#did not measure properly to make sure it was even. am sure it is not even

[unopenablebox]

blocking lace is. so difficult [ETA: this is about knitting. thanks cham for reminding me that blocking is an ambiguous word lmao. anyway here's the. passive-aggressive parenthetical from the original post.]

(if we are strangers please don't reply to this post by explaining blocking methods or technique to me, or with encouragement. i am aware of many tips. i read the blogs. but sometimes you are doing a thing for the first time and you do it with knowing compromises and a clear-eyed understanding of one's own limited resources and experience. and i want to complain about it here, in my own blog, despite that, without people who don't know things about me showing up with assumptions that they are simply intrinsically more knowledgeable than me bc if i was as good as them i wouldn't express any frustration ever.

if we're buddies it's cool because i invited you here to hear me complain. the vibes are different)

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[mit0bee]

Twisted Wonderland boys with an S/O who's afraid of bugs (me too)

Did I literally just post 5 minutes ago? yes. am i posting again? yes. Stuff you should read: Bulleted HC's because i dont feel like writing an essay like i did with floyds tent hc, no beta we die like men, mention of multiple types of bugs Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Malleus Draconia, Trey Clover, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt, Floyd Leech

(can be read as platonic but i did write it with a romantic relationship in mind)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Leona literally came running into the room thinking you had died or smthn, but no. you were screaming, standing on his bed....all over a small cockroach.

Bro actually sighed. like, a super big sigh, one that youd only get from a dissapointed mother while he stomped on the bug.

"Seriously, Herbivore? You took care of multiple overblots, but a single cockroach gets you all worked up?"

hes grinning so hard. youd want to punch him with how hard hes grinning.

all hes thinking is about the amount he can tease you about this

but, yes. he does get rid of the bug.

unless he was sleeping. then he forces asks ruggie to do it nicely.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

implodes the bug.

im not kidding.

he literally goes full on oceangate on that bug and implodes it

you didnt even have time to properly freak out before the bug was wiped off the face of the earth

"tsunotarou what was that sound?"

"nothing light of my life" *hiding bug corpse*

"are you sure bc i thought i saw a bug"

"nope. no bugs here? should we buy some bug repellant to ease your mind?"

".....no its okay."

you knew he somehow killed the bug.

and it only made you love him even more than you already do.

TREY CLOVER

catches the bug for you and lets it outside.

unlike the first two, he tries his best not to kill the bug.

he pulls the "how would you feel if i stomp on you and kill you?"

"if you killed me while i was a bug i'd thank you"

"you'd be dead, [name]."

"....id thank you from the grave."

he just sighs and shakes his head

probably convinces riddle to let him put anti-bug measures around heartslaybul for you (it didnt take much convincing riddle hates bugs too)

JAMIL VIPER

screams with you

probably set ramshackle on fire more than once while visiting you

you both have to call kalim or adeuce to come exterminate the single cockroach on the ground

again, that one tik tok sound where its like

"YOU KILL THE BUG, YOURE THE MAN!"

"SINCE WHEN."

thats a daily interaction between the two of you

if it happened at scarabia, he'd stay at ramshackle for the next month

literally would abandon kalim (or if he really cant be trusted he'd just bring kalim with him to make sure he didn't cause any problems)

VIL SCHOENHIET

screams with you x2

isn't as dramatic as jamil, but he definitely freaks out about it too.

about the bugs? no. about the bug bites.

again, youd have to call someone to save the both of you so you dont pass tf out and die while he gets eaten alive by a fruit fly

wym fruit flies dont bite? you cant be too cautious.

somehow always has bug repellant with him in the warm seasons

hes prepared and will NOT get any bug bites

EPEL FELMIER

zero reaction, or has a positive one.

"what in tarnation do you mean you hate bugs?! they help with fertilizer blah blah blah blah blah blah (i dont know farming stuff)!"

you have to CONVINCE him to get rid of the bugs, but he'll eventually cave and do it just for you

if you ask him to put up anti-insect measures he'd look at you like youre crazy

"[name]. bugs are actually really good for our ecosystem. back at home we always had to take care of the bugs, or else our crops would die."

"shut up. please. ily, but i cant deal with these bugs."

"okay okay okay fine"

will reluctantly set them up

overall a 4/10 for bug measures he will do it just not unless you beg

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

yells.

not in fear, but in anger because how DARE such a miniscule thing try to terrify the people he cares about?!

doesnt explode it like malleus

but strikes it with lightning.

yk his dorm card groovy? thats what hes doing to a little centipede.

expects you to praise him for protecting you

sure, its a given that he would, but he would very much so appreciate your thanks, and maybe a head pat or smthn

give him one.

now.

FLOYD LEECH

like trey, he lets the bug free

sometimes.

other times he kills it and chases you with the corpse

or keeps it alive and chases you with the living bug

if you REALLYYYYYYYYYY dont like bugs, like straight up sobbing, freaking out, then he wont but otherwise? have fun bro

someone has to seperate you two when you see a bug, because he will do something

sometimes if he's feeling generous he wont do anything and you'll be like "tf? what did you do to be so nice?"

"cant i just be generous towards my shrimpy?"

"no."

".....yeah i almost grilled grim thinking he was food."

"you WHAT."

all of this because of a simple bug

oh to be young and in love ----------------------- m.list @mit0ee 's work, please do not steal!

[your-nanas-house]

hi!! for your cillian requests what about jonathan crane w/ aphrodisiac :3

Hello! Sure thing, dear!!

The Conference

◇ Pairing: professor!Jonathan Crane x student fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, dark, creampie, handjob, protected and raw sex, mean and sub Jonathan, Dom and sub Y/n, dub-con. (there's a lot of things in this fic)

◇ Summary: Dr.Jonathan Crane uses an aphrodisiac on himself and his poor favourite student has to help him.

◇ Note: This really may be one of the longest fic I ever written. It's also an amazing collaboration with @mrkdvidal1989. Well..Enjoy.

Darkness enveloped his surroundings as he moved closer towards the chemistry labs. The clicking of his shoes was the only sound he could hear, his footsteps echoing through the long corridor. He moved slowly and gracefully, his every move being a careful measure in an otherwise dim location.

As he got closer to the chemistry lab, the door appeared open, lights lit up the room inside, and he wondered if his favourite student was still working. 

His icy eyes moved down as his slender fingers pulled slightly up the sleeve of his suit so that he could check the time, 2:00 am he read silently before something quickly caught his attention.

There she was, in all her glory, his little pet, his favourite student, busy with her phone. All the materials and objects she had used were still scattered on the table, she was also still wearing the white lab coat even though her focus was clearly elsewhere.

Crane tutted silently, a mischievous grin stretched on his pink lips. Y/N had her back towards the door, oblivious to the fact that she wasn't alone in the lab anymore. Jonathan watched her carefully, noticing the light swaying and slumped shoulders caused by her tiredness. Perfect

After a moment he stalked closer, his perfectly polished black shoes moved soundlessly against the concrete floor without attracting her attention. Her small, fragile frame allowed him to easily peak over her shoulder, watching the compounds scattered on the table. A quick glance was enough to make him smirk again, as he recognized the familiar, violet but alluring  mixture.

”So hardworking.” He suddenly spoke up right by her ear, causing her to squeak, startled. Y/N turned around, eyes wide in surprise as she put hand on her chest in an attempt to calm down her pounding heart. 

”Professor Crane” She breathed out with relief, looking at him. For a moment the only sound filling the air was her deep breathing, before she straightened her back, looking up at him. ”I lost track of time and… and I'm almost finished with my project.” She explained with flushed pink, slightly ashamed that she overused his kindness staying in his lab for so long. Crane just nodded with understanding before he gestured towards the mixture, focusing back on her face. 

”Have you checked the clearance?” His voice was low, serious tone echoing through the room accompanying his emotionless expression. Distracted by his face, she blinked a couple times. ”a… a clearance?” Y/N repeated foolishly, completely not knowing what he was talking about.

Did I miss something? She wondered, as the sudden wave of anxiety tightened the knot in her stomach. 

