going to ruin everything,” you said.

He tilted his head. “And you weren't already doing that?”

You leaned in, your mouth a breath from his. “If you tell anyone-”

“Who would I tell?” he whispered, voice gone low and rough. “The rats in the cellar? Or perhaps the dishes?”

Your breath returned between kisses, each one deeper than the last, desperate, indignant, laced with fury neither of you had language for. Your fingers found the edge of his shirt collar again, now damp with heat, clinging to him like he was the only steady thing left in the room. His mouth moved down to your throat, careful, unhurried.

But his hands-

One found your back. The other settled at your hip, palm pressing through the stiff structure of your corset, as though he could feel your racing pulse even through the layers. Then- without a word, without even breaking contact- he began to undo the laces.

It was methodical. Precise. Predictable, damn him.

You should've expected it. Of course he would know how to unlace a corset without pause, without hesitation, without even looking. He'd probably done it a hundred times. For noblewomen, duchesses, perhaps even corpses. His fingers moved easily along the back of your gown, unthreading ribbon from the reinforced eyelets like he was disarming a bomb-silent, efficient, no wasted movement.

You froze for half a second, heart hammering.

“You undo corsets like you iron shirts.” you muttered against his open mouth.

He didn't miss a beat. “That's because most corsets are less stubborn than you.”

You wanted to slap him again. Instead, you kissed him harder, frustration snarling at the base of your throat.

One last pull, and the tension in your bodice gave away with a sharp whisper of loosened silk. The sudden lack of pressure made you gasp. The corset no longer bit into your ribs. You could breathe again, but that was hardly the issue now. You could feel the loosened weight of the dress starting to slip down your shoulders, satin and lace whispering against your skin as gravity reclaimed it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look. The dress was half-undone, your skin flushed and bare in places the neckline had concealed, your breath uneven, your lips swollen. Candlelight caught the outline of your collarbones, the slope of your throat, the faint  sheen of sweat just beneath your hairline. Your eyes burned with the same fire you'd used against him for months. Only now, it wasn't  defense.

It was want.

Regret came later.

You didn't give him the satisfaction of silence. You reached behind you, shrugged on shoulder, then the other, and the gown slipped off entirely. It slid down your arms, your hips, pooling in layers of silk and petticoat around your waist and thighs, leaving only the underlayers: lace, ribbon, skin, breath.

He said nothing. His eyes were unreadable. Still red. Still unnatural. Still fixated.

You straddled him again, now without the weight of noble fabric or laced-up pride between you. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled him in with both fury and grace, mouth on his again before he could give some clever, cutting remark about your state of undress.

“Say one word,” you warned between kisses, “and I'll shove a candlestick where the sun doesn't shine.”

“You assume I was planning to speak.”

He leaned back just enough to let the light catch every inch of you. His hands ran over your waist, bare now, save for the thin fabric of your chemise, before sliding up your back again, as if to feel the aftermath of his handiwork. Your skin prickled under his touch. You were trembling, but not from fear.

It was this. The proximity. The heat. The unspeakable, shameful knowledge that you’d wanted this long before you ever admitted it aloud. And the fact that it was him. That it was sebastian. That it was your butler, the infuriating, flawless, hell-born butler you'd spent every waking moment fighting just to keep your sanity intact.

You hated how good he felt.

He kissed you again, slower this time. Less war, more fire. Your hands tangled in his shirt, this time tugging it from his waistcoat in one angry pull. His breath hitched- subtle, but there- and it gave you just enough satisfaction to grin against his mouth.

“You're enjoying this far too much,” you whispered.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw.

“I was bred to serve,” he murmured, voice velvet smooth. “And you are very, very difficult to serve.”

That earned him another bite to the shoulder. He flinched, barely, and smiled.

You could feel the consequences coming. Creeping in like fog beneath the door. But neither of you moved. Neither of you stopped. There was no going back now. Only heat, and breath, and hands on skin that should never have met.

And regret could wait for the morning.

