#but yeah these takes you mentioned are absolutely batshit

[diminutiveloser-romanroy]

Reddit is like a different planet, literally all they’ve done since the last episode is say Connor🥹 Kendall and Shiv💞 roman is a brat deserves to die!!!!! They just don’t get his character over there they think he is just an Uber rich spoiled weasel. I’ve seen like 100 posts today just saying something along the lines of ‘god I just hate roman so much’. I even seen a post with 50 likes calling him a narcissist which is like the opposite of what he is considering he has 0 self esteem. I’m not saying he’s perfect I know he can be a terrible human but people over there just don’t get the nuance, the sensitivity, the hurt, the desire to just be loved. They think he’s a sick fuck backstabber and nothing deeper than that. But the very same people think Kendall really is the fighter of the good fight. I seen a post comparing Kendall and romans reaction to the helicopters and people completely excused Kendall’s behaviour (bc the thing he had was ‘important’) and not romans (bc the thing he has was ‘personal’). Taking their rage out on random workers was a bad thing for them both to do, Kendall is noooot any better than roman. Sorry for the rant I just needed an anonymised vent to a sympathetic ear

yeah ngl that stuff frustrates me so i just avoid it. i enjoy being the dumbest smart person among my mutuals.

[eyesxxyou]

Fun & Games

☆🕷️。・hobie brown x blackcat!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.3k

synopsis. you and Hobie have long been playing the game of cat and spider. you chase, you fight, you fuck, you fight again, and you two love your games. but it's truly all fun and games until you manage to get your hands on an interdimensional device.

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🐾warning: p in v sex, unprotected sex don't do that children, possessive!hobie, public sex, y/n is a real hoe and I love her for that, odd love hate relationship, clit slapping, Gwen's here very briefly, wall sex, bondage, mentions of injury, just me being horny so it's kinda horribly written, lemme know if I missed anything

"She's gotta be somewhere." Gwen sat perched on a ledge, the eyes of her mask wide and alert for any sign of the anomaly. In other words, you. You had somehow managed to get your hands on a interdimensional device of Miguel's making and have been hopping all around the multiverse causing mayhem. "You sure you have no idea where she's at? She's from your dimension after all, not to mention-"

The thing is, the devices don't show exact locations. They just tell you what dimension others are in. Leaving Gwen and Hobie hopping about right after you to put you back where you belong.

It was Hobie's fault after all. Being the Black Cat of his dimension meant you were good at sleight of hand. A single run in with you and next thing he knows his device is gone, his cock is hard, and he misses you so fucking much.

"Yeah, yeah, i's my fault or whateva." He spoke over the communicator, his eyes scanning across the streets for just a peek of that brilliant white hair of yours. "I'll keep an eye out, jus' stay where you are and don't underestimate 'er. She'll put you on ya arse before ya know it." He's gone toe to toe with you plenty of times to know that you're rather skilled in combat. And for reasons he'd also know that you're flexible.

He cut off his device, the one Miguel reluctantly gave him after laying into him over his incompetence. "You're gonna deal with this mess you've made!" He almost crushed the device in his hand from gripping it so hard as he pushed it into Hobie's chest. "You get her back to where she belongs then you're out. You're done."

Hobie honestly couldn't give less of a damn about being booted from the society. Taking orders and being a part of a team was really cramping his style. Preferred it when it was just him and his own dimension's problems.

He hopped between buildings in this dimension looking for any marker of you. Your cloud-like hair done always in wild, untamed curls that somehow manage to sit perfect around your face. You wore black leather, nice sharp spikes, claws you made yourself that left their scar against his chest as well as down his back.

Hobie liked how complicated your relationship is. How you constantly kept him on his toes, remained so inconsistent that he never got bored. One second you were on your knees, his cock weighing heavy on your pretty tongue, just narrowly missing the angel bite piercings you had with fangs in, and the next, you were trying to claw his eyes out of his face. You were batshit fucking insane and he was absolutely in love with you though, he'd never admit that.

He hoped he found you before Gwen did— it's been just a little under a month and he's been feening for you, spending his lonely nights when he doesn't have a million wounds and a few broken bones to tend to with his hand wrapped firmly around his cock and your name wetting his lips with prayer. He's fucking pussy-whipped, desperate, absolutely nuts for you.

And when he finds you (which he always does somehow), you're hopping across a rooftop and sliding down a gutter into a nearby alleyway. He follows you stealthily, lingering in the shadows as he rounds the corner and drops into the shady alley. But he finds you aren't there. He pauses, talks a moment to let his instincts take the lead.

It just took a second, a small tingle, the hairs on the back of his neck standing but he hardly had any time to react before you were on his back with your claws pressed against his throat. "Ya missed me?" You whispered in his ear with the touch of a smile in your voice.

Hobie moved quickly, pushing the both of you back until your back slammed against the jagged brick wall and your grip loosened just enough for him to pry himself out of your clawed hold. He webbed you up with your hands trapped above your head. Your goggles were already pushed up into your wild hair and your cat-like eyes gleamed at him. "I'd say you do."

Hobie reached up and pulled off his mask. “Nice to see ya too, Y/N. We can have our reunion once ya back where ya belong.”

“Never took you as the type to join a committee of interdimensional spider fascist.” You scoff, wriggling your wrist against the binding of his webs but you know all too well how strong they actually are. Many times have you been caught in his web, bent in all sorts of positions. He’s always been your favorite toy.

“No’ by choice. You did me a fava’ actually, they gave me the boot ‘cause of you.” He came close, his tall, lean stature looming over you as he removed the watch from your wrist and deactivated it. Hobie looked down at you, looking into your sultry eyes that told him you just wanted to sit on his dick then make your grand escape. You’re always dressed in leather, your shorts so tight and small it leaves hardly anything to the imagination. You were wearing those torn up, distressed tights he loved so much and that he’s definitely torn his own fair share of holes in.

“Don’t you want to know why I went to the places I did?”

“There’s a reason?” He thought it was just you fucking around, trying to cause as much mayhem as possible, begin a nice little collection of diamonds stolen from different dimensions. Your motivations were always a bit hard to decipher.

You leaned in as close as you could in the position you were stuck in and whispered to him, “All the dimensions I went to had a version of you in them. I wanted to see which one was my favorite.” It was a confession of sin just between the two of you in this dark little alleyway he had you stuck in. “Would you like me to tell you about the other yous I’ve met?” You took his stoic silence as answer enough.

“There was one with the prettiest eyes. One blue and one brown. I got to look in them while I rode his pretty face. He made me cum so hard.” Your voice was so heavy with the memory of it but you didn’t linger. “And the other one, nice, long locs. He fucked me so good my legs were shaking. Oh- and the other one made me squirt for the first time-”

Your descriptions sparked something primal in Hobie, something carnal and possessive. A part of him was aroused at the thought of your pretty little cunt he was absolutely addicted to getting ran through by different versions of himself. Maybe you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you, why else would you do something like this?

“You a lil’ whore, ya know tha’, kitty?” His hands were already at the waist of your shorts, undoing the makeshift button you had made after he broke the original one a while ago. His lips were on yours, licking and biting feverishly in attempt to get a taste of you. “Guess I gotta remind you who you belong to.” He needed to tame your pretty little pussy, domesticate it, make it purr for him.

“I don’t belong to anyone, you know that.” You murmur against his lips, shifting your hips to make it easier for him to get your shorts out of the way. He pulled them down to your knees just above your boots and shifted away from you to duck under and slot his way between your nylon-clad thighs. He trailed kisses up the length of your body as he made his way back up, shoving your torn shirt up so his lips could feel your heated skin. “I’d beg to diffa, luv. I think you know ya slutty pussy belongs to me because why else would you hop aroun’ the multiverse just to hook up wit’ me ova and ova again?” He forced your shirt up over your tits, leaving you nice and exposed, unable to do anything about it even if you wanted.

“I’ve just gotta show you tha’ the original is always the bes’.” He had no time to take his time, to worship every inch, every curve, every dimple. He wanted his cock in you, he wanted to fuck you hard, fast, and deep. He wanted to destroy that pride of yours and force you to admit that he will always be your favorite.

He knows that's just how you like it. Rough, quick, and almost animalistic with a hint of risk. You can't get off without it. 

He tears a new hole in your tights right that the crotch and finds that your panties are already soaked, the vague outline of your plump pussy pressing against the fabric that clings to you like a second skin. He gets so hard at just the sight of it, so hard it becomes painful. "I's been a long fuckin' time." Hobie breathed out under his breath. "Ma favorite girl missed me I can see." He pressed the bulge of his cock against your wet, desperate cunt.

Your muscles tense and shudder uncontrollably as your lips attempt to contain a horrid little whimper. You weren't usually so sensitive, Hobie could feel your thighs clamping at his hips in an attempt to close your legs. His fingers slid past your panties and pulled them to the side just to find that your pussy was already pink and swollen, abused and misused by all the cocks you've already taken. You were so damn sensitive, your bud throbbing and engorged.

Hobie couldn't help but let out a chuckle, a smirk framing the scoff he let out. "A fuckin' slut, I tell you. You've already been so damn ran through." He slapped your pussy nice and firm and your whole body jolted with the pain and pleasure it caused and you cried out a little too loud.

"Migh' wanna be quiet. Ya don't wan' someone coming down and seeing your poor cut gettin' abused." His fingers slid between your slick folds, every part of you tender to the touch, every movement leaving your body trembling. It's pathetic how quickly he can have you and squeaking, whining, crying mess. A street cat tame by those long, slender fingers of his as he plays in your mess, a reminder of all the other hims you've had. You had been out on a conquest and somehow it's ending with you getting conquered.