”Yes. Have you checked it yet?” His blue eyes gazed into hers so intensely, that she couldn't focus properly. Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she shook her head feeling like a child in trouble. 

”N-no, I haven't.. yet.” She replied quietly, acting like she knew what he was talking about. Jonathan had a hard time restraining his laugh, but he managed to keep his poker face. Nodding along, he shifted to the side. 

”Alright, go on then. Hold it up to the light and look at the consistency.” He instructed in a harsh, teacher tone. Y/n brushed a strand of hair away from her face nodding, before she grabbed the mixture, feeling her Atelophobia kicking back in. 

Holding it in the right hand, she held it up to inspect what her professor requested; a visible light shaking of her limbs made Jonathan’s blank face crack for a split second, allowing the switch to a devious smile that disappeared as soon as it came. Just perfect

Almost too easy, the psychology professor thought, his focused, predatory stare remained on the back of her exposed neck, his tongue darting to escape and wet his plumpy lips. In the process of waiting for the most appropriate time to act.

Jonathan maintained his predatory stare, not letting Y/n quivering limbs or trembling form escape from his sights. It was almost as if he was savouring the buildup, knowing that the effects of the aphrodisiac as soon as it will be taking complete control over his body—  such a perfect scenario to be able to take advantage of the vulnerable state his naive student will be in.

The professor felt his heartbeat quicken and his breath became heavier and shallower. It was as though he was becoming swept up in the moment as well.

”Is… is it good, Dr. Crane?” She asked in a shaky voice, standing two feet away from him, stretching her hands holding the mixture up to the light. Jonathan’s pupils widened slightly as arousal already started working in his body, adrenaline pumping in his veins. 

”Closer” He commanded quietly, watching her feet as she shifted towards the lamp hanging lowly from the ceiling. ”I said closer,” His voice became more harsh, more commanding the second time, startling her visibly. Y/n took a step, and as soon as she wanted to take the other one, her shoe caught on Crane’s foot which appeared out of nowhere on her path. 

A choked gasp left her mouth as she lost her balance, arms getting in the defensive position to minimise the damages in case of a fall. The little glass bottle fell out of her hand, hitting her professor in the shoulder before the content of it splashed on his neck and face, covering his skin in the weird fluid. 

As soon as it made contact, his body started tingling in an almost…pleasant way. Y/n’s body froze as Jonathan inhaled deeply, Adam's apple bobbing up and down visibly on his pale neck. 

Putting on his best acting skills, Crane’s face became red from the anger; despite the horrified look on her face, he fought against his amusement to keep the mask on. 

Huffing with anger he shook his head, trying to get as much fluid off of him as he could or rather trying to spread it better, moving frantically and suddenly. Appearing enraged, he slowly made his plan come true. Studying psychology for long years, he knew exactly what body language put on to be convincing enough. 

”Fuck!” He barked angrily, taking off the jacket with a huge stain on the shoulder. ”What the fuck did you do!” He yelled, turning to face her. His eyebrows furrowed at her frozen state, when she stood not moving, eyes teary and lips parted in shock. Crane couldn't help but notice how her hands trembled more.

Jonathan's anger turned into scolding as he continued to act mad, pretending to be absolutely furious with his poor tired student. He had to be completely convincing, for he wasn't really upset in the slightest.

"How could you be so careless?!" Jonathan asked, his voice filled with fake anger and disappointment  "Don't you know how dangerous that is?! Haven't I taught you anything at all?" he added, scoffing at her still shocked self. 

Jonathan could feel the strange liquid begin to seep down his skin, the sensation an eerie and disturbing one for him. His expression became neutral for a split second, before Y/N finally moved, getting his attention. 

”I-I’m… I'm sorry I… I don't know what happened, I-I… I didn't mean to…” She stuttered out, trying to explain herself and her clumsiness, completely unaware of the fact that she was only a puppet in his evil psychotic show. 

”It doesn't matter!” His voice boomed through her attempts of apologising properly. Y/n’s shoulders slumped, as she wanted to cover herself from shame, her body completely tense. 

Her heart was beating wildly, she could already feel the familiar tingling sensation caused by the negative emotions and the guilt, which was eating her. 

She was familiar with these emotions but still had difficulty mastering them, even though she had to...she didn’t want to make the situation worse with her still furious professor— risking that way to look even more pathetic as she fell into the vortex of stress that often ended in a painful and long panic attack.

Y/n wasn’t in the right situation or in the right place to give in to her fears and weakness, not even if the knot in her throat was making it pretty hard for her to breathe correctly. Focus she thought to herself, forcing her shiny eyes to snap back towards Jonathan’s face. Her nostrils slightly dilated and her jaw tightly clenched as if it would have helped her to let everything in and not show what she was actually feeling at that moment.

”I have a conference in…” He pulled his sleeve up revealing the expensive watch on his wrist, checking the time again. ”...an hour! Look what you did!” He pointed at the huge stain before scratching the itchy skin on the back of his neck. ”Fuck it starts working.” He breathed out heavily with a huff. 

At this point her face became teary, her breath getting heavier, her chest tight, and Jonathan couldn't be more happy from how well his plan was going. ”You are going to take me out of that state, and better do it fucking fast, unless you want me to talk to the principal about your lack of basic skills!” He spat out harshly, looking how wheels turned in her head before she gasped quietly at the realisation that… she didn't know exactly what the antidote was.. besides… sexually relieving the victim— since she based her whole experiment on Poison Ivy’s sex pollen. 

”Are you deaf?” He mocked, looking down at her with a stern facial expression, making Y/n finally snap out of her realisation; her body moving and turning back to the desk as she rummaged through the notes and components, trying to quickly find a solution as she read through her neat handwriting holding the papers with a shaky hand— her mind on the edge of panicking. 

Jonathan stood behind her, watching the desperation visible through her every move, he could clearly tell that her head was running miles. Suddenly his smirk started fading as the aphrodisiac fully penetrated his skin, getting to his nerves and beginning to work its magic. His pupils widened, icy blue irises almost invisible at this point. His breathing increased, skin started sweating more as his muscles clenched and relaxed alternately, causing him to lean back on the counter. 

Heavy sigh left his lips getting her attention, but she didn't dare to look at him for a longer moment. Up until he rolled his sleeves up, his veiny hand rubbed his arms, trying to relieve the stingy feeling all over his body before reaching down and rubbing up his crotch desperately, feeling the uncomfortable tension. Burning

Y/n’s eyes quickly fixed on her professor, studying his desperate state as she kept feeling guilty. Was it really her fault? She shouldn’t have worked on that project of hers in Dr. Crane’s lab and left her work-in-progress there at that hour, she should have brought it home or at least… paid more attention when her professor just tried to help her.

That’s what Jonathan wanted her to think.

The helpless expression on his face covered snugly the satisfaction in his icy, blue eyes. The poor girl, he thought, watching the worry and guilt in her gaze. He gulped loudly, panting dramatically as his pale and freckled skin flushed due to the effects of the strong aphrodisiac she….well, he spilled on himself.

A thing that he didn’t plan though, were the pretty strong and painfully annoying effects that Y/N included in the project, due to the limited knowledge about chemical compounds, not reaching the level of her brilliant professor.

Jonathan's body was on fire. All his senses seemed to heighten, and hot burning pierced his skin in places that he never felt before. 

Breathing deeply he tried to slow down his racing heart, muscle pounding so fast and hard that he would be worried if not the uncontrollable thoughts; his freckled, pale skin ached for a gentle or any touch. He didn’t really care, he just wanted… no— needed Y/n on him, all over him, doing unforgivable things to his needy body. 

His whole body felt tingly and numb at the same time, and he was struggling to keep his thoughts straight with all the rushing hormones— that’s when he started to move unconsciously, just when Y/n turned back towards the desk again, trying to ignore the state he was in, looking so… needy and so desperate. 

The poor student didn’t even have the time to register what was happening, she just felt a tight grip on her hips and in a couple of seconds she was pressed harshly, flat against the lab table— an almost animalistic panting against the back of her neck and Jonathan’s body lying on her, nearly crushing her ribcage on that wooden surface. Her breath knocked out at the sudden action.