His lips didn't leave yours for long. Every kiss was a silent battle, each gasp, a truce, each bite, a declaration of war. His hands were colder now, like his patience had returned even if his restraint had not. They smoothed down your sides with quiet control, curving around the faint bones of your hips before dragging upward again, following the soft folds of your chemise with ghostlike pressure. It was only still on, not because he was hesitant, because he was toying with you. Watching you come undone in slow motion.

You loathed how methodical he was. You loathed the goosebumps he raised with a single sweep of his palm across your back, the way he paused just before slipping beneath the final fabric barrier, like he was giving you one last chance to tell him to stop.

He knew you wouldn't.

The fireplace crackled behind you, shadows moving across the room like silent spectators. His mouth moved lower again, trailing from your collarbone to the top curve of your chest, lips barely grazing lace and skin with maddening restraint. You hissed through your teeth, nails dragging lightly down the back of his neck in warning.

“If you keep kissing like that,” you muttered, voice rough, “I might start thinking you like me.” 

He huffed a low, sharp, breath, close to laughter but too bitter. “Perish the thought.”

You grabbed his cravat and yanked, throwing it somewhere else in the room. “I’d rather perish you.” 

“Such affection.” he said dryly, even as his fingers curled around your waist again, tugging you forward until you were flush against him. The heat between your bodies made your head spin. He kissed you again, deeper now, slower, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he dragged his tongue against it in apology. Your whole body responded before your mind could catch up.

You hated the way your thighs tightened around him. Hated the way your breath stuttered. But you hated him more.

Your hands slid down his chest, undoing the last buttons of his shirt without asking. The crisp white cotton gave way, revealing marble skin that shouldn't have looked real. Not on something like him. He was too perfect. Too still. Too constructed. Like a weapon dressed in a gentlemans shell. You pressed your palm flat against his chest, half-expecting it to burn.

Instead it was cool. Smooth. Infuriatingly steady.

He watched you through half lidded eyes, letting you touch, letting you explore. And it wasn't submission. It was worse. It was permission.

“Are you going to sit there smirking like an oil painting,” you said, “or are you going to help?”

“I was waiting for you to tear it off like you did my patience.”

You made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a growl.

“Fine.”

You shoved his shirt down his arms. He let it fall. The room swam with heat. Your pulse thundered in your ears. Still, you stared him down, defiant even now.

“I hope you hate this as much as I do.” you said.

“More.”

You didn't know which of you moved first. Just that your mouths collided again with enough force to bruise. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down as you fell back against the bed. He followed, blanketing your body with his again, teeth grazing your throat like he meant to devour you and restrain you at once. You arced into him, hands twisting into his dark hair, legs curling around his hips, and you felt him press against you, solid and undeniable through the last layers between you.

No one spoke. There was no need.

Just breath. Heat. Mouths and teeth. The sound of lace tearing, silk rustling, breath hitching. You didn't moan-heaven forbid- but you gasped, you bit, you exhaled his name in a curse that didn't sound like a curse at all.

And the space between you ceased to exist.

His mouth captured yours again with hunger that felt more like punishment than passion, his hands sliding down the length of your body with precision that made your skin tighten beneath his touch. Every movement he made was like he was reading you by touch alone, learning how to unravel you from the inside out.

Your chemise slipped off your shoulders. Not roughly. Not hastily. Just enough to make you feel the air against your skin before his mouth replaced it, warm, open, merciless. His lips trailed along the line of your collarbone, then lower, teeth dragging with just enough pressure to make your stomach clench. You grabbed at his arms, nails leaving faint croissants against his forearms as he mapped every part of you with maddening control.

He moved like he was still in command. Still your butler. Still the one orchestrating this chaos, even as he knelt between your thighs and let his hands roam up the backs of them, dragging you slowly toward him with a strength that made it impossible to think.

Your body shifted under his, instinctive and tense. He pressed against you deliberately, letting you feel every inch of him. The friction burned. Your breath hitched. Your back arched. His lips were at your throat again, his hands bracketing your hips, anchoring you like you might disappear if he let go.

You fought the urge to whimper. You let out something between a growl and a broken breath instead, teeth clenched, pride intact.

“Dont…dont think this means anything.” you muttered, even as your fingers tangled in his hair and pulled.