It was easy for him to glide his fingers into your heat, the pad of his thumb drawing circles on your poor clit while he used his other hand to grab your chin and force you to look him in the eyes. "Can you feel tha'?' Your cunt was swallowing his digits down to the knuckle and squeezing. "Nice lil' kitty is purrin' fo' me. Think I migh' make 'er a house cat."

"Go fuck yourself." You manage to choke out between the strangled moans of your throat. Hobie chuckled and kissed you, nice and hard with his tongue against yours and his fingers playing your pussy like a fiddle. God, he was so good at what he did, knew just where your sweet spot was to have you crumbling in his hold. 

He pulled back a little, both of your lips wet with saliva, and nipped at your bottom lip. His fingers pumped in and out of your trembling pussy that wept for him, your slick dripping from his knuckles. You writhed against your restraints, claws sawing at his webbing to little avail. And you knew his fingers were nothing compared to that gorgeous cock of his that fit in you so snuggly and touched places that, before him, you hadn’t even known existed.

But his fingers were so good, able to caress your walls in ways his length couldn’t. His thumb rubbed your clit ferociously, sending spiked balls of pleasure to every muscle in your body. You spasmed, back arching off the walls, eyes rolling, vision blurry. “S-stop fuckin’ with me.” You manage to spit out at him in a shaking gasp.

“But fuckin’ wit’ ya is my favorite part.” Hobie slipped his fingers from your messy hole and took it upon himself to get a taste. “Plus, i’s no’ like you show me any mercy when ya in one of ya moods. I’ve gotta point to prove here.” His hands began to undo his belt with rushed persistence.

“And what point is that?” You watch him pull himself out, the length of his cock pressed against your pelvis. Prettiest you’ve ever seen, nice and long with subtle veins and dark brown tip beading with pearls of precum that weep from his tip and roll down the underside of his shaft.

Hobie maneuvered (more like manhandled) your fame so that your legs were up over his shoulders. He spat on his fingers, used it as lube to spread down his length. “Tha’ you ‘n I both know you can’t replace me with some off brand version.”

“Oh, I’d argue they were very on brand. All had that pretty face of yours. That prettier cock.” Your words faltered a bit as he pushed into you without so much as a warning, jealousy getting the better of him. His fingers grip your thighs, body pressing you into the wall while his hips rutted against you. He fucked you like an animal, his teeth gritting, his cock brutalizing your used up cunt. And the position allowed him to sink so deep you felt him in your gut, in your throat, in your very head. He fucked the air out of your lungs but that didn’t stop your cries of pleasure.

And as pretty as they were, Hobie didn’t need the two of you being stumbled upon. He placed his palm over your mouth, kept you placid and quiet white he fucked you with intention. He was gonna claim your pussy, paint it white, make it his, let you know that no matter how hard you try the two of you will always find yourself dancing to this same song. You’d fight, you’d fuck, you’d fight again, you’d fuck again. Sometimes you were allies, sometimes you were enemies, but at all times you were lovers.

He spanked your swollen clit while he fucked you in such a brutal nature. There was no sympathy for you, no mercy, no kindness offered. Just carnality unmatched by any of your other affairs. It might be the spider venom bound to his DNA making him this way. Hobie– normal Hobie, rational Hobie– was not a jealous person, especially not towards someone who, in all cases, did not belong to him.

The emotions of it were conflicting. The mixture of jealousy and arousal at the thought of you with another version of himself because in all the ways that made him who he was on paper was, he was with you every single time. Genetically, generally, the vague outline of himself. But the experiences were different, slightly tweaked in a way, and in the way that matters you had fucked entirely different people. And that was the fun of it. What would be the point of sleeping with the same person over and over again if not for the slight differences every time.

Hobie wondered if they made you feel this way, your back arching so dramatically off the wall, your eyes going cross with pleasure as your moans are contained behind his palm. The two of you had so much shared history that even if they were better, it still wouldn't compare. He knew you like he knew many things, on a level balanced by emotion and technicality.

The two of you were never meant to be anything more than this, a quick, filthy fuck in the back alley of some random place and yet you both were sure you were soulmates in some sick twisted way. You'd both go around in these pointless circles having the most fun with never making the effort to define yourselves or restrict yourselves to something that wasn't completely and entirely you.

Your toes curled in your boots as you felt the brutality of an orgasm coming your way. It built within you, clawing to get out like you clawed through the webs. It seized you like being strangled, curled around your body, left you warm and fuzzy and delirious.

"Look a' me, luv. Look a' me with those pretty eyes of yours." The way he fixed your face forward, made you look him in the eyes. "Nice lil' pussy gonna make me cum." Your walls spasmed, hugged him, squeezed around his length, molding to every curve, every vein. If only his hand weren't over your mouth, you'd kiss his pretty lips and tell him to shut the fuck up and just fuck you, just lose himself in you.

And oh, was he losing himself. An orgasm quickly approaching on the horizon. Hobie pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes low and sultry as he removed his hand from your mouth and gripped your thighs once more. "Fuck-" Hobie gasps and shudders, his abdomen tightening with the beginnings to a climax.

"Go ahead, pretty boy. You said you have a point to prove, right? Go ahead and prove it." You watched in breathless pants as he takes his pleasure in you, comes undone for you, his fingertips pressing bruises into your supple skin. "You're my favorite, my pretty boy." You confess to him. In all versions, you were simply looking for him, something you didn't find, no matter how eerily similar they all were.

Hobie murmurs something incoherent under his breath as he cums. He's swift with pulling out, just in time to spill his hot semen all over your heat. He claimed you like he always wanted to, with the way his hands left bruises in your skin, with the way his trembling cock spread his cum all over you, how his lips claimed yours in a moment of passion.

"You can stop pretendin' to be trapped now." Hobie murmured against your lips, pulling away and running his thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip before making himself decent. You had long sawed your way through his webs, they never last that long. You let your arms drop. "Finally, they were startin' to hurt." 

Hobie removes himself from your body, letting you take the time to get yourself together. "How much time do I have this time?" It was back to business as usual, not that either of you minded. You both enjoyed your games.

"A minute before I call my partna. Two before I start chasin' you myself." He always gave you a bit of a head start, maybe out of some soft spot he had for you. Sometimes he caught you, sometimes he didn't, it was all up to chance.

You pull your goggles out of you disheveled hair and fix them over your eyes. You lean into him, close enough that he thought you might kiss him. "I'll try not to break your nose this time, lovely." You peck his lips as a distraction as you slip your hand into the pocket of his vest and attempt to steal your stolen watch back.

Hobie's already thinking one step ahead of you. His hand grasps your wrist. "No' tha' generous. An' you've got 'bout 40 seconds lef'. Better get goin'." He's dealt with your bullshit more times than he can count. He knows what goes on in that pretty head of yourself, how you're always scheming, even against him— especially against him."

You scoff then chuckle. "Fine— c'ya 'round, Bee." You turn and rush off, grasping a gutter to leap up on the rooftop and run off.

You both love your fun and games.

[gladiatorcunt]

i’m thinking about modern!coryo again… ‘n the way he’d just love humiliating you. when you’ve been particularly bratty (let’s be real, any time you tell him no he thinks you’re being defiant… no matter the circumstances), he loves to shove your face into the mattress so your ass is facing him, and grip your hips, teasing his cock against your entrance until you’re whining and begging for him to fuck you. but he doesn’t! he just lets his cock slap against your clit and tease your slick hole until you’re soaking your panties. his favourite thing though, is filming you take his cock, because even though he’d never let anybody see the videos (besides maybe his friends), he gets off on the way you’re whining for him to put the phone away as he fills you up, pearly cum sliding down your soft thighs. but he won’t, because he just loves the way you’re absolutely humiliated at the thought of somebody seeing how much of a whore you are for him

CW: anal, sejanus mention (throuple au tease), typical coryo type warnings, yandere/possessive & obsessive behavior, gn reader but there is feminization (reader calls themselves a "good girl", coryo calls your pussy "sweet girl" & assigns it she/her pronouns), blood (coryo has a fantasy of you tearing), accidental slight pet play/dumbification, my modern coryo's typical inability to understand/care about poor(er) people, the ending is inspired by ghostface's finishing move in dbd, implied plus sized reader (who's afab) he loves you really.

So true, you could do something as small as say “i want to be alone in the bathroom for 5 minutes” and he’d lose his shit. Something about that arrogant rich boy behavior turned up to 100 because he’s inherently a psycho….. like he loves you deeply but wdym his prized possession has a mind of their own (if you just decided to do everything he wants, he’d support you making your own decisions). His whole vibe was being untouchable and unavailable but now it’s coming apart. Like do you know how much he planned to hoe around when his family inevitably made him get married??? But now you’ve fucked it all up and made him feel like he’s constantly writhing around in every circle of hell fr.

So yeah, he can’t take it if he feels like you aren’t “putting in as much effort” as he is. And i don’t mean that he’d be pissed if you’re not cooking or cleaning, i mean that he’d be peeved if you weren’t matching his energy (batshit balls to wall insane). He’ll do a little cute open palm wave like “Hi, baby 🥰” when you look at him over your shoulder with tears in your eyes. King of false sympathy with all the cooing and mocking your facial expression (which you wouldn’t even have to make if you were behaving). His weird ass is completely naked even though he made you keep your clothes on, and he tore a hole in your leggings with his teeth for easy access.

He’ll put his dick in between your ass cheeks and fuck you like that until the sheets are soaked because you got so desperate (you nearly pissed yourself). He’ll press the head against your asshole and see how deep he can get before you realize that he’s using the wrong whole. Sometimes he wishes that he’d tug his cock from your hole to find the whole thing covered in blood. If you catch on him, he’ll just say that it was an accident. But to be real, you knew immediately. It just gets you hot watching him go on his little power trips. The pleasure of letting your rabid dog off of his leash but he thinks it’s his idea does something to you that you’re currently ignoring.