“Fuck” Dr. Crane grunted, grounding his hips as his hands kneaded roughly on her breasts, since he cupped them before, managing to bend her down. He felt like an animal in heat at that moment, so desperate and so blind in front of the lust that was taking over his whole body.

His hips kept moving as if following a rhythm, his cock pressing against the front of his pants in a pleasant but still painful way— his hands still groping harshly Y/n’s round chest, pressing and pulling while also kneading with need and hidden satisfaction. They are as soft as they look Crane thought in his moment of pure desperation.

”Wh-what are you doing?” Y/n squealed, pinned to the desk with his weight. 

”Shhh.. I… I need it.” He moaned out, but slowly grinding on her ass wasn't enough. His angrily hard cock throbbed in his pants, relentlessly demanding immediate attention. He was getting frustrated with how little she was cooperating, and it felt like fire was blowing his veins. His skin was burning and itching as he whined lowly, dropping his head on her shoulder with a huff. 

”Touch me” He hissed out, pulling her up and turning around to face him. She remained pressed against him, but her hands were still, not moving or getting near his needy, aching body. He was losing his mind. ”F…fucking please” Jonathan cried out finally, when his cock started pulsing painfully in his briefs. 

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to keep her own lust and nervousness on a leash. 

Rubbing her thighs  together she hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice cracking in an almost pathetic way...if Jonathan wouldn’t have been in that situation with that mindset he would have probably mocked her “P-Pull it out, Prof-”. She stopped quickly, a new battle starting inside of her head, how was she supposed to call him? She couldn’t for sure refer to him with his qualification.

Dr. Crane had other intentions apparently, he didn’t let her think much about that…too eager to have her whole attention back on him and his now leaking cock. Standing proudly against his flat stomach was a thick, long member. The veins wrapped around it stick out even more than usually, as it throbbed impatiently. Cold air was enough to make him hypersensitive as he mewled, touching the tip and spreading precum on it. Red colour of his skin revealed how much he needed the release.

At the sight Y/n jumped slightly not expecting Jonathan to be so forward, just standing there… so close to her, holding his shaft as he moved closer to her in an attempt to probably seduce her and make her finally touch him like he had begged her for. The psychology professor managed to take another step before a loud slap echoed in the quiet room, his mind too fogged to realise immediately what she did but the stingy sensation on his cheek made it clear. He could have been mad but just the contact of her bare skin against his made him whine desperately, his eyes blow out in pure need and submission. He would have done anything….literally anything to finally have his release with her help.

Y/n's breathing had become more elaborate, her body was full of adrenalin at that moment which allowed her to act instinctively and impulsively, although it was better to work through the whole situation with a clear and rational mind.

Come on, the young student yelled in her head, gulping softly as she moved her gaze slowly back down to take a peek at her professor’s cock. Do it, just do it, she repeated, nodding slightly to herself before moving her tiny hand closer to the throbbing cock, gathering the courage to grab it, but before she'd manage to do so, Jonathan pushed his hips forward impatiently, forcing her hand in the worst way. 

Y/n looked up immediately, anger sizzling in her eyes at his unhinged behaviour. As soon as he tried to make her grab it again, her other hand made contact with his flushed cheek in a harsh slap. Crane’s lips parted in surprise, as he felt a drip of blood going down his chin from his lower lip.

”One more time, and I'll tie you up and leave you alone. All needy and crying” She warned with a scolding tone, Jonathan’s expression reminded her one of a kicked puppy; it was nearly distracting, his gaze so focused on her was hypnotic and the way his plumpy lips kept softly trembling was entertaining as he breathed deeply, almost like he was about to cry. 

A deep breath broke the silence that had been surrounding them after the slap, the young student nodded slightly before finally letting Jonathan rest his heavy member on her open hand. Her eyes focused on the task and on the cock in front of her, she could feel it twitch every time her acrylic nails brushed against the prominent veins.

Her breath was heavier, not like Crane’s was— he was panting like an animal in heath just craving..no, needing her touch. His icy eyes staring at her hand while tears started forming in them, he could feel his stomach tightener at every second that passed. He didn’t even dare to speak, afraid to scare her or just piss her off, making her slow movements come to a stop— he couldn’t let it happen, not now that her small feminine hand was finally reaching the angry red tip of his cock.

Y/n moved her wrist, gulping softly before finally wrapping her fingers around it trying to give it a testing pump staring with wide eyes how the foreskin followed her movement, exposing more the leaking  tip “Shit” Jonathan cursed in a hiss, letting out a choked sob before ordering her with a shaking voice “Spit on it, you little slut”. 

The poor man was feeling the effects of the aphrodisiac more and more, he could feel them crawl all over his body making it difficult for him to breath normally or think straight, a thin layer of sweat was already covering his flushed skin.

Her professor’s hand snatched hers, motiving it quickly closer to his handsome face as if he wanted to kiss it, ending up spitting on her palm catching completely off guard; her pretty face slowly twisted in a grimace of uncomfortable disgust.

After a couple of seconds passed… where she didn’t do nothing, Jonathan bad temper snapped again, his mean part coming out “Fuckin’ touch it already!” he screamed in her face, catching her off guard for the second time in a row, his hips moving forward as his hand held her smaller one wrapped back around his length. His hips established a rhythm to relieve his pain…his free hand flying to cup her breast after nearly ripping off the lab coat she had still tidily on. How long is it going to last?

Consequently Jonathan's outburst, Y/n allowed him to continue to seek the pleasure he so badly needed, an expression of disgust still present on her face. His panting was quite disturbing now, she could feel the warmth of it and of his whole body that clearly looked like it was on fire and it kind of worried her. All her fault, that’s all your fault, she kept repeating to herself as she tried to find a solution… a way to help the man that was standing in front of her, moaning like a pornstar just for her. 

“O-Okay, Dr. Crane I-I….” she started, her voice shaking softly as she tried to speak with him— but he wasn’t listening at all, too busy in the activity he was engaged with. Y/n’s heart pounded, the unusual and somehow odd situation causing adrenaline to rush through her veins. She was lost in how to properly handle the situation, but one glance at him was enough to decide. Anger and desperation was filling his icy gaze, eyes cloudy and focused on his cock as she stroked it. Annoyance appeared in her mind at how easily influenced she was for him, as she huffed with anger. 

You want me to touch you? I fucking will then, she thought, as her hand gripped his manhood harder, stroking it harsher as the other hand rested on his chest. 

Jonathan felt almost deaf, his heart beating so fast and hard that it could be heard from any part of his body…he was feeling like on a rollercoaster, adrenaline rushing and filling his slender self.

As soon as Y/n started to feel Jonathan’s grip on her hand become less tighter, freeing her caged hand, she removed it completely in a quick motion. Feeling it, Jonathan's head lolled back with a high pitched, desperate groan. A choked cry pushed past his lips at the lack of stimulation. He didn't expect her to do it, his lips parted as he tried to breathe but his lungs burned, just like his skin that started heating up and itching again. His legs started shaking as a couple tears streamed down his face, but Y/n wasn’t as fazed by his state anymore, and she just wiped her palm on his white shirt, not really caring that he had an important meeting in just… thirty minutes.

“Strip” the young woman ordered with a simple word, not adding anything else. Her expression was stern and kind of pissed, she was tired and this was taking too long for her. She was also ready to take any decision or precaution to be able to get over this.

“I said fucking strip, you brainless slut” the student repeated, raising her voice just like Jonathan had done earlier, screaming at him the respect that was pulling her back now completely gone. There was still nervousness in her body, she was shaking a bit because of the different emotions present. To her surprise Dr. Crane started to take off his expensive suit, replying to her stern tone and insult with a pathetic whine… she could have kicked him in the face at that moment and he would have just licked her sole, whimpering and shaking for her.

As Jonathan peeled all the fabric off his body, watching it drop on the floor, the cold air hit his overwarm body, his nipples erect just like his hair which were standing due to the shiver and the goosebumps, Y/n couldn’t stop watching him move like a puppet. 