“Believe me,” he said low against your skin, “I don't.”

And still, his hands moved. And still, your body betrayed you.

You met him in equal measure, every touch, every shift of his weight answered with your own. You pushed back against him, lips swollen from kissing, thighs trembling with pressure you refused to give voice to. Your whole body was heat and tension, locked against his as if the closer you were, the less your mind could scream at you to stop.

He pressed you deeper into the bed, one hand splaying wide against your stomach, the other threading into your hair. He tilted your chin just so-just enough to expose your neck again, to make you feel it when he dragged his lips down your throat and let his breath tickle across your pulse point.

You shuddered.

And he moved again, slow and steady, and every breath caught somewhere behind your teeth.

It was maddening, the way he refused to rush. The way he held your gaze, watching the way your body reacted before doing it again, again, and again. He worked like a craftsman, silent and sure, unbothered by your insults muttered through clenched teeth and gasps.

You tried to keep the upper hand, even now. You tried to insult him, to bite him. To act like this meant nothing. But every time he moved, your resolve cracked a little more.

The bed creaked beneath you, the fire snapped in the room, and all that filled the room was the sound of breath, rustling linen, and bodies moving in rhythm. His name escaped you again, this time quieter, hoarser, like a secret you hadnt meant to say aloud.

His smirk returned when he heard it.

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against the corner of your mouth like he'd earned it.

“I'll pretend..pretend you're not en..enjoying yourself.”

“I'm always efficient.”

and then he did something that made your whole body arch, deliberate, punishing, perfect and you forgot every insult you'd ever prepared. 

Morning came slowly.

Your body was the first to betray you, aching in places you hadn't expected, sore in ways that made last night echo louder than any dream ever could. You shifted beneath the covers and felt cool cotton brushing against your skin. Not the scratchy remnants of your chemise. Not the ruined ribbons of your corset. A full linen nightdress. Clean. Soft. Modest.

Your brow furrowed.

The room was warm. The fireplace had been tended to. Sunlight stretched in pale beams across the floor, catching the faint shimmer of the discarded dress draped carefully over the chaise.

You sat up.

You were tucked in.

Tucked in.

Like some delicate little noble daughter who hadn’t just spent the entire night entangled with a demon. Like you hadn’t kissed him like you meant it. Like you hadn’t let him. You gritted your teeth. Your hair had even been brushed, neatly gathered to one side, not a single knot in sight.

And he was gone.

Typical.

You didn’t know if you were furious or grateful. Probably both. Probably more furious. You threw the blankets back with too much force and swung your legs out of bed just as a polite knock sounded at the door.

“My lady?” Mey-Rin’s voice chimed sweetly through the wood. “I’ve brought your morning dress, if you’re ready.”

You cleared your throat. “Come in.”

Mey-Rin entered carrying the usual bundle of silk, lace, and rigid propriety that passed for a day ensemble. She gave you her usual bright smile, but her eyes flicked toward the empty fireplace, then to the disturbed sheets. Her grin faltered just slightly.

“Didn’t mean to wake you early,” she said quickly, setting the dress over the screen. “Sebastian mentioned you had a long night of reading.”

You blinked. “Did he now?”

She fumbled with the hangers. “Yes, well, he said you’d fallen asleep in the library, and he carried you back. Said you were too stubborn to admit you needed rest.”

Of course he did.

Your jaw clenched as Mey-Rin helped you behind the screen and began the slow process of lacing you into a sapphire-blue day dress. It was modest, buttoned to the throat, sleeves down to your wrists, corset tight enough to remind you how hard it was to breathe around your own pride. As she worked, she filled the silence with casual chatter about weather and deliveries and Lady Elizabeth’s most recent correspondence. You heard none of it.

Your mind was still back in the library. Or on the bed. Or beneath him. The heat of his breath. The press of his hands. His voice, low and venomous, I’m always efficient.

You wanted to punch him again.

Once dressed, you made your way to the dining room, boots clicking across the polished floors of the manor. Everything looked so... normal. Like nothing had happened. Like the night hadn’t cracked something open between the two of you that you couldn’t seal shut.