The iPhone camera you can see from the standing mirror by your bed doesn’t exactly catch you off guard. Coryo’s got a fair few videos of you getting backshots in his family’s limo and even more of him devouring your pussy anytime and anywhere he pleases. Your stomach rolls with shame but your pussy clenches in arousal. A big part of being able to handle being his s/o means having the ability to straddle the line between calling his bluff and baring your neck in submission. So you just whine pleadingly and let your head fall forward onto the pillow.

You'd never admit that there are times where you'd be perfectly happy if your ass was all he fucked; that on mornings when the sunlight beams down on you as Coryo pushes the velvet curtains from the large penthouse windows and all you can see out of the eye that's not smothered in the pillow is your boyfriend in a pair of gray sweatpants, you feel feral with the need to swallow his cock all the way to the base and lie there forever.

A "love tap" to your clit brings you out of your thirsting. When all you do is gasp, you receive a firmer strike.

"Don't tell me you're already out of it? Did I make my smart baby all stupid already?"

"Hngh~ Uh huh, don't stop..." You beg, the carefully maintained image of the prim and proper perfect student crumbling under his touch.

Your need to be praised and to have male approval can really be a curse sometimes, because outside of the bedroom you don't let yourself be as willing of a kept pet as Coryo wants. But as soon as you're alone, you gratefully sink into the safe space he creates for you where you can just... let go and have someone else think for you for a change.

It feels like bolts of electricity go through you when two of his fingers start to trace letters on your pussy lips. It makes you think of his family crest branded on the gates of their mansions.

C-O-R-I-O-L-A-N-U-S S-N-O-W, pinching your clit after every letter. (training)

"That's okay, I like you dumb anyway. Can't use that big brain to think about anything else but me when I get this dick in you." He says and wags it in his hands at you like it's a treat.

The bed creaks as he sits back on his heels, and like a good girl you parts your legs as far as they can go.

Welcome Home.

The heavy weight of his palms clutching your hips calms any lingering anxiety, his nails bite into your flesh but you know he'll be licking and nuzzling the marks soothingly later. He's told you how beautiful you are in the beginning, that he relishes in the way you give up all tension to him with a sigh; that one of his favorite versions of you is the you that shuts down. Has him feeling like the "family man" he always vowed to never turn into.

"Now, you know the drill, take a deep breath..." He pants, somehow already pussy drunk, "It's going to be a tight fit, dove."

His grip tightens as he feeds his tip to your clenching hole, you soak in the mutters of 'aw, I missed you too, sweet girl.' You know he wasn't talking to you.

Your breath hitches when you start taking him past the tip, and like always, Coryo wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and massages it to distract you from the inevitable sting of pain. It'll always be there no matter how much of a mess he's made of your cunt.

"That's my dumb bunny, biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig stretch." He grunts, dragging his words out when the thickest part of his cock comes to greet you.

You moan when he takes his other hand off of your hip to reach it around and rub your twitching clit. More juices drip from your hole, making the remaining inches slide in a lot easier.

You hear shuffling and the bed creaks as Coryo leans over to grab something off the nightstand. He quickly finds what he's looking for and settles back into position behind you. He gropes one of your ass cheeks and gives it a couple long squeezes before he jiggles it, letting out a low whistle when he does it again.

You mewl impatiently, clenching your pussy around his long cock. He doesn't give you what you want, however, until almost a minute later. He jostles his hips against your ass, showing off for the camera that's focused down on where the two of you are connected.

Coryo's head shoots up when he hears you sniffle, and even though he could tease about how much of a needy whore you are, you're HIS needy whore so he only smiles.

"Alright, alright. 'M sorry, petal, I know your pussy's gagging for this dick. I'll give her what she wants, don't you worry."

Your mouth falls open on a silent moan as he leisurely drags his length out of you until the tip catches on your entrance; being forced to be broken down and rebuilt around it until you both turn to ash. He has never wanted anything more than he wants you to somehow grow to only survive of his own body. His blood would be your water, his very dna would be your floss, his bone marrow would soothe your raw throat, his organs would be your snacks, his bones would be your jewelry, his teeth would be your little trinkets, and his surrounding flesh would be your every meal until you could eat no more.

You have no idea how much of your boyfriend's time has been spent making sure he tastes delectable, in every way.

Like those people from Pompei who are forever immortalized in the arms of their lover, chained to the passage of time but the eyes that dust them off are the only things about them that change.

You made him watch Titanic once, saying that your MasterChef binge could be paused for a night. He huffed but complied, and gun to his head, he wiped his tears on the arm of the couch before you could notice that he was crying. Rose could've done a little more to help Jack in his opinion (they both could have fit on the wood), he'd have never just let you go like that. But there was something in the way all they really had in the world was each other, in how calm the old couple was as the water creeped into their room; because they were together, and to Coryo, death after a very very long and happy life is an experience that's meant to be shared (no matter the circumstances).

His body has been moving on autopilot during his usual mid-sex spiral monologue. There's ringing in his ears as he tunes back into your hiccup-y whines and high-pitched moans (he loved when you stopped being so fucking shy). His thrusts had gradually sped up until they were at the speed they were now, your bodies now making wet smacking sounds as his dick pulverizes your pussy. He had been so lost in thought that he nearly dropped his phone, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was still recording.

He removes his death grip on your ass cheek to slap your swaying tits one after the other. He can never resist showing love to the chub of your tummy either, so he hits that too.

"Yeah, you like that, bunny?" He sneers, tonguing your ear and gnawing at the lobe as the excess saliva trickles down the valley of your breasts.

It's a rhetorical question, of course you do.

But you answer, using your words like he often "urges" you to.

"Like it so much, Coryo.... fuck!"

His thrusts become even faster, and he gathers as much of your hair in his hand as possible. Your moans cut off into a gasp as he wrenches your head up off the pillow by your hair, bringing the phone around to put your tear-stained face into frame.

You're helpless to do anything but take every inch he slams inside your puffy cunt, which will no doubt be sore and red by the time Coryo's done with his latest fit. He bends down to whisper in your ear about braindead you look, sobbing with your eyes glazed over and your mouth gaping.

"Shh, that's it, keep going baby. It's all about you, these'll just be fun memories so I can have little parts of you forever, so you could never really leave me."

You never look away from the camera though, and he's suddenly overcome with so much gratitude that he uses his grip on your hair to bring you into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss; your tongues making it so wet you'd think he'd been eating your pussy nonstop with how soaked the lower half of his face gets.

He doesn't let you pull away, the impulsive french kissing only ends so he can lean his head against yours and get into the shot with you. He's smiling so warmly like you're taking a selfie on one of your numerous vacations, but his hips never stop their rough assault on your already thoroughly debauched pussy. Coryo tightens his hold on your hair and pecks your round cheek when you whimper due to the sting.

"Smile, petal."

The videos are kept in a locked folder on his phone titled “💍💒", and while he threatens to show his friends (in actuality he’d only show sejanus in some version of this au where he’s trying to force him into a throuple), he’ll apologize with his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipples once he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. If you’re really upset, he’ll offer to make up to you on his father’s yacht in Greece. (he has your bags packed already)

faetreides 2024. request rules. please consider tipping/reblogging if you enjoyed!

[dontbesoweirdkira]

A/N: I love platonic yandere Johnny Cage so much. Here’s Johnny obsessing over a new and upcoming talent. He wants to protect you and boost your career but he ends up going overboard with it.

Inspired by

Warnings: Yandere themes (stalking, murder, physical abuse and manipulation) blah blah blah it’s a very fun time for you!! :D

Request: open 24/7

Masterlist

I think we as a community all agree that Yandere Johnny Cage is absolutely batshit insane…I mean he’s already operating on a certain kind of time usually but it’s just cranked up to 1000% with you.

Everything in his life just has to be picture perfect, his hair, movies, cars, house, and…you. Especially you! He sees himself in you, full of life and absolutely beautiful! You will have the absolute best if you just do exactly what he says.😀👍

Don’t get me wrong, he absolutely adores the crap out of you and he truly means well. He’s trying his absolute best to take care of you, he’s just an emotionally unregulated fuck.

When Johnny saw your audition tape he just knew you were destined to become America’s next sweetheart. It’s so hard to come by a natural like you in today’s world so he’d be a fool to just let you go.

His career is steadily on the decline so why not try to save it by living vicariously through you. If his name is attached to the new hot shit then he’s sure to skyrocket back into fame.

Johnny coming to you with this deal at first glance was the dream! THE JOHNNY CAGE LIKES YOU?! He thinks you’re star material?? Who wouldn’t take up this one in a lifetime opportunity.

Press conferences, interviews, red carpet and product reviews…Johnny kept you booked with little to no free time.

There was no saying no to this aswell. Take a good look at what you signed sweetheart! You’re his property. You have a script to follow and you better follow it.

What you wear, the way you walk, talk and dress are all under his creative direction.

Just smile at the camera, y/n and say how he’s the best co-star in the entire world and how perfect it is working with for him!

He’d flip out so fucking bad if you even suggest you wanted to leave the spotlight.

He’s the main reason anyone ever even looked your way! Johnny is the “only one” who cares for you, don’t you think that he knows what’s best for you?

He brought the shirt on your back and the food in the fridge and if you want to be an ungrateful little cunt, he’ll take it away from you.

He’ll tell you how if you really didn’t want to be here, he’d just hire someone else to take your place. And not just as America’s sweetheart…as his too.