Her hands moved on their own, resting on his warm, pale and freckled chest… caressing in slow motions his skin as her eyes moved slowly across his naked self— it felt nice, it relieved the burning and stingy sensation Jonathan kept feeling but it wasn’t enough. Just when he was about to say something, to plead, whine and whimper, she used all her strength to push him away from her.

His body stumbled, hitting the nearest object that was right behind him which happened to be a chair… a iron, cold tiny chair that made him hiss as soon his skin made contact with it completely. His hairy pale thighs spread open, twitching due to the coldness of the surface, just like his back that arched in such a pathetic way.

“Fucking told you that I would have tied you down, you wasted your second chance, Dr. Crane” Y/n warned him, murmuring mostly to herself as she started to tie down his limbs, making sure to make a tight knot so that he really couldn't move without her wanting him to.

His heart kept racing, his body was in such a state that it just kept leaning towards Y/n’s every time she moved slightly closer as she fixed the ropes.

The young woman took a step back, admiring silently the desperate and subby state Crane had fallen in, his mouth open as he panted like a wild animal, his body trembling softly as his cock kept twitching and aching for relief.

She took a step forward this time, Jonathan’s eyes fixed on her as his head remained hanging low, he couldn’t tell what she was doing by all that wiggling but he discovered soon since he found himself with her wet thong in his mouth, his spit wetting it even more. She was bare, she was finally bare under the skirt she had on, he thought… his body still and tensed, too afraid to even move a muscle.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, her smaller body towering over his sitting position. Her finger interwoven with his black locks, he could feel her acrylic nails massage teasingly his scalp— it was gentle and carrying.. before she got a better hold on his hair and pulled at them harshly.

“Don’t come too fast, because I won't stop until I finish, got it?” his favourite student warned as she carefully straddled him, her bare wet pussy now pressing against his throbbing leg.

Earning just a choked moan from Crane she started to grind slowly on it, pressing her body closer to his to find the right angle were her clit would have been touched correctly. Their eyes remained locked all the time, even if Jonathan kept occasionally rolling his eyes back because of the pleasure, his gathering spit slowly dripping down on his chest. 

Condoms, Y/n thought quickly, her eyes growing wide as her breath increased “Do you have a condom?” she asked, knowing well that he couldn’t really reply to her with the cloth stuck in his mouth— his eyes just moved, following her movements as she decided to turn around, now her round cheeks gifted him with some relief as she grabbed his pants and started searching for anything there. Condoms, pills, some kind of protection. Finding just a tiny bottle of lube with his initials on it. 

“Oh, you pervert. Bet you use it to jerk yourself of” she mocked, moving back in the straddling position, her hands following the form of his nose, down to his plumpy lips “Guess no relief then, huh” she murmured, watching him carefully. She sure found Dr. Crane attractive and she would have lied if she said that she never had impure thoughts on him or just a need to try and feel how his lips tasted. She could now.

Her eyes remained on his open lips for a couple of seconds before she leaned in, removing harshly her thong from his mouth, earning a meowing sound from Crane, which died down as soon as her lips pressed against his. 

Her tongue entered his mouth easily, making them entwine into a deep and sensual dance, exploring each other's mouths and teasing with delight. Their bodies were more pressed up against each other, her soft hands remained wrapped around his neck to feel his Adam apple bobbing as he gulped.

In that moment of pure passion, something fell from the pocket of her blouse, dropping right on Jonathan’s lower stomach “Guess you have luck by your side today, Professor” Y/n praised as soon as she broke the kiss, watching their split still link them in a hot and sensual way. She moved her hands from his neck and grabbed the condom she had in her pocket without knowing…using her teeth to slowly open it while she grinded her hips against his.

The thong went back in Dr. Crane’s mouth as she stood back up to roll carefully the condom on his thick, long length, watching it wrap perfectly around his size “There we go” she whispered, using the lube she had found to prepare herself before finally sink down in a quick motion on his cock, her tight warm pussy clenching around him like a tight fit. Crane's head dropped down with a hiss at the tight squeeze, just like his jaw, the sensation that came so quick didn't let him time even try and control his imminent first orgasm. It was cruel, mean but Y/n was enjoying every part of it. 

She didn't know how Jonathan managed to not shoot his load, filling up the condom, and signing that way the ending of that all. But he managed, so Y/n started to roll her hips slowly before increasing the speed to hear the pathetic sounds coming out of Crane's bruised mouth. He was moaning with each move, whining whenever she'd squeeze him too hard, or sink her nails in his skin.

She was bouncing, riding him as if he was a wild horse, her thighs pressed against each of his thighs, holding him down while she searched her own peak… not really carrying anymore of Jonathan's state.

”I honestly didn’t expect you to be that big” His student praised with a veiled insult, hissing into his ear. He wasn't even able to respond as the next deep stroke pushed him over the edge, as he cried out pulsing between her velvet-like walls. His hands thrashed, tied up, as the need to grab her hips while he'd fill the condom up with his hot cum. Y/n didn't care, and she kept moving over and over, chasing her own high with head tilted back as the pleasure fully consumed her mind and body. She wasn't even aware of the pace as she kept milking him despite his whiny cries, moving violently on his hypersensitive cock. 

”F-fuck” He spat out, his voice still muffled, saliva dripping down his chin when his eyes rolled into the back of his head. More curses followed after the first that slipped from his lips, his body shaking uncontrollably as he felt the pleasure bult itself in his lower stomach. It was driving violently and forcefully like a train, about to go off the rails and hit him with all his force. The condom being filled for the second time by his seed, she kept going just like his load that kept being spilled without a stop. The amount of cum he could pump just minutes apart would usually impress her, if she wasn't so long gone in the maddening pleasure that his thick girth provided, stretching her out and pushing his way to her g spot with each thrust. 

The pleasure he was giving her was making her slowly reach her own climax, turning her head in a foggy and drunk state of mind when she squeezed her eyes shut, as her cunt clenched down on his member, making it impossible to thrust despite the overflowing fluids splashing between them as she reached her peak, shaking and crying out as her muscles gone fully numb for a moment from the powerful orgasm that made her nearly squirt. 

Only then did she realise that Crane was cumming as well, again, and she wouldn't care a bit, if it wasn't for the… thick, sticky fluid dripping down her thigh. Y/n’s eyes widened at the sensation, and she jumped off of him faster than she would ever anticipate, earning a loud strucked whimper from her professor. 

“Look at what you did!” she yelled, a bit panicked from the situation she was in, his seed still dripping down her thighs even when she tried to push it out. Staring at his engorged cock, that was still twitching. Red and wet, laying on his thigh even though it was still very much hard. The condom that she previously put on him, now with a giant hole, halfway down his dick.

The role switched, now Crane was the one with tearful eyes and she was the one furious with him. What was she supposed to do? She thought to herself, cleaning her dripping pussy with the nearest cloth before meeting Jonathan’s icy eyes. He caused it… so it was only fair that he found a solution to that, just like she did earlier for her mistake. 

After a deep breath the student moved closer to her professor, freeing him from his restrictions which made his pale freckled skin a bit sore and bruised, just before taking a step back “You need to find a solution for the mess yo—” she stopped mid sentence with a gasp, and his big slender hands grabbed her roughly, pushing her towards the white table. 

He didn't hesitate, and his moves weren't thoroughly measured or rational, like his usual way to think and act. He was an.. animal with a fire in his baby blue eyes, as he smashed her down onto the desk, dropping test tubes and vials onto the ground. 

Bent in half, Y/n couldn't do much besides reaching back to push him away in desperation, but it didn't help much as he twisted her arm, pushing it down while kicking her legs open, relentless in his motives.

”Shut up” He hissed out while reaching down to her heat, pushing his two fingers in as he checked how wet she was. Feeling his own cum leaking out of her, he grinned in the mischievous way, feeling how his veins were still on fire. 

Pushing her head down into the desk, he kept her quiet while his big hand tangled into her soft hair. Without any further notice, he lined up the pulsing tip of his hard cock with her tight pussy, groaning loudly at the choked gasp that pushed past her lips as he filled her up. 

”N-no!” She squealed while wiggling her hips to the side, struggling but still attempting to get away from him. ”I’m not on the pill!” 