The doors to the dining room opened without fanfare. Inside, Ciel was already seated at the head of the table, tea steeping beside his untouched breakfast. His eye shifted toward you briefly, then returned to the paper in his hand.

You took your usual seat across from him, posture prim and spine stiff.

Silence.

And then the door behind you opened.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to.

You felt it.

That impossible stillness that only came when he entered a room. The graceful glide of footsteps, soft and sharp, like a wolf pacing around a ballroom.

“Good morning, Young Master,” Sebastian said with his usual perfect cadence. “My lady.”

You didn’t look at him.

You refused.

He placed your tea beside you, then set down Ciel’s breakfast with surgical precision.

“Thank you,” Ciel murmured without looking up. “You’re late.”

“My sincerest apologies. I was detained by… unfinished duties.”

Your grip on your teacup nearly cracked the porcelain.

Ciel blinked once, then glanced between you and Sebastian. His one visible eye narrowed.

“You’re both unusually quiet.”

No one responded.

Sebastian stood at his left shoulder, expression unreadable. You sipped your tea too quickly, scalding your tongue, just to avoid speaking.

Ciel looked back and forth between the two of you, then lowered his paper entirely.

“What happened?”

You and Sebastian answered at the same time.

“Nothing.”

“An ordinary evening.”

The silence that followed was louder than any outburst.

Ciel raised a brow.

“Ordinary?” he repeated. “With the two of you involved? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

You stiffened. Sebastian didn’t flinch.

Ciel exhaled slowly, setting down his tea.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. But don’t let whatever this is interfere with your duties. Either of you.”

You nodded tightly.

Sebastian bowed. “Of course not, my lord.”

Ciel gave one last look of suspicion, then returned to his paper.

But the damage was done.

You could feel Sebastian’s gaze even now, burning beneath his lashes as he stood motionless at Ciel’s side. Not looking at you. Not needing to. The tension between you buzzed like static, impossible to ignore, impossible to voice.

It wasn’t over.

Not even close.

[samubytheocean]

that thin line of making out

You want it, you’re pretty sure he wants it too. So what do you do when nobody has the courage to make the next move?

Suggestive fluff, maybe smut

His hands are gripping your shirt, so tight just enough for it to wrinkle and ride up your soft skin. It’s funny, because at the same time he is laying down facing you, with this some wall between. But his tongue feels so desperate, and that thin line of sanity you can feel it on his lips. It’s been how long? Hours? You don’t even know. There’s chills along with spit running down your jaw of constant making out. Correction; just. making out.

The feeling of numb lips, an unfamiliar feeling, shoots down into your spine. The fact that you can now recognize his heavy breathing- for it’s basically yours at this point- makes the warmth between your legs pool, and you’re just praying that it’s not seeping through your shorts. He hasn’t even touched away from your shoulders yet.

Your hands are gripping his face, and you can feel every vibration from his throat on your fingertips. Soft hitches of groans escaping into your mouth, it seems to echo back to his, however hard you’re even to keep it down. There’s sweat all over- shit, it might be the spit, you don’t know- and the room feels so hot it’s dizzying. You carefully experiment your fingers- tiptoeing down to his neck, hoping your slow movements won’t give away what you’re thinking.

It’s a weird feeling. You’re so content in this moment, feeling him all around you. Your hands are glued where they are, and you’re holding onto your sanity for dear life, not even knowing why you’re holding back in the first place. In all honesty, you’re sure he feels the same. If you grabbed off his shirt, you know he would be thanking you. The burning twitching in his thighs, every time you bite his plump lips, bucks into yours messily.

You’re curious. The thick layers of sweatpants- something you’ve never even considered before- limits the warmth, and the hardness to be felt from your thighs, where all your senses seem to be focused on. The realization of it- that the fabric is limiting you from him, a part of him that you’ve never explored before, makes your face burn. Yeah there’s no doubt about you wanting to go further. But something in you stops you, as it does him. Shit, you never knew being so similar to each other could make this so frustrating.