Yeah you're an adult and he technically has no legal rights over you once your contract is up but imagine the constant conditioning that you’re going to be nothing without him.

He set up everything in a way where you can’t escape. The house he “gifted” you is all under his name, so is that fancy car and even your cell phone.

Even though he consistently threatens to disown, replace and ruin you, he will go absolutely psychotic if you decide to ignore him.

Oh and that cell phone I mentioned earlier? He’s constantly tracking you with it. Has access to personal files and even a parental mode at his disposal.

The revival of his career is crumbling in front of his eyes…worst yet, the entire WORLD.

He’ll blow up your phone with tons of texts and voice messages, spend copious amounts of money on gifts to bribe you back, kick up the charm too and tell you he didn’t mean what he said and that he’s such a terrible mentor.

He cries how he just wanted a better life for you and how he just wants to do something great and if all of this work fails he’ll become even more of a joke.

If that doesn't work he’ll even go as far as to try to manipulate you by saying he’s going to terminate all of his projects, delete his social media and tell the world he’s such a horrible man and that he doesn’t deserve any of the fame he has because he’s hurt you.

Of course you come back and start doing as he says again, only for the cycle to repeat.

Johnny isn’t the absolute worst, he does protect you from any potential dangers out there. He works extremely hard to keep your image very clean and pure even though you’re in your 20's . As much as you hate basically being stuck in a girl next door persona, he explains how once you start becoming a sex icon like him…the exploitation becomes worse.

Johnny definitely has been through and seen a lot of shit so he’s got the right spirit but wrong execution.

He even beat the shit out of a producer and got arrested because he tried forcing himself on you.

Speaking of getting arrested for fighting, this is such a common occurrence for him that you hold onto some of his credit cards just in case you have to bail him out on any given day.

Has threatened to murder multiple people in great detail for making you uncomfortable…now I’m not saying he’s ever carried out those plans but have you ever seen any of those co-stars ever again? Eh..Johnny said they just weren’t working with the camera.

He will vet any jobs you want to take and hand pick the safest sets and crews for you to work with. Your real manager doesn’t even argue with him anymore, he just accepts the fact Johnny is the self proclaimed one.

Hey well at least your idol doesn’t interfere in your romantic life! He just has to run background checks, stalk their socials and inner circles, be there on the date…nothing major….

You just can’t hook up with anyone, y/n. Can you imagine what this would do to your image??

Don’t bring up the hypocrisy of him practically dating most of the tri-state area….in the past year!

Has thought about getting a conservatorship over you but has been rejected because if anyone needs one, it’s really him.

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

[gojos-fr-bae]

Liar pt. 7

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Pairing: Gojo x fem!eader

Warnings: Fluff to Angst, Drinking, Cussing, Club tings (lmk if I missed anything

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: UGH, I hate this one too, idk what it is it just doesn't fulfill what I wanted, let me know anything you would like to see or have to say. Also, DO you guys want this story to have a happy or sad ending? I'm still deciding, I'm about to finish the series so...

(Requests open)

Satoru

Satoru was going batshit crazy running around his house like a headless chicken, trying to clean and baby-proof the house. Things had been going surprisingly smoothly with you and Kaito. He had been going absolutely amazing.

You guys had been going out as a family consistently for the past three months and you finally decided to let Kaito spend the night at Satoru’s. He had spent the whole day yesterday buying snacks, toys, and redecorating the nursery that he had been preparing for the day he would meet his boy.

He was running around making sure he had gotten rid of all his alcohol, although he couldn’t lie that he was buzzed at the moment although he had tried so hard to sober up, his body just wouldn’t let him.

Just before he could begin to spiral, he heard his doorbell ring.

He ran to the door as fast as his lanky legs would take him and quickly opened it. And there you stood.

Fuck you look beautiful.

You were just wearing the first thing you found at the top of your closet, but oh gosh you made it look so good.

In your arms was Kaito’s overnight bag and the precious angel in question. He looked up at his father with his iconic blue eyes, his little fingers having a grip stronger than gravity on your shirt.

Y/N

“Hi, Satoru, thank you so much again, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said, you had been swarmed with work and a mission you had to do, not to mention complete registering him for kindergarten and everyone was too busy to baby sit Kaito, everyone except for Satoru, and considering how much you knew he wanted this, and how much you wanted this for Kaito, you thought, why not. I mean, what could go wrong, Satoru is his dad and your baby is two years old. What harm could he possibly do?

“Hey, y-yeah, it's no problem! I would love to spend some time with the little guy,” He said, smiling at the boy who stared back at him, boredom evident in his face.

“Mhm, well here’s his bag, it has all his clothes toothbrush, the usual, and on the outer pocket I put a list of stuff he likes, hates, shouldn’t eat, beadtime instructions, emergency contac-”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, calm down, he’ll be fine, I promise,” he whispered, holding your shoulders before taking the bag out of your hands, but you didn’t miss how they shook ever so slightly.

You set Kaito down before squatting down to look at him.

“Okay baby, I have to go now, remember what we talked about, and please listen to daddy, “ you said softly. Kaito’s eyes began to tear up as he began to reach out for you, whining softly.

“Oh, Kai, come on, you promised you’d be good, and I’ll be back first thing in the morning, okay?”you said.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, although his grip on your shirt wasn’t loosening in the slightest.

“Okay, I love you the most, okay, so so so so sooooo much.” you said, littering kisses all over his face, causing him to smile the cutest smile ever.

“Love you too!” he replied cutely.

And then, the time finally came for you to part with your little one. It pained you greatly to have to leave him, and it felt ten times worse for the little boy, but all you could do was look up at Satoru and hope he would keep your son safe.

***

Satoru

He stopped in front of Kaito’s room and opened the door to the boy’s room.

“And here’s your room” he stated as he closed off his tour.

Gojo helped Kaito unpack everything and get settled in his room before leading him to the kitchen whenever their dinner of burgers, pizza and fried chicken were waiting for them * Satoru could not cook to save his life*

The two sat and ate in awkward silence before he took Kaito into his playpen and the boy discovered a whole new world.

The thing was huge and filled with literally every toy under the sun. He giggled and ran towards it, ready to have the time of his life.

The night went by faster than he expected and it was finally time for Kaito to go to bed.

“Come on buddy, please just go to bed.” He said to the boy laying on the bed, claiming that he wasn’t tired. Satoru tried to leave but this kid and his iron grip reached for his arm, refusing to let go.

Sighing, Gojo just gave up and layed down on the bed, with his son on his chest, and just like magic, Kaito fell asleep within seconds, but Satoru was stuck. He didn’t want to move because he was scared of waking up the child, so he just accepted his fate and let sleep overcome him.

***

“Mama!!” Kaito screamed, running to you at breakneck speeds, you picked him up and hugged him tight. 

“Hi baby,” You said sweetly, smiling down at him. 

Satoru was leaning against a wall, his heart swelling at the scene before him. He could have had this. You could have been his family. It hurts to know that you are standing right before him, and yet, so out of reach.

“Thanks again Gojo, I owe you one.”

“Well…you could pay me back by going out with me?”

“Gojo…”

“Please Y/N, just this once,” He begged.

“Ok, ok, I'll think about it. Thank you so much again. Say bye to daddy Kai.”

“Bye-bye.” he said, waving at his dad, who waved back.” 

Once he closed the door, Satoru started jumping up and down, giggling giddily. YOU SAID YES, YOU’RE GOING TO ACTUALLY GO OUT WITH HIM.

If pure joy and elation were a person, it would be him.

***

Y/N

You were trying to push through the crowd at the club you had gaslit yourself into thinking you should go to. You had been so stressed recently and since Kaito wanted to hang out with Megumi, you  thought why not. Oh how you would come to regret this decision.

The hoard of grinding sweaty bodies, deafeningly loud music and strobing LEDs were becoming too much, you began to make your way to the bar, hoping for a chance to catch your breath, only to be met with an absolutely heartbreaking sight.

There was Gojo, sitting on a barstool right in front of you.  But that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was the girl dressed in such a skimpy fit that a napkin would give her more coverage, grinding on him. And he was just sitting there.  He just held his glass, sipping on his whiskey and looking away from her with his hands on her waist. It looked like he was mumbling something to her but you couldn’t make it out from where you stood.

You saw nothing but red. Who the fuck does he think he is talking about how he missed you, asked you out, and then proceeds, to pull this shit.

You walked up to him, tears in your eyes, and slapped him with all your might.The girl looked at you in disgust but Satoru looked absolutely mortified.

“You fucking asshole!” You screamed at him. Heads turned towards you but you couldn’t care less. You turned and ran out of there as fast as your legs could take you. You could hear Gojo frantically calling out to you but you didn’t care. It’s like you completely blacked out. You ran, you don’t know where, you don’t know for how long, but you ran.

Eventually, your legs gave out. You fell on the sidewalk and sobbed into your hands. You couldn’t handle it. You thought he loved you. That he hadn’t changed, but no. Of Course not. Afterall, He’s Gojo Satoru.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Again, let me know if u want a happy or sad ending. Thank you for reading this far :)

@porridgesblog , @giannitaa , @c0pkiller , @havens-not-here, @starlightanyaaa

© gojos-fr-bae

[hinacu-arts]

another completely random crossover idea that popped in my head out of nowhere

2012 ends up in riseverse, itself set 10 or so years after canon events. The Usagi mentioned is implied to be Yuichi or a version of a rottmnt specific Usagi

2012 TURTLES AND R!LEO ARE IN THE TURTLE TANK. R!LEO IS DRIVING THE NEWLY PICKED UP 2012 TURTLES TO HIS HOME

Mikey: *touching things he shouldn't be*

Donnie: *absolutely enthralled by all the tech in the tank*

Raph: *staring at R!Leo*

Leo: *attention split between a conversation with R!Leo and making sure Mikey doesnt explode them all*

TANK SPEAKERS START RINGING WITH A PHONECALL

R! Leo, answering the call: hey babe, you'll never guess what happened

Raph: *mouthing "babe?" at Leo*

Leo: *just as confused*

Phonecall: ummm Donnie built a sentient ice cream machine?