Crane's hand fell near her face, patting it mockingly before he shoved two fingers into her mouth, silencing her successfully. 

”Shhhhh” He cooed with a grin, before he snapped his hips forwards making her cry out with him as his fat cock hit her cervix suddenly. She stopped moving as soon as the pain set in, and seeing it, Crane repeated his move laughing out when she squealed. The aphrodisiac was slowly wearing out, and he was more than happy to give her a lesson for teasing him.

“Fuckin’ take it” Jonathan murmured breathless, pressing his body against her back to keep her still while thrusting again before shooting more inside of her cunt, still moving as he groaned, biting her shoulder as he pumped some more of his semen into her. 

Her body moved almost automatically as she hit his ribs with her elbow, catching him off guard and that way free herself a bit… enough that she could turn around to face him fully, her hand flying towards his face, slapping him across the face with the back of her hand. It didn’t really go like she was expecting, Jonathan just answered with a lustful moan and his hand moved roughly to her neck, taking a hold of it. Just resting at the beginning, as his pace picked up on a speed, his long fingers wrapped around her slim throat, squeezing it as he cut off the airflow while his hips slammed wildly against hers, leaving red marks. Her own hands kept fighting him as best she could, till the pace increased, allowing her just to scratch, claw and dig her fingernails in his pale skin, her eyes rolling back as his fat cock kept abusing her sweet spots without any kind of mercy. 

They both were panting, their heartbeat beating like crazy in their chests and they both could hear it since Crane leaned closer, resting his sticky sweaty forehead against hers, breathing with his mouth against her lips— leaning roughly down a couple of seconds later to claim a feverish kiss. He stole Y/n’s much needed air and made her squirm more, even though she reciprocated the kiss, biting down harshly on his bottom lip drawing blood from it, which wet her own lips before dropping a bit on her flushed face as soon as Jonathan leaned back with a desperate whimper of pure, raw lust.

”Going to… to cum” He breathed out, his tone was back to the low one, filled with authority and dominance almost the same as the one he used during his lectures. If she could, she'd roll her eyes at the way he was back to being a cocky, commanding bastard... if it wasn't for the massive cock splitting her nearly in half. Her right hand moved away from him, diving down where they were connected to gather some of their arousal and rub her clit in quick motion, increasing the speed just in time. Her pussy clenched around his cock as her body spasmed softly because of the orgasm that just hit her whole body, she could feel Jonathan’s seminal fluid spill out of her cunt and slowly down on her ass and lab table.

It all stilled, their breathing was the only noise in that empty room “Y-Yo…Your conference, Dr. C-Crane” she reminded him breathless as she held back loud sobs caused by the pleasure and all the emotions that filled her smaller body.

Breathing deeply, he leaned back while running a hand through his hair as he chuckled. 

”Right. The Conference.”

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys, @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

[moongreenlight]

Ok I’m in the middle of doing four thousand things at once right now but I am personally having some thoughts about Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick that is forcing me to pause everything.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

He is so unbelievably obsessed with your pleasure. Obsessed with your sweet cunt and the way it reacts to him and his touch.

Literally cannot get off from head unless you’re 69ing because he needs to know that he’s making you feel good too. The combination of you mewling and gagging around his cock and the way you clench around his fingers when you come is guaranteed to get him to reach his high every time.

He honestly doesn’t even need to bury his cock in you. He can get himself off laying in bed with his head buried between your legs. Grinding against the sheets. Feeling you buck your hips against the tip of his tongue.

OBSESSED with giving you head. Daydreams about it. It’s all he fucking thinks about. And he’s SOOOOOO good at it. Takes time to watch the porn that you like so he can try to replicate some parts of it. Memorizes all the things you like and dislike. Incredibly attentive to all your tells. Is also SO coachable. Like he listens to directions for a living. A little to the left? Faster? Slower? Harder? Softer? Anything you want followed to a T.

He’s a pillow princess enabler. Buys you silk pillowcases and sheets and builds you a little nest in the bed before he settles in for the night. Rotating between licking at your pussy and fucking into you ruthlessly. Wouldn’t dream of asking you to get on top because god knows he tires you out enough as it is and he wouldn’t want to risk you needing to take a break or end things before he was properly done with you. Routine pauses to make sure you drink water. Feeds you sweets and cut up fruit or granola to keep your energy up because he’s so thoughtful.

Pleasure dom for sure. Practically demands that you send him videos of you touching yourself when you’re away from him on holiday or when he’s at work. Begs to see a picture up your skirt of your soaked panties after he’s spent your entire lunch break guiding you over the phone through multiple orgasms in your car. Insisting it will help you focus throughout the rest of your day.

He also definitely takes videos of you with your permission. Buys a tripod and everything. Zooms in close on your cunt so that he doesn’t miss a single detail. Takes hours and hours to lick at your clit in slow, measured strokes. Or he has you prop yourself up doggy style so he can pump a few fingers in you. Watching the way your sweet cunt drools and clenched and twitched around him. And he’ll go at it for HOURS. I mean it. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you can’t stay up anymore. Can’t keep your legs from shaking. The breeze from the AC kicking on sends you screaming into your pillow because you’re so sensitive without him even touching your clit. At that point he’ll flip you over his knee and keep at it until you’re screaming and crying and physically cannot produce another orgasm. He’ll pout his lip a little even though his fingers have gone pruny from being buried in you so long, but he’ll be so gentile when he rolls you onto the bed and tucks you in. Rubs your back and massages your scalp until you fall asleep. Cooing into your neck about how well you did for him. How good you are. How much he loves making you feel good. Makes him feel good too.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hiii can I request a Kinktober JD x AFAB reader that includes: marking kink (on JD’s end), praise kink for either character, and an oral fixation/face sitting (reader receiving)? all fine if not

absolutely you can! thanks for requesting something for kinktober, I really hope you like it <3

Kinktober 2024 Day 15: marking kink, praise kink, and oral fixation/face-sitting with Jason Dean x afab reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, marking kink/biting, swearing, praise kink, oral fixation/face-sitting, brief hair pulling, JD gets a little subby towards the end (I regret nothing), implied/mentioned overstimulation

You weren't sure how long JD had spent with his face between your thighs, but it was certainly long enough to both infuriate you and leave you desperately wanting more.

See, the problem was he hadn't actually started eating you out like you'd initally hoped. Instead he decided to mark up the inside of your thighs first, biting and sucking the sensitive skin there until they were practically covered with hickeys.

It was almost as if he was determined to make them match the lovebites on your neck, which was kind of funny considering no one would even be able to see the inside of your thighs except him. Then again, the thought alone of only him knowing about the marks there probably got him off, the possessive bastard.

"Can you just hurry up already?" You snapped after a while, starting to get fed up with his teasing.

He lifted his head up, a taunting smirk toying with his lips as he watched you. "I'm sorry, am I keeping you from something?"

A low growl of frustration formed in the back of your throat as you reached your hand down to grab onto his hair, yanking his head up a little bit more. "You've had your fun messing with me, but I'm starting to get sick of it."

He kept smirking, trying to remain calm and collected, but you didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed somewhat in annoyance at the action of you grabbing his hair. "And just what do you suggest I do instead?"

You could've smacked the smug look off his face in that moment and not felt the slightest bit guilty. "Get up and lay down on the bed," you ordered while letting go of his hair, not being gentle about it either. "I'm in charge now, which means you're going to do as I say."

For once, he didn't protest (but that was most likely only because he thought it was really hot whenever you bossed him around). He did as you told him to, casually laying back with his hands tucked behind his head. "What, are you finally going to repay me?"

It was difficult not to roll your eyes at his question. Of course he would think the only reason you were telling him to move was so that you could give him a blowjob. After all the waiting that he put you through? Yeah, as if.

"It's cute how you always manage to find a way to make things about you, even in situations when they're very clearly not." Your words were an obvious jab straight at his ego, and while they didn't make as big of a blow to it as you'd hoped they certainly didn't miss judging from the way he removed his hands from behind his head. It was as if he was realizing you had no intent at the moment of helping him get off.

"What's your point?" He looked a bit miffed, his tone holding a snippy edge to it as he kept his eyes trained on you.