He pulls away from you, and the feeling of him taking a shaky warm breath makes you hesitantly open your eyes. And you swear you could have devoured him right there- rolled him over and climbed right on top- by his sinfully blown eyes staring right at your puffy glossy lips. You tense up a little, and glance down to look at his, bitten all cherry red and so pretty. He looks back into your eyes, and you’re not sure what’s in that look. You’re not sure because you feel the exact same way. His eyes are begging with pure adoration and devotion, but of what? Permission? Dismissal?

At this point you wish he would just undress you, or just push you off. Anything, anything to make this situation something else. Anything else than this pure anticipation. Your hands are still on his pulse point, the skin now searing hot and drumming of adrenaline. His hands are gripping your arms, now the sleeves all ridden up and the tense skin touching- quite the courage, by your and his standards, but fuck. You wanted much more. Or a definite less. But oh, so desperately more, if only possible.

“Just so we’re on the same page here, I’m like really hard right now” he spurts out, and the random confession makes you blurt out a blushy laugh. Especially because the vocal expression of a vulgar word to you made his neck glow red. And that bulge in his pants visibly twitch. Huh, would that be the same shade?- hell, the thought makes you look away from his eyes, barely keeping your amused expression. The tension seems a little eased. You sink back into the bed, and God, it hits you that you’re so close to this handsome boy who you’ve got this crush on. And he’s so, so turned on by you. Lucky you.

“Yeah? I can tell.” you giddily whisper back, and for a second you catch the frustration seep out and a adorable mix of embarrassment and relief into his face. Cute. He’s so close, but he’s also so far away. The shallow breathing fans your face, and it smells like lemon candy, along with your chapstick. It’s a dearing combination, you make the mental note to ask about it later. His hands rise a little to fiddle with the edge of your elbows. It’s the most he can do right now, pretty much the only part of your skin that won’t bend his sanity into two. Yet the slim sweat on your arm is really testing him.

“It’s so hot in here” he breaks the silence again. You turn your head to look at him, and he shoots you a sweet puzzled face. To you it looks like a question. Almost a suggestion, a test, maybe a request. And you can’t help but very slowly blurt out, a trembling answer to your darling boy. You already know the answer. It’s almost like you’re asking this to yourself, to convince yourself that you’re in safe, loving, careful hands.

“Ca- can I take your clothes off?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he nods almost absentmindedly with the dumbest nervous smile forming on his lips. But judging from what you’ve seen under the dark lights, his pretty eager face flushing furiously, glittering mouth slightly agape and dark eyes for the tiniest second rolling back- fucking hell-

he almost came right there, in his pants. By your words only.

Yeah. You’re going to fucking devour your man.

YAMAGUCHI, LEV, YAKU, ASAHI, KUROO, OSAMU (come over babe one chance)

YUTA, YUUJI, MEGUMI

ARMINNNNN

[sillysealll]

Dickroy hcs..?

Ohoh, I got a ton !

This gonna be embarrassingly long and split into categories

Silly-and-not-so-silly HCs :

- Roy always falls first but Dick always falls harder

- Roy was Dick’s bi-awaking, Roy on the other hand sort of always knew that he was into both genders

- Thanks to @skittlejustwannahavefuns, Roy’s half-Irish and gifted Dick a claddagh ring and they still both wear it to this day (they change the sense whenever they need to)

- One of their love languages is to teach their mother tongues to the other. It means that Dick spent hours teaching Roy romani and a mix of Spanish and calò, while Roy would teach Dick both Irish and Navajo

- Roy is afraid of heights but he still brought Dick on unofficial dates on top of the highest buildings in whatever city they were operating in. He tried to pretend he was fine but Dick absolutely knew and found that hilarious every time so he just let him do it (blame @empressyu123 for this one)

- They spent hours working on fighting strategies and technics that could mix both of their strengths

- Sometimes, after every Titan would have left their hideout and it was just them, Roy would play random jazz musics on their speakers and invite Dick to dance on the training mat

- As the only normal humans on the Titans most of the time, if not all the time, they relate to each other in a way no other members can with each of them (doesn’t mean they don’t have strong bonds with the other titans at all, but there’s just some stuff you can’t always relate with some but can with others)