Raph: *mouthing "thats a dude!" at Leo*

Leo: *shushes Raph*

R! Leo: no, but dont give him ideas!

Phonecall: what happened?

R! Leo: alternate versions of me and my brothers are in this universe. They're so short I love it.

Phonecall: please send a picture I have to see this

R! Leo: i already did!

Mikey: when did you take our picture?

Phonecall: ohmigosh they're adorable. What are they, 15?

Raph: we're 17!

Phonecall: same thing. Who was that?

R! Leo: that's little Raph!

Raph: "LITTLE"!

R! Leo: everyone say hi!

Leo: umm, hi. Who are we speaking to?

R! Leo: oh! This is Usagi, my ex-boy-

Usagi: i'm his ex-boyfriend

Someone on the other end of the phonecall: i hate when they call each other that!

R! Leo and Usagi: it's true!

R! Leo, to the turtles: i got a promotion *winks*

2012: *confused glances to each other*

Donnie: uh, what does that mean?

R! Leo: i'm his husband!

Usagi: on your world! We're still fiances on mine.

Someone on the other side of the phonecall: AND THEY STILL CALL EACH OTHER BY THEIR LAST NAMES! ITS DISGUSTING

R! Leo: hmm, you're right. I guess we better switch last names babe

Usagi: nah, i like calling you "Hamato"

Phonecall: SEE ITS DISGUSTING!

Usagi: DONT YOU HAVE SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE!

Raph, mesmerized by R!Leo's laidback back-and-forth: youre married to a human?

R! Leo: oh no, Usagi is a-

Usagi: Leo's a furry

R! Leo: i hate that Donnie taught you that word

Usagi: speaking of Donnie, have you noticed Kendra is his type?

R! Leo: Kendra? What do you mean? They're archenemies or something

Usagi: i want you to picture Donnie's type

R! Leo: okay?

Usagi: now picture Kendra

R! Leo: holy shit

Mikey, with his arm slung around Donnie as he pokes his face: who's Kendra

R! Leo: oh calm down lil Mike. Kendra would eat your Donnie for breakfast and then spit him back up. And i could tell right from the get go she's not your Donnie's type. She's psychopathic. Like my Donnie.

Usagi: which is Donne's type. And your dad's actually

R! Leo: huh?

Usagi: have you seriously never noticed Donnie and your dad have the same taste in women?

R! Leo: name one example

Usagi: your step-mom is tiny and batshit insane. Donnie's type is short and mean. Its basically the same thing

R! Leo: *incoherent noises* why are you so right! Fuck you!

Usagi: no we arent double married yet

R! Leo: i want a divorce!

Usagi, teasing: good luck with that. You know how much those cost?

R! Leo, same teasing tone: yeah, those really cost an arm and a leg

Usagi and R!Leo: *laughing*

Leo: i dont know whats happening right now

[dustbunnylair]

Shubble/Shelby's Situation: People Defending The Abuser and Shaming The Victim (!TW: Mentions of abuse/abusive relationship!)

7 months ago, on February 21st, 2024, a Twitch streamer with around 468K followers spoke out about being abused by another Twitch streamer and artist, who is now her ex on a stream titled, “Talking About Something More Serious”. The Twitch streamer who spoke out goes by Shubble or Shelby, she described the at the time unnamed Twitch streamer as (mainly) British, popular, and also in the music industry, fans quickly connected the dots to the popular Twitch streamer and lead singer in the band, Lovejoy, Wilbur Soot. 

I won’t go into full detail about what Shubble said, as I would prefer for people to listen to her say it, rather than someone else. But, the main things were that Wilbur did not follow a safe word that they set in place, and would bite her to the point of her screaming out in pain. He was also slobbish and dirty in his living situation. Unfortunately, Shubble has not provided any proof of bruises, markings, etc. but that doesn’t mean she’s lying, not every abuse victim documents their injuries, and honestly in my opinion, maybe she’s uncomfortable with sharing those injuries, those injuries are really none of our business to see.

A few days later, Wilbur Soot, made a response, which if you would like to read it you can find it here, I’ll sum it up to what I had processed within the response:

First off, he says it’s a response rather than an apology. Second, he didn’t even mention Shubble’s name, he only referred to her as “ex-girlfriend” or “this person” he never said her name. I want that to be emphasized because that’s quite common in abusers, they literally will not say their victim’s name(s) as a form of dissociation or just not taking accountability.

Many people including famous people such as Ranboo, Tommyinnit, Sneegsnag, Lil Tay, Billzo, Aimsey, Dream even, to fully call out Wilbur, as they should. Let’s also emphasize how absolutely batshit insane it is that Lil Tay and Billzo said shit about him, Lil Tay does not know this man and Billzo is literally never active on social media, no hate to them though obviously, shoutout to them for calling him out. Dream responding to Wilbur is so diabolical, you know an apology/response sucked ass when DREAM of all people responds to you and REWRITES the response. 

I have found many people on social media, more specifically TikTok and Pinterest, borderline defending Wilbur Soot. From getting mad at Shubble for telling her viewers to stream her stream instead of Wilbur's newest song, which yeah is a bit immature coming from a 30 y/o woman, but remember this is literally her abuser and she’s probably just joking around and coping. Not to mention the person who “called out” Shubble for not being able to “move on” can’t move on from Shubble nor Wilbur themselves.

Hypocrite alert…Honestly, Wilbur defenders are either stuck in 2019-2021 or are just insanely parasocial. Wilbur does not know you, you do not know him, he is a content creator and singer. I *was* a Wilbur fan before “Your New Boyfriend” came out, and look, I’ve moved on from him, 5 years of my life went to waste but at least I’m not supporting an abuser. It’s so funny seeing Wilbur dick riders getting mad at people for calling him niblur soot or saying he has rabies and needs a muzzle. 

It’s always “always believe the victim” until the abuser is someone you like or is conventionally attractive. I’ve seen multiple people ask why Shubble hasn’t sued Wilbur but has sued a car company. It’s so obvious that these people do not know shit about abusive relationships. Almost like if you were to take it to court and sue him, it wouldn’t change anything for Shubble other than some money or some shit, it doesn’t change the fact that she has trauma from the abuse, and it certainly isn’t gonna make him take accountability. Plus abuse in women or literally any gender, is invalidated most of the time.

People say that Wilbur is getting therapy just from his word. But me and other people are clearly seeing he isn’t showing change whatsoever, in fact, he literally looks like he’s on drugs, like coke. I remember someone made a TikTok talking about how skinny Wilbur looks and saying he’s probably starving himself. He’s 6’5 and has always been fucking lanky, and starving yourself isn’t the only thing that makes you lose weight, it’s also drugs!

I’m honestly just so sick and tired of seeing people say “Shubble admitted to lying” and then when you ask for proof of that they don’t respond, because she’s never admitted to that. Even other creators, not just Shubble, have come out and said Wilbur’s abusive behavior, like Tommyinnit. I mean, James Marriott hasn’t spoken out about this, and he doesn’t have to, that’s not something that’s required from him, but in one of James Marriott’s videos from 3 years ago, he and Wilbur did like this drunk video and it was called “If We Laugh, The Video Ends…(ft. Wilbur Soot)”, but throughout the video Wilbur just sometimes gets violent, and it doesn’t seem like a bit because most of the time James reacts genuinely concerned.

And before anyone uses the “Oh but he was drunk” excuse, I don’t want to hear it, the more drunk you are, the more of the real you comes out, he was drunk as fuck and his real self was coming out. 

Yeah, honestly that’s all I have to say about this topic for right now. Don’t go harass Wilbur or any Wilbur supporters, just try to educate them or block them, both are valid. If I have more to add I’ll make a follow-up post. But yeah, always believe the victim, don’t defend abusers. Keep yourself safe.

[aetherdoesthings]

HANAHAKI!READER X ROBIN PART TWO

forethoughts: i think i'm getting better!!! that's a lie i've been coughing all afternoon. oh welp. also lowkey i feel like i'm kinda been teaching y'all about absolutism in some sense through the fic. idk.

notes: fem!reader, hanahaki au (it's in the title), modern au, high school, swearing?

The next day at school, you avoided Robin like the plague. You wore a mask, making people think you were just sick, not batshit crazy for coughing up flower petals. During lunch, you hid in the library, a place you rarely saw Robin in since she was always on the podium eating lunch with other juniors. You were fine throughout the entire day; you didn’t see Robin, you didn’t hear Robin, or ever mention Robin once. 

You had decided to keep a small journal with you ever since you had ‘fallen in love’ with Nico Robin, the goddess herself. You wrote down every moment you coughed, keeping track if your symptoms were getting worse or not. You kept the notebook to yourself, keeping it in your bag. It was also one of those notebooks with those stupid padlocks they sold to kids when you were younger, just so that your secret was well hidden.

Robin had started talking to you on Instagram. Whenever your phone suddenly turned bright, you held your breath, checking the notifications to see if it was Robin. When it was, you’d be happy and jump up and down for a solid minute before finally responding. Your god awful disease seemed to go away whenever you talked to Robin via text too; maybe there was a way to keep your disease under wraps after all.