"My point is that since you've refused to get me off in the way that you were supposed to, I'm having to resort to other measures." You began moving on the bed as you spoke, shifting until you were kneeling over top of his face, your thighs on either side of his head as you stared down at him with a displeased gaze.

He didn't seem at all upset by the sudden turn of events, and in fact appeared delighted to have you on top of him like that, but his pride still hurt a little from the way you so casually dismissed the idea of giving him a blowjob as a reward for helping you get off (something that he hadn't even properly done yet). "So this is your plan, then? Suffocating me as a punishment for not doing what you wanted?"

"If I wanted to suffocate you, I wouldn't bother with using my thighs. I'd just grab a pillow instead. Much easier."

Your direct manner of answering his snarky question caused him to let out an amused chuckle in response, once again reminding him why he loved you. "Fair enough."

"Now, shut up and do the job you were supposed to have done in the first place," you ordered in a stern tone as you lowered yourself down until your wet pussy made contact with his mouth, a soft groan of pleasure exiting your lips as you finally got some of the friction you so desperately needed.

He let out a soft hum, his tongue darting out almost immediately to lick a stripe along your folds. As much as you hated to admit it, he knew what he was doing when eating you out and was really good at driving you crazy because of it. If only he wasn't such a brat all the time.

You let out a breathy moan, slowing grinding yourself down onto his face. The feeling of his tongue lapping at your wet hole while his nose brushed against your throbbing clit made your back involuntarily arch in pleasure.

His hands gripped onto your thighs as you sat on his face, just tight enough to keep your balance steady. You had no idea whether he could breathe properly or not in his current position, but he didn't seem to care much either way.

"That's it, good boy." The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You always felt the need to praise him for doing a good job, even if he didn't deserve it. "Just like that."

Your words spurned him on further, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulled you closer to his mouth, if that was possible. He seemed determined to please you, if only to hear those words again. He was so self-centered.

Still, you chose to reward his current good behavior regardless. "You're doing so good, just like that- You can be so well-behaved when you want go be, can't you?"

He responded with a muffled hum, one that seemed to shake you to your very core (in a good way). "Oh, God-" Your hands moved to grab onto the headboard as your eyes fluttered shut. It was getting a little hard for you to keep your current balance, which made you grateful for the firm grip he had on your thighs. "If you can make me cum right now, I'll be so proud of you."

That really did the trick of getting him motivated to get you to your "happy ending". As much of an ego he had, your reassurance that you were proud of him was enough to make him forget all about it, if only for the time being.

Swirling his tongue, he began to eat you out fervently, as if his whole life depended on it. Even after your legs began to tremble worse than before, even after a series of pants and moans escaped you in the heat of your climax, even after you all but collapsed on top of him, he kept going until told him to stop.

"Alright, baby. I think that's it for now," you announced while moving off his face, an action that elicited a needy whine from him.

"I wasn't done yet," he insisted with a pathetic looking pout, his hands instinctively reaching for you again as you laid back on the bed, trying to catch your breath.

"You can get so pitiful sometimes, did you know that?" You lightly teased as you watched him plant soft kisses along the hickeys he'd left behind earlier on your thighs. It was hard to stay mad at him when he was acting like a lovesick puppy.

"Can I keep going?" He begged, lifting his head up just enough to be able to catch your gaze, his face resting on your thigh as he watched you.

"Well, since you did so good for me I suppose I can let your little attitude from earlier slide."

No sooner had those words left your mouth did he shove his face right back to between your thighs, lapping eagerly at your aching folds and clit. Your hand moved to gently grip onto his hair, your head tilting back against the pillows behind you as you got comfortable. Something told you he wouldn't let up until you were an even bigger moaning and pleading mess than before, and of course you ended up being right.

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[midnightwind]

I'm making the almost kiss messier, for me (okay technically this is a few days after, but close enough) if you don't like the idea of Spite being into the Rookanis relationship, maybe don't read this lol

Summary: Spite tries to help. Things might be worse now. (just kissing and little touches, very pg, lot of yearning tho)

Word Count: 1705

She stood numbly before the pantry door, her heart in her throat. An air of guilt hung heavy around her shoulders. She had tried to give him space, busying herself by helping Taash and Bellara outside the Lighthouse. Things had felt so fragile and she was almost petrified that she had egged him into doing something he didn't want. But she wanted to visit Treviso and it felt wrong to go without at least inviting him. So she tentatively raised her hand and knocked gingerly on the door.

“Lucanis?”

There was a quiet shuffle from inside, but it was brief. She cracked the door slightly, unsure. If he was properly resting, she didn't want to ruin that. He was perched on the cot, slumped back against the wall. A cup was cradled in his lap, fingers slack. Had he fallen asleep halfway through a cup of coffee? She couldn't help the fond smile that tugged at her lips. He'd make a mess if he startled awake. She slipped silently inside, the door closing quietly behind her. With soft steps, she padded to his side and paused.

She had reasoned the intrusion with the idea of moving the cup then seeing herself out, but now that she was close she seemed to freeze. His shoulders rose with each breath, slow and peaceful. The heavy bags under his eyes were more obvious from this close and even though he was finally, finally sleeping, the exhaustion hung heavily from his features. She wanted to ghost feather touches along his jaw, card her fingers through his hair, press gentle kisses to his skin, anything to coax the stress from him. Her hand started to reach for his cheek, unbidden, before she caught herself. Grinding her teeth in frustration at the desire, she turned the motion to the cup. Her fingers had barely brushed the dish when his hand suddenly wrapped tightly around her wrist. He moved so quickly she almost screamed, her instinct to jump backwards halted only by his iron grip.

“Rook.” Her moniker curled from his mouth with Spite's low voice.

Her heart skipped a beat, wincing as the demon pulled her closer. “Hello Spite.” She smiled nervously. “Your grip hurts a little, could you… be gentler, maybe?”

Their eyes narrowed, mulling over the suggestion just long enough for her to worry he'd leave bruises on her skin. And then the pressure lightened, still firm, but measured now. “Rook is. Trespassing.”

“I…” Her mind raced to find an excuse before she sighed. “Yup. Sure am.”

A wide, toothy grin spread across their lips. “Good. We can talk.” And then he was scowling, an annoyed growl rumbling free. “Lucanis has been. Hiding. Avoiding. Won’t explain anything.”

She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. “O-oh, I don't know if I…”

“Rook will explain.” 

It didn't sound like a request, but neither did it feel like a demand. It was more just… an expectation. An understanding that she was simply someone who would answer his questions. It left her a little dumbstruck. Explaining to the demon the intricacies of messy mortal relationships didn't thrill her, but it would be a bigger fight to try and escape. And maybe she'd get some answers herself.

“I can try.” She offered slowly. “Emotions are complicated.”

“Rook will know.” His words had more bite to them this time, grip squeezing. “You will. Stay close. Need to show.”

A thrill of alarm shot through her, heart hammering against her ribs. It felt like a bad idea. “Alright, but… let me find something to sit on. Being hunched like this is uncomfortable.” When he didn't move she offered up a wane smile. “I won't run. I promise.”

He let out a displeased hum, but let her go. She did snatch the cup as she stepped back, placing it on the little side table before she turned to assess the pantry. With only a little sigh, she dragged a crate to the cot and sat down primly. Spite closed the distance in an instant, face close and eyes bright. Nerves had set her hands to trembling, unease curling in her stomach, but she kept her face placid. 

“Why does Lucanis. Refuse himself?” He asked suddenly, voice low. When she only offered him baffled blinks he almost snarled, bringing their hand to caress her cheek. “He thinks. Of touching Rook. Like this.” Their thumb traced the line of her jaw, a little rougher than she would have expected, but it set her heart fluttering all the same. “Always wants to touch. So many different ways.” The wandering motion dragged their palm across her cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before their fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place. “Wants to be close. Thinks of it. Constantly. So why does he not?”

She could feel the flush creeping up to her cheeks. “Only Lucanis can really answer that. I'll only have guesses.”