- They can’t escape from the other’s knowing gaze and even if they try to pretend and hide their problems, the other always call him out

- Current dickroy dynamic would be one of an old divorced couple. They keep arguing but you can see just how much history they have together

- Before all the shits they both went through they were more like an old married couple

Dickroy’s numerous issues HCs :

- Because of the elite society Dick was thrown in, he developed a bad case of internalised homophobia as he wanted to fit in so hard and have a similar play-boy persona like Bruce’s (who definetely has had a few flings with men but Dick only ever saw how mean some people were about it)

- This internalised homophobia is what makes Dick pushes Roy away and be on the defensive with him (also because the guy can be insufferable) but it’s also what brings them closer once Roy understands Dick’s problem

- Surprisingly, Dick was the first one to say "I love you"

- They never established that they were together at any point because they’ve never discussed it either. They’re on constant on’s and off’s and even after all these years neither know where they stand with the other

- They can be the worst for each other but they’ll always come back to the other. They’re like magnets, the sun and the moon, stuck in each other’s orbits and they cannot escape

- If I had to use one word to describe their relationship it would be : bittersweet

- Theyre like a broken record, doomed to repeat the same music that slowly grows out of synch until it starts over

- Dick has that stupid defence mechanisms where he acts like a bitch and pushes people away and if at first it worked especially well on Roy, now the guy is completely immune to it so if Dick really wants to escape, he has to draw fists

- On the other hand, one of Roy’s defence mechanisms is his fists and Dick has become an expert at knowing when Roy is using it or when he just want to blow off some steam after a long day

Dickroy and Lian HCs :

- Dick helped Roy with Lian for the first few months of her life with her dad. When they would walk with Lian in her stroller people would sometimes congratulate them for their adorable baby. Neither ever corrected them, they thought it was funny as hell

- When Lian didnt want to sleep, Roy would use Dick (without his knowledge) by saying that "If you don’t go to sleep, Uncle Dick will not teach you that trick he promised to teach you the other day!" It worked everytime

- Dick and the Titans are responsible for half of Lian’s ugly shirts in her wardrobe. Roy actually tried to dress his kid well but failed because of them

- Dick and Donna were the first two people outside of the Arrows to know about both Lian’s death and return

- it eats Dick alive to know that Lian was right under his nose for all those years and he didn’t know

- Roy moved to Gotham City instead of the Titans to stay with Lian (current Roy is a fucking fraud, he told her nothing would separate them anymore and then he’s off to the titans ??? Be fr). It’s kinda how current Dick and Roy start to really reconnect after all those years they spent away from the other (and maybe they fall in love all over again who knows)

Ok now without transition

Dickroy’s respective deaths HCs :

- Dick learns about Roy’s death wayyy later than everyone else because he was Ric at that time (I think ??) and once he discovers it, he’s CRUSHED. It’s like he’s re-living Jason’s death all over again because just like for Jason he missed his funeral, nobody told him and he discovers it on accident

- It’s during that time that his family kinda really understand the nature of his bond with Roy. Jason and Dick find themselves both in front of Roy’s grave and Dick is wearing an old coat he kept from Roy’s outsiders days and Jason is like "huh.. ok I see"

- When Roy comes back, Dick believes he’s hallucinating him and kinda freaks out when he realises he’s not

- Officially, Dick never blamed Wally for Roy’s death. Unofficially however… he just got that lingering anger and resentment toward him until Roy comes back (doesn’t mean he cut ties with him. They were still friends but there was this unspoken feeling floating around that used to make every of their interactions suffocating)

- Dick’s death was devasting for Roy as well. He felt terribly alone without his daughter already but this was the nail to the coffin. He was very close to relapse again because of it

- When Dick comes back, he doesn’t tell Roy or the Titans that it was Bruce’s idea first but since they know him, they push for answers and eventually Dick caves in and now everyone is mad at Bruce

- Roy was just mad about the fact that it took so long for Dick to reach out once his mission with Spyral was over but never about the fact he faked his death (even when he didn’t know the actual reason)

Annnd I think I’ll stop there because damn that’s already a whole book

Hope you enjoyed my silly headcanons about Dickroy !! Please free me from them

[asce-of-hearts]

Hello! Can I request Yonko Poly Luffy and Nami, with a female marine reader, who got kidnapped by them. But What if Fem reader escaped and told the Marines about what happened. 