But there was one key thing that foiled your plan to stay immune to Robin forever. The attendance sheet. You can’t just skip History, the only class you had with Robin and had a goddamn group project with. So you walked into the classroom, taking your seat next to God herself, who was busy talking to her other comrades. You tried not to look at her, staring at the clock, the floor, that mold on the wall that seemed to keep growing. There was 60 minutes to this class. 60 minutes of purgatory. Your heart thudded, trying to leap out of your chest and look at Robin, wanting to express your love to her in the cheesiest way. Your mind rebelled, battling all the thoughts about the Goddess away. No. You had spent the entire day trying to figure out what triggered your coughing and made your throat want to kill itself. Right now, you were sitting next to Robin, and your heart was trying to think of her and daydream about you and Robin making out and having--

“Oh! Y/N! I didn’t see you there.” You nearly jumped out of your seat at her voice, as you whipped your head towards her, that sensation in your stomach burning out. Holy shit her smile was so much more beautiful than you had imagined. The corners of Robin’s lips curled upwards, forming a gentle arc. It was warm and inviting, like a blade of light in the darkness dungeons. Her face seemed to have lit up the moment she saw you, as her cheeks flushed pink, but so faint you needed the sun to see it clearly. You wanted to bask in the radiance that shone from her smile, wanting to feel it and experience it in its entirety.

That’s why you let out a harrowing cough, ducking your head and moving away from Robin. The petal moved up your esophagus, landing in your mask. You left the petal there, as you turned your head towards Robin again. Your stomach dropped when you realized her smile had disappeared. A frown replaced the smile, her eyebrows were furrowed and disappointment in her eyes.

“Oh. You’re still sick.” Robin sighed, a small smile on her face. “Well, I do hope you get better before our presentation. Is it a cold?”

“Y-Yeah, cold.” You nodded your head.

“I see. Do feel better soon, I don’t want our grade to plummet if you can’t present well.”

That sentence drove a knife into your heart, as you looked at your desk. “I hope I do too.”

While Robin wasn’t looking, you reached your hand into your mask, grabbing the petal and shoving it into your pocket. You drummed your feet against the ground, waiting for the lesson to start.

45 more minutes. The teacher had just given instructions on what to do and announcements. Everyone started to pull out their laptops the moment the teacher stopped talking, including Robin. You placed your laptop on the table, opening it and signing in, opening the document you and Robin were working on, as well as the slides.

“Okay, progress seems good. We have three more days until the presentation and we’re already halfway done. We just have to find a modern day example for Elizabeth I for extra credit, and we’re good.” Robin said.

“Yep.” You replied, wanting to limit your speech as much as possible. You had a bunch of tabs opened from last night, but your lovesick mind was too busy drooling over Robin to try and close some of them.

“Do you have any ideas about what modern day example we should do?” Robin asked, looking over at your screen.

“Um, the obvious answer would be Elizabeth II, but she was more of a constitutional monarch than absolute, so maybe we can do Elizabeth II, and just compare personalities and accomplishments.” You responded absentmindedly. When Robin didn’t respond, you looked up from your screen, looking at Robin. Your heart immediately dropped, as your finger scrambled on the trackpad, closing all your tabs you had open since last night.

“You saw nothing.” You simply said after a cloud of silence fell upon the two of you.

“Definitely. Let’s get back to work.” Robin replied, looking back at her screen.

Your cheeks were red, your fingers shaking as you tried to type one word on the slides. If the whole room was absolutely silent, everyone would’ve heard your heart thumping, roaring loudly. You spent your night trying to find out how to cure your hanahaki disease, or at least not trigger your symptoms. Tired and absolutely drained, you closed your computer and just went to sleep, not closing your tabs at all.

Does Robin know I have that stupid love disease? Does Robin know I have a massive crush on her? Does Robin think I’m weird? Does Robin know? Shit. Shit. Fuck. I think she knows. Oh fuck, I’m fucked. Robin knows. She knows I have that stupid love disease. Your mind raced with thoughts, all negative and solidifying your doom. Robin definitely saw the tabs of you researching hanahaki, and now she knew you were in love with someone to the point you coughed up flower petals because of a person.

She doesn’t know it’s her. She doesn’t know I like her. She doesn’t know I love her. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to die if she knows I have a massive crush on her. You took a deep breath, holding onto those words like it was your life line. Robin didn’t know it was you, she just knew you were in love with someone.

But she’s smart. She’s going to know. 

No she’s not.

Yes she is.

The two voices wrestled in your head, growing louder and louder, shutting down all your other actions. You were certain Robin was talking, maybe to you or to someone else. Your fingers stayed put on the keys, not a single letter being typed out. All you could focus on was the voices arguing about your fate. It felt like drills digging into your skull, piercing through the bone and turning your brain into mush.

You abruptly stood up from your seat, closing the lid as you walked up to the teacher, telling him you needed to use the bathroom. You stormed out of the classroom, making a beeline to the stalls. You chose the farthest one from the door, turning the lock so fast it should’ve flown off. With your back against the wall, you sunk down to the ground, bringing your knees to your chest as you dropped your head, letting your forehead rest on your knees. 

You hated this feeling. You hated feeling helpless and hated having your well being dependent on a person.

You never wanted to fall in love with Nico Robin. You never wanted to have this feeling in your heart, this constant need to see her and hear her voice.

Now this? 

Why did you have to fall in love with Nico Robin? 

There were two ways to get rid of the stupid love disease. You had to tell Robin you loved her, and if she loves you back, you’d stop coughing up flowers. If she rejects you, you’re done for. 

You let out a sniffle, knowing which option would become reality. 

Nico Robin was going to kill you, whether you told her or not. She would’ve never liked you back, not in a million years.

Your fate was sealed the minute you saw her on your first day of junior year.

You were going to-

“Y/N? Are you in there?” You lifted your head so abruptly, the back of your head hit the concrete wall, causing you to wince. Robin? From the gaps on the bottom, you could see Robin’s shoe slowly approach your stall, the tip of her shoes pointed towards you.

[sp4ceboo]

listen to me rant about predebut unwhitewashed ateez:

firstly, i apologise for this absolute shitpost, and i don't know where any of the photos are from so apologies if they're acc urs or smt.

secondly, i apologise for the fact none of this is in order because this originally started as predebut yungi and then descended into ot8 chaos.

thirdly, i apologise for the huge rambles about whitewashing and fine men.

lastly, i apologise because i have no clue how to change size of pictures in tumblr so some are massive and some are tiny (send help)

just look at this:

OK FIRSTLY LIKE MINGI'S ACNE?? i never thought i'd find acne attractive (like, i don't mind it, but my view on it has always been pretty neutral, it's just a thing that happens sometimes). erm like first of all thank you for debunking that stupid 'glass skin' thing because for the people who actually don't have glass skin it's such an expectation to live up to, and secondly you're fine as fuck. LIKE SHUT UP RN I WANT TO KISS HIM AUBAUVVFASIKYFSAA. and then there's that picture of him in the car which i can't find rn and he's like looking to the side and he highkey looks like keeho from p1h like um mingi u had no right to look that fine predebut like have you seen skz predebut they literally looked like infants?

everyone else under the cut

ok, onto exhibit b, yunho.

LOOK AT HIM. i actually don't know if this is predebut yunho because he looks damn good but the twitter post said so, so idk but like??? he was either 19 or sub 19 here like???? I DO NOT SEE 19 YEAR OLD MEN OUTSIDE ON THE STREET LOOKING AS FINE AS THIS. and if this picture isn't predebut well my arguement is still valid because the other pictures of him which i can't be bothered to add rn still look cute asf.

i love the predebut pictures of seonghwa because he's so unwhitewashed it's beautiful.

im pretty sure this is a picture of him from the third kq fellaz thingy, so that counts as predebut, but OMFG HIS SMILE??? AND HIS SKIN IS SO NICE AND LIKE UNWHITEWASHED?? LET MY BOY'S SKIN BREATHE OMFG-

here's predebut hongjoong:

LIKE????? HE'S SO CUTE I WANNA PUT HIM IN MY POCKET?? i know this post has disintegrated from me saying predebut ateez were fine to me just fawning over them being cute teenagers but like i would a hundred percent have fallen for them if they had been my classmates or anything so um yeah.

so onto yeosang:

like... the sass? the visuals? from day one? I SEE YOU BROTHER. also ignore how the pictures are getting like younger and younger ok finding predebut pictures is hard. oh yeah and did i mention whitewashing in this post like thank god the predebut pics aren't whitewashed.

ok now san:

LIKE EXCUSE ME???? I HAVE MANY WORDS TO SAY?? like umm he was a hundred percent a twig back then but like one look at his unwhitewashed face and i would have d i e d. he'd have been one of those guys i saw across the street and had to do a double take because he's highkey FINE. also it doesn't help that i acc know a guy who kind of looks like a mix of predebut san and predebut seonghwa who i highkey had a crush on last year but um tmi.

so onto wooyoung:

i acc had to look hard for a good picture where i wasn't about to start cracking up over his bowl cut so we're just gonna accept this one. as you can see he already had the 'i am a kpop idol with trendy shoes on' thing going on so his fate was already destined. also more appreciation for no whitewashing like THANK YOU THANK YOU AAAAAH. also another guy i'd probably have a crush on if they were in my class.

last but not least jongho:

i know there were many funnier pictures i could have put on but like um i just really love this photo bc he just looks so... jongho. erm and let me mention one more time that his skin is breathing!! he's not whitewashed!! what a man.

congrats if you made it to the end of this absolute batshit crazy post

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.3

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1245

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood and injury

Stephanie ran out of the cabin, stopping when she reached open air and breathing in deep, trying to calm her racing heart. She hadn’t been afraid, or uncomfortable, quite the contrary.