That did earn her a frustrated growl. Her heart was back in her throat at the noise and Spite was narrowing their eyes again. A dangerous grin slowly crawled across their face. Spite brought their free hand up to tug her hair free from the pins that held it in place. She didn't dare move as it cascaded to her shoulders, barely daring to breathe. He dragged their fingers through her hair, trapping a lock and pulling it to their lips.

“Like fresh blood. Fire dancing in the hearth. Warmth in the bones.” He purred. 

A strangled noise was all she could offer. Both hands cupped her face, trapping her gaze with his purple blaze. They were so, so close again. Her breath hitched.

“Storms at sea. Sun through glass. Sharp edge of knives.”

He bent their face to the crook of her neck, beard ghosting along her skin. She shivered. Their breath was warm and it felt like the ground disappeared from under her feet. The world reduced to the space between them, a sliver of distance barely maintained.

“Red berries and jasmine. Dizzyingly sweet. Smells of desire.”

That sent an electric spark through her veins, her pulse jumping. She shouldn't be hearing this. The urge to run screamed through her, but Spite had placed a hand on the side of her throat. Their fingers were tangled again in her hair, their wrist pressing down on her shoulder, and that single weight felt crushing. She couldn't move. Their free hand traced the pointed edge of her ear.

“Lucanis wants. So does Rook. Can smell it. Hear it. Feel it.” He brought their face back to hers, head tilted, lips hovering over hers. “Yet you both. Refuse. Why?”

She swallowed thickly, her voice hoarse and wavering. “Fear.”

That seemed to give him pause, though he didn't retreat an inch. “Of what?”

“Expectations.” The words fell unbidden, rasping whispers. “Disappointment. Pain. Misunderstanding. There's… so much that surrounds feelings like this.”

Their brow furrowed as he digested the idea. The moment felt like it stretched on forever under their caging grasp. And then she watched as he dismissed the thought. “Needless. Solution is simple.”

The distance disappeared before the alarm could settle in her bones. Spite's kiss was a hungry need, clumsy but forceful. He moved their other hand from her ear to her cheek, trapping her completely. It would have made her laugh if she had been able to form a thought. Part of her was screaming to run, of course, but the other part simply felt relief. A need finally answered, content to exist in the bruising kiss for eternity. She clawed at their chest, grabbing a fistful of their shirt, but wasn't able to bring herself to push them away or pull them closer. The sharp bite of teeth ripped a gasp from her, more surprise than anything, and Spite finally relented. When he leaned back, he had a wolfish grin as he licked blood from their lips.

“Simple.” He purred.

And then his presence vanished like smoke in the wind and she was left being held by a Lucanis who was struggling to take it all in. His eyes staggered over her loose hair, the deep flush to her skin, and her wide eyes. Her breaths were too fast, shoulders shivering. He could taste iron on his tongue and something else, something new. They stared at each other, both petrified, before the curse finally slipped from his lips, quiet and wondering.

“Mierda.”

It seemed to startle them both, his hands leaping away from her as if he had been burned. She stumbled backwards off the crate, pushing her bangs out of her eyes just to have something to do with her hands. Her gaze was focusing anywhere but on him, unwilling to see the look on his face. Would it be horror, or want? It felt like both would break her heart right now.

“Rook,” his voice was staggering, uncertain, “I-”

“Sorry,” she cut in sharply, a nervous laugh coloring her words. “I just- Spite had questions and I- Sorry.” She took a clumsy step towards the door. “I think… I need air.”

It was her turn to run, stumbling past the tables and chairs. She didn't stop until the dining room doors were closed firmly behind her. Pressing her back to them, she slid to a crouch. Head in hands, she took gulping, shivering breaths. There was a knot in her chest, a confusion of emotions. She had wanted that from Lucanis, but she liked it from Spite, too. That caused a worrying flip in her stomach. She did not want to pick that feeling apart right now. Shaking fingers dabbed at her lips, feeling the shallow cut the demon had made. The bastard left a reminder for her. It caused her to groan, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“Rook?”

Her head shot up in alarm at Bellara’s voice. The elf was paused at the bottom of the walkway to Neve’s room, a bundle of papers clutched to her chest. She took a tentative step forward as Rook shot to her feet.

“Are you okay? You look… Did Lucanis do-”

“No!” She cut in sharply, launching herself from the doors and almost running past the Jumper. “That was not Lucanis.”

[unicyclehippo]

For bishova: regret

it would be stupid to think she knew anything about yelena from one—a mostly masked fight on a rooftop, and two—a conversation slash interrogation (?) in her burned-up apartment but when the widow took the seat next to her in the booth where she had been drowning her sorrows, a bottle of top shelf vodka in her hand, kate couldn’t help thinking maybe the other girl was being nice.

but what the fuck did she know? she hadn’t even know her mom was a mob boss or whatever.

‘what do you want?’

‘to drink,’ yelena said calmly.

kate kept her head low. no one in a bar like this cared who she was—hopefully, though maybe she was risking it by patronising a dive bar, maybe her mom had double-crossed or pressured or stole from or threatened everyone in here.

kate didn’t tell yelena to leave but she didn’t say anything more. just sat and rolled a quarter over her knuckles again and again and again and again and—

‘you are not being a very welcoming friend, kate bish—‘

‘don’t,’ kate growled. out of the corner of her eye, she saw the assassin smirk. she probably sounded like a toothless puppy to her. she was a fucking joke. ‘just don’t. okay? sit and drink or go away.’

yelena sat. she poured a measure into one shot glass and pushed it in front of kate, who blinked down at it.

‘what—did you bring your own novelty shot glasses to a bar?’ she couldn’t think of another reason she’d have an Alice In Wonderland themed glass.

kate let the quarter clatter to the tabletop and traded it for the little glass, lifted it up to make sure.

DRINK ME, it said, with a cheshire grin.

yelena didn’t smile like that but when kate finally looked at her, properly, she was pretty sure the glint in her eyes was the assassin’s version of it.

‘yes. mine is even better. see?’

kate didn’t look down.

‘does it say hot sauce?’

‘it says hot sauce.’ yelena smiled toothily. ‘a funny thing to put on a shot glass, yes?’

‘yeah.’ kate mustered a dry sigh. ‘yeah, it’s - that’s funny.’

‘you are not amused. you are either not a funny person, kate—which i know is not true—or you are not paying attention to my very funny glass.’

yelena threw her shot back.

kate should look away. kate should not find it very attractive, the way yelena shook her hair back and swallowed the shot, licked a drop from the corner of her mouth. the line of her throat. kate should not have got her mom arrested. kate should not be upset about getting her mom arrested. kate should be stalwart and true and brave and—

yelena tapped the table. ‘drink.’

‘don’t tell me what to do,’ kate snapped, overly harsh.

the only sign that yelena noticed was her slow blink. then the assassin scoffed.

‘so rude, kate! here i am, bringing the “good stuff”, and you won’t drink? this is very hurtful. i am hurt!’ yelena insisted, hand to heart.

she was lying, of course. she had some spin, some angle, something she was trying to get out of her or do and kate didn’t have to play along this time! it wasn’t any of her business! except that yelena was here, of course, but what did that mean?

kate scowled down at her drink. she hadn’t even finished the mostly-foam beer the bartender had shoved into her hand, pint sticky with the drink that slopped over the edge. or from the drink before. which was gross but. whatever. she wished she’d drunk more. wished yelena hadn’t shown up yet but when she was a more respectable nine drinks in, which would be a real excuse for not knowing what angle yelena was working this time, for how muddled kate’s thoughts were.

an ache punched up into the soft of her brain, the headache (concussion?) kate had been ignoring for the last hour. she let out an unsteady breath and picked up the quarter again. squeezed it until that hurt more than her head.

‘did you poison it?’

yelena turned so she could lean an elbow on the table, prop her head against her hand. kate watched out of the corner of her eye as the other girl smiled very sweetly.

‘no.’

‘drug it?’

‘no.’

‘steal it?’

‘no.’

kate sighed.