Strawhats hunted down the reader reader and kidnaps her, again. Also can you make it NSFW, please maybe with some breeding kink , threesome , if you want to make it dark you can do ? If you want to change or delete this you can do ^^

Too bad!

Contents: Yan!Poly!Luffy and Nami scenario in which marine!rdarling escapes and they hunt down and capture (fem!reader, NSFW)

more Nami and Luffy content here

TAG LIST

WC: 1.4k

WARNINGS: YANDERE, MARINE READER, FEM!READER (NO ANATOMY SPECIFIED), NAMI IS MEAAAAAN, SPITROASTING, FACESITTING (GIVING), MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY AND CHILDREN, HEAVY NON CON.

"Ah, feels good to be back." You sigh, your back sliding down the wall as you sit on the floor. Everything feels so familiar now, the station, the uniform, the way you tie your hair so it won't bother you. You smile, using your cap to fan some air your way.

Oh how you missed the heat of the shore.

"You're a lucky one, eh?" One of your coworkers rubs your hair rather roughly, making you grin as you catch his wrist, using it as leverage to stand back up again "Managing to escape some big fish like that, and better yet, pinpointing their location to the admirals. Maybe it's good that you got kidnapped."

You hit him on the shoulder.

"Shut up." you chuckle. He laughs back with you, but stops when he notices how your demeanor changes, how you seem almost afraid for a moment.

"Don't worry, they'll get them. All of them." He offers some comforting words, wrapping his arms around you. "We can go throw rocks at them when they get beheaded. How does that sound, eh?" He asks with a smile, rubbing your shoulders slightly. You smile.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan." You smile, leaning into his touch.

It really is good to be back. The marines have always been there for you. Your family since you were little, the dream of every rowdy little girl who knows what's correct: becoming a marine. You're happy you fulfilled it.

"Fuck..." You whisper, leaning against the railing of the tower your room is at. The cold night air tickles your face, albeit a little red from drunkenness. It was a celebration, cheering that you were back safe and sound, with friends and family, old lovers, old teachers, just everybody who you had known in the past was there. It was a feast, the higher commands allowed it because you had delivered such important information as to how you thought the straw hats operated, and where were they hiding right now.

The straw hats, thinking about them makes you tremble. You just want to forget all about them. About what they did to you.

Your eyes wander towards nowhere, focusing on distant points on the shore. The reflection of the moon, high up in the sky. You frown, shake the bottle you're clutching a little. All the booze is gone. You end up stumbling back to your room.

The night is quiet, and you think you'll fall asleep rather easily due to how drunk you are. Not black out, not uncomfortably dizzy, just... drunk enough to fall asleep and wake up not that hungover.

You drop your uniform to the floor, layers of clothes that fall back from your body like a snake's skin. Panties and a comfortable tank top the only thing remaining. Finally, you land on your bed, the familiar creaking of the old wood that holds the mattress making you smile. You wouldn't trade this for anything, the thin bed-sheets, the slightly hard mattress, the cold air that enters through your curtains. Your eyes are closed, your heart is at peace, your mind isn't wandering to places it shouldn't go. There's just comfortable quiet and familiarity.

Hell, you even find yourself aching for tomorrows chores to come. It's your turn to clean the kitchen according to the schedule.

You can feel the light of the moon breaking apart, it's not on your face anymore. You frown, is a cat by your window? Wouldn't be the first time, cats liked to sneak inside the bases for some reason. Maybe a crow, an owl, a seagull that got disoriented. You turn around, back facing the window.

And then you feel a hand.

Your eyes dart open, and in a fraction of a second you reach for your gun. You shoot, thrice. One to the front, slightly to the side and then towards the window. That bullet bounces back to you, grazing your shoulder and drawing blood.

Fuck. No.