“Can I have you?”

“Yes.”

If Sy hadn’t interrupted, she would have given Geralt permission to…do whatever he wanted to her, with her. This was crazy, absolutely insane. She just met the man, for Pete’s Sake. It didn’t feel like simple lust, shallow and fleeting, it felt deeper than that, stronger. She had felt his wolf, had seen it in his eyes, and there had been a hollow feeling inside of her that had grown to a yawning void almost in answer.

“Hey.” She heard and looked over, seeing Walter sitting in a chair by a large firepit. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m--” She started, “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He suggested, moving his head at the chair next to his and she hesitated a moment before going over and sitting down heavily, leaning back with a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That’d be a bit awkward, actually.” She said and he nodded.

“Sy said that the Feral is your boyfriend?”

“Very much ex-boyfriend now, thank you.” She said, moving her toe in the dirt and he snorted.

“You had no idea?”

“I knew he was a wolf, but I was led to believe that Ferals are batshit crazy, can’t control their actions, that kind of thing.”

“They are.”

“But he…” She paused, sighing through her nose, “He had a temper, yeah, but he…I’ve never seen him act erratic. He was always so in control all the time. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Stephanie, unless what?”

“Unless I pissed him off.” She said quickly.

“He hurt you.” Walter said delicately and she nodded.

“He always apologized afterwards.” She said, “And yes, I know how that sounds, but it’s true. He said I made him crazy.”

“It’s not you.” Walter said, “Him being a piece of shit isn’t your fault.”

“Maybe I prodded him too much, let arguments go on longer than they needed, maybe--”

“Hey.” He cut that train of thought off at the station and she looked at him. “There is no reason for someone to lay their hands on their partner in anger. None. Do you understand me?” She was silent. “Stephanie.”

“Yeah.” She said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“Walter.” They looked over, seeing August come out of the cabin, “We need you inside.”

“I don’t exactly want to leave Stephanie alone with that Feral still out there.” Walter said.

“She’s a big girl.” August said with a huff.

“I’ll keep her company.” Mike said, bouncing down the stairs. “I’m not invited to the Super Secret Alpha Meeting, anyway.” Walter hesitated a moment before he got up, Mike sitting down in the newly vacated seat as they moved around each other. “Hey, sweetcheeks.” He said, giving her a wide smile as he leaned towards her over the arm of the chair and she snorted.

“Hey.”

Walter and August turned to head back into the cabin as they started talking, Sy and Geralt standing in the living room.

“Tell’em what you told me.” Sy said and Geralt huffed.

“Stephanie is my Mate.” He said.

“She’s not a wolf.” Walter pointed out.

“I know.” He said, “But my wolf recognized her. She didn’t have one for it to find, but it knew her.”

“He was about five seconds from claimin’ her as a Mate before I walked in.” Sy said and Geralt shot him a look.

“Could she be a passive carrier?” Walter asked.

“Maybe.” August said, “If she ever got a blood transfusion from a wolf. It wouldn’t give her the ability to shift, and she wouldn’t show positive on a test, but she’d have a shadow of a wolf in her.”

“She used to play rugby.” Geralt said.

“Badass, but it'd need to be one helluva rugby accident to need a blood transfusion.” Sy said, “The sport is brutal at times, but it ain’t Thunderdome.”

“It’s a theory anyway.” August said, “Unless we asked.”

“So let’s--”

“Sy!” Mike's yell made them run outside, seeing him on the ground, Stephanie standing between him and Jordan, a naked blade in his hand. Seeing them, Jordan took off, making a break for the treeline, Geralt running after him.

“He came out of fucking nowhere!” Mike exclaimed, holding his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. “I tried to hold him off, but he was damn fast and I--”

“It's okay, Mikey.” Sy said, kneeling by him.

“Steph, she--he tried to go for me again and she put herself between him and me, she…she protected me.”

“So we saw.” Walter said and he went to her. “You all right?” He saw the fresh cut on her lip and took her chin in his fingers, turning her head to look at it.

“I'm fine.” She said, pulling her face out of his grasp lightly, “He hit me when Mike went down. Is Mike okay?”

“It ain't bad.” Sy said, having helped him get his hoodie off after getting him to his feet, “We'll wrap it up inside.”

“I should go.” Stephanie said and Mike whipped his head around to look at her.

“What?” He asked, “You can't go! You can't leave! Sy, tell her she can't leave!”

“You all keep getting hurt because of me.”

“Because of the Feral, Stephanie, not you.” Walter said.

“He's only coming here because she's here.” August said, folding his arms over his chest. “This isn't our problem. She's leaving.”

“Bullshit!” Sy said, “I'm makin’ it our fuckin’ problem, Walker! Or did you forget whose goddamn territory this is?!”

“Sy…” She started.

“Steph, I don't know why this crazy sonuvabitch is fixated on you, but it ain't gonna stop if you go, it'll just make it easier for him to get at you.” He said, “He's rabbitin’ when we make an appearance, so you're stickin’ with us until this gets handled, got it? The only safe Feral is a dead one.”

“August is right, this isn't your problem.”

“And like I told the fuckin’ Donkey, I'm makin’ it my problem.” Mike nodded when he looked at him and Sy moved away from him, going over to her, Walter stepping away slightly. “I don't know what he had planned for you out here, killin’ or infectin’, he came prepared for both, but it's my territory and you're in it. You're not a wolf, Steph, but---” She looked up at him and his words died in his throat.

“Sy?” Walter asked, but he didn't seem to hear him.

“Markus?” August asked.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He whispered and a shudder ran through the area that she didn't feel but the others did.

“Sy?” She asked gently and he reached up, holding the side of her jaw, making her gasp softly as the same feeling as with Geralt brushed over her mind.

“Son of a bitch.” He whispered and leaned into her quickly, kissing her and taking her by surprise. She was unresponsive for a moment before a shiver visibly raced down her spine and she pressed back against him, her eyes closing. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss, a groan shaking his chest as his tongue slipped into her mouth. “Mate.” He gasped as he pulled away after a moment, “Fuckin’ hell, Steph, you ain't just Geralt's Mate, you're mine, too.”

[darkestspring]

Ok hear me out, everyone’s always talking about possessive Aemond, which yeah 100% fair but like what about over the top possessive reader. Like it starts in childhood and reader sees this shy little nerd getting bullied (maybe by siblings jace and Luke) and they just decide Aemond is this sweet little cinnamon roll that deserves better. I love the idea of reader doting in Aemond and just being absolutely batshit feral to aegon and Alicent whenever they mistreat him.

Naturally Aemond falls head over heels for his big strong protector but then years later he’s all grown and handsome and reader now has to fend off all the suitors.

Just two idiots that are each others biggest fans and are so sickeningly sweet to each other but go feral gremlin on everyone else.

THIS IDEA???? OH MY GOD. I HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THIS.

to be honest, when it all started you hadn't cared that much. Jace and Luke told you all about their little teasing and bullyings, you thought it was childish but didn't think about it too much as you focused of your lessons with the septa, trying to learn how to sew a dragon.

But then to had seen it first hand. You had never seen much if Aemond or Aegon, always so focused on your lessons and becoming a proper princess to appease your mother and father but aemond was a scrawny, timid boy and curled in on himself when they brought up dragons.

You felt kinda bad for him, and kind of irritated that he was just taking it. You left your book behind to walk over, your eyes stony as you gazed at you your brothers. "Perhaps, you should focus on actually mastering your bonds with your dragons instead of incessantly causing all of us headaches by mentioning the same thing over and over again, my sweet younger brother." Your voice was sweet as you spoke to jace but it didn't match your eyes.

Jace flinched back as you reprimanded him while Aemond looked at you with awed eyes. You were the first person to actually defend him.

"Or shall I inform mother and grandfather of your actions?" Your rose an eyebrow at him as he backed off and ran off with luke. You turned to Aemond with a clenched jaw. "Are you seriously just going to let them harrass you?"

"I don't have much of a choice." Aemond murmurs and you feel the headache coming on. This is troublesome. Irritating, but you have no choice but to stick by him and protect him.

"Well, come on." You walk away and he stumbles after you.

[ohburrryoureabsolutelyridiculous]

My official review (that absolutely no one asked for):

🗑️🗑️🗑️🗑️- THIS SHIT IS BANANAS B-A-N-A-N-A-S

I am completely over exhausted & should have just waited until tomorrow to fully delve into the chaos that is Hoard & then write a fucking review.

As I sit here even more heavy eyed then when I went into this, I can’t help but to repeat “wow” over & over while I process.

Words I think best describe what you see: Absolutely immersive madness & heartbreakingly beautifully sad.

Stand outs besides Saura, Hayley & Joseph: young Maria (Lily-Beau Leach) is an absolute stand out being as young as she is, I think her performance alone was so compelling. Laraib (Deba Hekmat) easily one of my favorite characters even if we had her for a short time. Your typical bestie sidekick energy & took over scenes she was in (not to mention goodness she’s beautiful)

Overall impression: I truly think this is a wonderfully beautiful film with wonderfully flawed characters. Maria’s life is filled with abuse as a child as well as a young adult, joy, wonderment & grief. Her journey as a child of hoarding into her own madness of hoarding & her sexual awakening is a whole other level. Michael just as deeply flawed, abused, manipulative, manipulated is tragic in his own way. Desperate for love he’s clearly been seeking his entire life, falls mad for a girl, while on the other hand he has a heavily pregnant fiancée he completely disregards at one point leaving a message he wants nothing to do with her or their baby. Their connection to each other I think sheds light on how we all process our grief & how it can continue to impact our lives even years later. As well as shining light on how being in the foster care system for whatever reason(s) also has a major impact on those involved in it. From foster kids to foster parents alike.

Yeah yeah yeah blah blah blah Burr what did you think about Joseph’s performance: Of course you’re going to say I’d biasedly only praise him because it’s him & im 😍 for’em & maybe you’re right. But if you asked me on a deeper level I’d say I thought I wasn’t going to like him but in the end I just want to give him a deep scrub bath, a hug, a kiss on the forehead, & let him know he (affectionately) needs to go to fucking therapy. Our last glimpse of Michael begging a catatonic Maria in her rubbish kingdom to love him just shows how passionate JQ is for his characters & that’s something he does that I’ll always love & admire about him. I think he takes roles that will challenge him as an actor or really just something he can have fun with. His portrayal of Michael had me hating him, loving him, overall heartbroken for him & really just hoping he can get the help he needs to accept the love he has around him. (That being said Michael & Leah leaving together in the end… there’s no hope in my opinion that their relationship will last, with or without the baby. I would hope that Leah would see through his manipulations & finally break the ties to him. I think she truly loves him, but they both deserved so much better than what they are inevitably settling for) *HERE COMES EVEN MORE BIAS* isn’t he so beautiful though? Dear god dear lord

So in conclusion: Hoard is an absolute batshit crazy, messy, boarding at times of grotesque, mindfuck in the best way possible. If you have the chance to see it it’s worth the 2 hour runtime.

[90ekz]

glock in my lap. ✧ t. fushiguro

tags - black fem reader, needy toji, gun kink, mentions of death, dirty talk/degradation, use of “daddy” x1, mating press, creampie, toji is fucking nuts (absolutely no one is shocked), ib shawtuzi

imagine toji grinning wildly as you hold his own gun to his head while he folds you in a mating press.

his strong, brawny arms caging your head in as he goes to town, driven absolutely batshit by the feeling of the barrel against his temple, knowing that one of those bullets could pierce him at any moment.

“mmhm, yea, shit, gonna blow ‘m brains out mama?”

it was the way that he looked absolutely blissed out, like his mind lacked any thought that wasn’t your pussy and the sweet threat of death.

when your arm got tired and you tried to put it down to rest, he begged you to give it back, to give him what he wanted.

“un un, don’t take it away from me—please.”

you settled for pressing the barrel of the gun against his lower half, right near his sensitive spot. he mewled, his thrusts speeding up and hitting your gspot even harder than before.

“ngh fuck—slow down!” he stopped his thrusts completely, smiling even harder as you glared at him. he added a couple more strokes to your pussy, as an apology.

“aw, i thought you wanted me to slow down?”

“toji—please.”

“mmm… gonna make this pussy cry for me, yeah?”

you pressed the gun onto his tongue, successfully catching him by surprise. he gagged a bit, a pink hue spreading across his face.

“g’nna give me what i need now, daddy?”

[eisforeidolon]

Hey there, I hope you don't mind me dropping in here on a topic from a few days ago and harping on about it (I'm not very well-versed on ask boxes so I'm a bit unsure of the etiquette. If I commit a major faux-pas, forgive me). Apologies if this ends up a little long and a lot sarcastic - I have opinions about this. It's given me a fair bit of grief over the years.

Y'know, I see these 'abusive Dean' takes float across my dash a fair bit (apparently not being into Destiel or Wincest means I must be a Bitter Sam-girl instead and hate Dean, according to Tumblr). The oh-so-delightful 'abusive husband Dean and beaten wife Sam' takes. People calling Sam 'beaten wife coded' in general. One based on a grand total of two instances where he flinched cause Dean made a loud violent noise near him (who the hell wouldn't, you don't need to be 'beaten wife coded' to flinch when someone chucks a chair at a wall, it's almost like Sam has some kind of trauma about various other things and might be generally jumpy...). Or taking the end of S10 out of context and choosing to forget that Dean was nearly fully taken over by a mark of fratricide (which he still managed to overcome, they conveniently fail to mention that). And I just... ugh.

What I never understood about these takes is like... why? There's trying to paint your fave in a good light and a character you hate in a bad one, but then there's making the heart and soul of the show itself into something so ugly it ruins it for other people, like your Anon, and honestly this happened to me too a while ago before I forced myself to stop listening to the greater fandom and find a few I trusted (like you). Even still, it gets all up in my head sometimes. Why are these people finding such glee in making the central relationship so awful? What are you getting out of this show if you think that about it?

Like, imagine looking at the finale through this lens. Congratulations, you turned something sad but ultimately bittersweet into something horrible, the 'beaten wife' dedicating the rest of their life to their 'abuser' then being forced to be with them for eternity, and this is portrayed as a good thing. Why would you ever want to view it that way? Plus, it's rather forced if you take it as a whole - the few times Sam stood there looking contrite while Dean did something stupid pale in comparison to the number of times he calls him out on it, even in the later seasons (14x12 Prophet and Loss, anyone? 15x17 Unity?).

I guess people can take from media what they want, it's obviously not my place to police people's enjoyment, but I just never got the appeal. It seems so counter to what the show was clearly actually trying to do, yet they tout it as fact (now where have I seen that before). Like it's somehow a bad thing to enjoy the show on its own terms. Coming across these takes still kinda bums me out. This goes for people insisting it's the other way around too - I can't stand any brother vs. brother stuff either, it's never anything but bad faith, and honestly kinda misses the point. Some of these people boggle my mind with their lack of empathy.

If there's one thing this fandom is good for, it's honing your ability to roll your eyes and move along. It's full of so much absolute batshit insanity that you'll never survive if you listen to every take. Trust me, I've tried. Do you know which tags to block to avoid this kinda stuff? Cause I never seem to be able to.

Sorry if this was a bit of a rant dump, heh. I'm usually a chronic lurker, but this discourse in particular bothers me immensely.

You're absolutely fine, I mind neither bringing up previous topics nor excessive length (be a bit of a hypocrite if I did, tbh). And yeah, it's one of my least favorite SPN fandom discourses, too.

It does feel like it's pretty hard to find any corner of the fandom where you won't at least occasionally see one side or the other's worst faith not!fave-brother-is-terrible takes. And oh, do I hate the 'beaten wife Sam' half of the 'Dean is an abuser' discourse equation just as much. Like, supposedly they like Sam, so why on earth would they want to pretend this stubborn competent badass of a character is actually a helpless pathetic marshmallow?! Same with Dean on the opposite side of the fandom - it's not just the character they're constantly maligning I can't recognize, the character they "like" similarly bears very little resemblance to the one I'm a fan of!

So far as I can tell, some people just desperately need their favorite character to be the best one who is always in the right. Whether it's over-identification or what, I don't know. They seem to think they achieve it by reframing large portions of the canon as justifying, unfairly attacking, or insulting that character as necessary. Except they don't see how from the outside it very often looks entirely absurd, regardless of if they're doing it in favor of Sam, Dean, or Castiel. Which is not to say there aren't parts of canon which treat all of those characters ridiculously in one way or another? But it's the total fixation on it only being the case with their favorite character in every possible situation where it gets weird.

Every great once in a while, I do manage to come across a take that really annoys me. But for the most part? The extreme ones are just so absurd, so divorced from what anyone even vaguely trying to understand the other characters' motivations and what the show quite obviously intended? I just can't take it at all seriously. Especially when they (as they so often do) get canon details wrong or pointedly "forget" all the canon points that blatantly don't fit their narrative.

Unfortunately, like with a certain ship, when it comes to tagging? You're kind of at the mercy of the self-awareness of the poster about how much other people may not want to see their hot takes.

[ye-olde-tardis]

My (real time) reactions to the doctor who episodes that came out today

(S1, E2- space babies)

The intro is so beautiful. It's so pretty I'm gonna cry.

The Rani mentioned

The doctor is being so open about everything it's so refreshing. "I am so, so glad to be alive" BABEEEE AS YOU SHOULD BE!!!

I know there's dinosaurs out there because I've seen the trailer a million times

Star trek mentioned (and is also real???)

Ok so we're getting a ton of trailer clips in the first few minutes of the episode, which i find very interesting

I didn't know I needed the doctor hugging very intelligent, articulate, deep fake babies in space until I got it

HAHAHAA SNOT MONSTER HA IM CRYING

He just made the space station fart, didn't he.

Oh, shit!! she gets a key already?? Wow.

(It was good I'm just. Did they have to say space babies so much?)

(S1, E3- The devils chord)

This guy is so chill. I should take piano lessons again.

FOUR KNOCKS ???? FOUR KNOCKS IM GOING BATSHIT ???? (I live in delulu land)

Maestro scares me. They frighten me.

How is that guy so calm, id be crying

THAT is some top notch fourth wall breaking right there

Oh they're so slay. Oh this is so cool. Oh. Shef's kiss. The SWAG.

Susan mentioned :( (ouchie ouch)

This feels like they're fighting a zelda boss

Honestly I didn't see that twist coming ;)

Oh yeah, I'm getting Marry Poppins vibes from this for sure. Disney's got their hands all up in here.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Ruby's mystery intrigues me. Also, I love how they've made this doctor carefree and lighthearted, but then he has an absolute breakdown when he thinks he can't beat the Maestro.

I *dont* like how it feels like they're trying to have the doctor lore drop all of their biggest secrets just because 'he's more open now'. I mean, honestly, who meets someone and then one adventure later reveal to them that you had kids and they're all dead now. That's some pretty heavy stuff to lay on your new friend, bro. It feels... out of touch(?) With the rest of the show.

Other than that, im really looking forward to that "ruby is a timeless child" reveal. We all know it's coming.