Two familiar faces greet you, unfortunately. A red haired woman and a straw hat wearing man. You want to scream, but it dies down inside your throat, you can only stare at them in horror, clinging to your rifle as tight as you can with your trembling body.

"What's the big idea!?" Nami asks rather annoyed, hiding behind Luffy who acts like a human shield. "You can't just shoot at anybody that disturbs you while your sleeping."

"Hey, ___! You could've killed Nami! Be careful with that thing..." Luffy pouts, turning to see if Nami suffered any damage, examining her with tender care. Right, you forgot that they were sort of in love when you met them. Your back hits the wall, and you breathe heavily.

"If- If I scream more marines will come here." You wheeze out, debating whether you should reach for the door or keep pointing your gun. "Admiral Akainu is here. If I- If we ask for his help he will-"

"Don't mention that name! Can't you see it's a sensitive topic for Luffy?" Nami hisses, her manicured hands covering the captains ears. "God, you can be so stupid sometimes, ___."

"Then leave! I don't want you here!" You bark back, feeling more cornered by the second.

"Well, too bad!" She mocks you. "Because last time I checked, you didn't have the power to make those kinds of decisions."

"I'm going to shoot again if you don't-!"

"I'm getting tired of this," Luffy says while rolling his eyes, his arms stretch quickly, smacking the rifle out of your hands "Come here, ___! Let's go home, alright?" He says with a big smile, dragging you close to them without any effort, you trip over your bed, stumbling and falling over the mattres.

"This is my home! Somebody call admira-!" Nami presses her hand against your mouth, shutting you up. Her face contorted into a scowl.

"I told you to shut the fuck up," Luffy flips you over, until you're laying on your back. You thrash against Nami's clutches, squirming when Luffy slowly pulls your panties down. "Maybe you just haven't had a good fuck in a while and that's why you're cranky, lets fix that." She grins, kicking her shoes off as Luffy restrains you again. You want to scream, but the only thing you can do right now is hyperventilate, frozen by fear, your eyes slam shut. You feel as powerless as the day when they first captured you, you try to scream, but once again only a strained sound comes out, you start crying.

You feel like you can't breathe, Luffy's cock, so impossibly large at times, is impaling you as he pins you to the bed, pile-driving into you without any care in the world, you can hear the sickening PLAP PLAP PLAP of wet skin against wet skin as he continues to pound you. Nami, on the other hand, grins as she sits over your face, making you service her.

"I missed you, ___. Nobody eats me out like you do, maybe it's your womanly touch, you know our bodies so well..." She purrs, fondling your breasts, pulling at your nipples and making you moan under her. She grinds herself against your face. "Mmm, yeah- That's it, just like that, pretty."

"Maybe I could get her pregnant," Luffy says as cheerfully as ever, still not ceasing the way he pounds you so hard you know it'll leave bruises at your cervix. "That way she won't even be able to move." He chuckles, one of his hands finding it's way towards your clit, rubbing sloppy circles that make you squirm under both of them. Nami uses one of her hands to press against your torso, ceasing your movements.

"Sounds like a plan to me! Try it out!" Nami says, her thighs grip becoming crushing as she cums again all over your mouth, with a loud moan of your name as she squeezes your breasts tighter. "That's it! Don't stop don't stop don't stop, ___!"

You're covered in fluids, cum overflowing from your cunt and all over your face. You feel so tired, you really want to scream.

Your eyes widen as you sit up on your bed, screaming loudly and reaching for your rifle. You're covered in sweat, but the room is empty.

Quickly, two marines make their way inside your room. One of them coming to aid you while the other searches around your room. Nothing's found, nobody's there.

"Why don't you come sleep with me, ___?" One of them says, offering a gentle smile. "We can gossip a little, I'll braid your hair and make sure you're comfortable. I'll see if somebody can go and make you some tea, alright?"

You're frozen in place, only clinging to your rifle as you slowly nod. Your eyes wander around the room, searching for signs that somebody was there earlier.

And then you find a curly, red hair over your pillow.

They look cute in this gif it's very them idc if its the live action

anyhow I hope you enjoyed this!!!

have a great day/night

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