‘fuck it. thanks.’

she drank.

the vodka hit the back of her throat first. then she tasted it; it tasted like the time she swore her head off and her mom told her to wash her mouth out with soap and she’d done it because—

‘another,’ kate rasped, and coughed.

yelena poured her another. when kate drank that one too, she said,

‘you did not strike me as this kind of girl.’

heat poured through kate, stomach out. it was nice. it was always so cold in new york. not the real kind of cold kept at bay with a good coat, and kate always had a good coat and boots she never slipped because her mom always got her the best stuff and scolded her when she tried to slide across a big patch of ice. new york was cold because there were so many people here but none of them were hers. and yet. here was yelena. and vodka. and kate was warm.

her tongue felt warm too, which was weird. maybe the drink was drugged. she didn’t think she cared at this point.

‘what kinda girl?’

‘the kind to sit in dirty bars and drink alone.’

kate considered that seriously. yelena’s words felt as smoky as her voice and the meanings kept slipping through her fingers. how strong was that vodka?

‘me neither,’ she confessed. ‘but before today did you think i was the kinda girl to get my mom arrested?’ it struck her as funny. it was funny! because, guess what, she is!

‘i was not sure,’ yelena said. ‘but i am not that surprised. it was fifty-fifty, yes?’

fifty-fifty chance she’s a bad daughter or a bad hero. great odds. fucking fantastic.

‘you are having regret.’

kate eyed her empty shot glass.

‘i will give you another when you answer my question.’

kate grinned. leaned closer to her drinking buddy. ‘so this—‘ she patted yelena’s shoulder—and was sober enough to see the frown that earned her to remember not to do that again—‘this is an interrogation, huh? okay.’ she leaned closer. ‘i wish you hadn’t told me.’

yelena narrowed her eyes. read kate like an open book. easier—like words on a clear shot glass.

‘you do not mean that.’

kate shrugged. she wasn’t so sure. she nudged her shot glass closer to yelena. ‘any more questions or will you be a good drinking buddy and top me up, romanoff?’

she thought yelena wanted to say something for a second, as she sat back in the seat and tilted her head. but then yelena only poured her another drink and kate thought better of it. what the fuck did she know? not her mom. and certainly not yelena.

[gabessquishytum]

I wanted to write a little something more detailed based on this lovely ask, so I did - I'm afraid it's not very much, ironically because I'm very much struggling with my own Hypermobility at the moment! But I hope it'll bring joy, nonetheless <3

Love is Stored in the K-Tape

(550 words, rated M, no major warnings apply)

“You know, darling, it wouldn't hurt you to buy k-tape in a colour other than black.” Hob muses – measuring up the tape against Dream’s ankle and then cutting the strip. Dream huffs, and kicks his foot very lightly against Hob’s hand.

“Because the supposed flesh colour is so close to the colour of my skin.” Dream's tone practically drips with sarcasm. And all Hob can think is – he's adorable. Beautiful. An absolute brat.

“Well yes, it would look more like orange against your skin. But the blue would match your eyes so beautifully!” Hob picks up the last strip of tape and peels the back part away. He holds Dream’s ankle, taking care that the joint is comfortable, and applies the tape to the velvety pale skin. A quick kiss to the joint seals the process. “There we are, love. Is that alright? Not itching or creasing too much?”

Dream rotates his foot and gives a regal nod in response. Both of his ankles are taped, as is the outside of each foot (this part is to keep his toes from popping out of place). His right knee has been decorated too. Hob runs his finger over each piece of tape, and then leans in to kiss each one too. Hearing Dream’s little hum of satisfaction after each kiss brings a smile to his face.

“Thank you.” Dream eventually murmurs, when Hob has finished the tour of his joints. He tangles his fingers up in Hob’s hair and tugs affectionately. “For all that you do for me.”

Hob crawls up the length of Dream’s body to kiss him properly on the mouth before replying. “I can promise you that there's literally nothing else in the world that I'd rather be doing.”

“Even so…” Now Dream is blushing, just a little bit. It makes him look delightfilly radiant. He nudges his nose against Hob’s cheek. “Perhaps. I am becoming spoiled.”

“And perhaps. Spoiled is exactly how I want you.” Hob is half teasing, copying Dream’s intonation and the seriousness in his voice. But really Hob is the one who is quite serious, at least about this. He likes Dream to have expectations and demands of their relationship. It makes him feel like he's doing something right.

Dream only says “hmph.” And goes right back to pulling Hob’s hair. Hob has never been more enamoured with anything. He may be, he is willing to acknowledge, a tiny bit obsessed with Dream. This is what he wants: to be allowed to care for his lover and to make sure that he can enjoy sex without pain. It doesn't seem like too much to ask for. 

“Darling.” Hob nuzzles into Dream's oh-so-soft neck, licks the flutter of his pulse, and fails to stop himself from smiling. “Do you think that I could make love to you, now?”

Another one of those beloved regal nods. Dream’s hand slides down from Hob’s hair to the pelt on his chest, and he tugs on that instead. “I will be most disappointed if you do not, after all that effort.”

Hob has no intention of disappointing Dream ever, let alone this evening. And so he sets the tape and scissors carefully aside, to devote every ounce of energy and attention to his unique and utterly perfect Dream.

[arcane-apathy]

Chapter 10

Prologue | Previous | Next

AN: No you are not dreaming, I'm actually posting another chapter. Thank you all for being so patient with me this past year. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. 🌻

Warning(s): Brief talk of self-mutilation

It only took a week for Talnir to lay down the first layer of snow. The tan of the dying grass was sprinkled with snow and frost. Only to be turned into mud beneath people’s feet that same day. Despite being from a considerably warmer climate, the horde was not deterred. They donned extra layers without being told and helped the rest of the camp as they prepared for winter. The beginning of the winter rush was nothing new to you. And like most years you busied yourself with making tinctures, salves, and medicines. Making sure to use all ingredients you know would spoil if not used soon. 

  While you were busy preparing for a winter full of illness, Kurakh started a project of his own. He would leave once his food was devoured every morning and wouldn't return to your shared quarters until the last meal. You barely saw him around camp, nor did either of you speak unless necessary. It took five days for you to lose your mind because of the silence. Opting to work in the main hall with other camp members who wanted to hide away from the harsh wind.

  The main hall always brought a small smile to your face. The rebel's and the horde's children play together in the middle of the room. An Orcish woman helping braid the tail of an older Centaur. The Dwarves assess broken blades of all kinds. An Elven man was teaching a group of teenagers how to build arrows. Everyone sat in groups, no matter their race. Across the hall, you could see Schelura doing the hair of a younger Orc woman. The intricate style was already full of beads by the time you made your way over. 

  “Oh hello,” Schelura smiles and motions to an empty spot on the table, “have a seat.” You set your tools on the table and sit down, openly staring at Schelura’s handiwork. “Do you want to be next?” 

  “It’s tempting, although that’s a lot of beads…” 

  “She’s trying to catch a young warrior’s eye… Maybe you need this style too,” she teases. 

  “You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes. 

  “And you’re blind,” Schelura scoffs. “This is a more traditional plait since his parents are more set in the old ways. I’d give you something different… What do normal Vorren women do with their hair?” 

  "We usually just weave ribbon into our braids. Our hair is usually covered because you're clergy, or due to the cold."

  "Such practical people."  You roll your eyes at her comment and begin measuring out your ingredients. Schelura and the girl start to gossip while you ignore them to focus on the task at hand. "And Kurakh is away checking and setting up traps all day. I wonder what he's trying to catch, he comes back nearly every night looking frustrated." 

"Wait that's why he's gone all day," you look up from your herbs. 

The younger girl turns her head as much as Schelura would allow, "you didn't know?" 

Schelura laughs, "somebody might be getting a gift soon" 

"A courting gift, now that's romantic," the younger orc swoons. 

"Oh I don-" 

"He hasn't told you about it, he's gone all day, and he's constantly frustrated things aren't going as planned. If it isn't a courting gift, I permit you to cut off my hand," Schelura deadpans. 

 "You know I wouldn't do that unless it was at serious risk of infection or severely mangled ." 

  "Maid, that is not the point I am trying to make," she scoffs at your logic. You didn't even get to properly glare before she scolded you, "don't even look at me like that! Kurakh is one of the easiest men to read, like a warg pup."

"I don't even know what a warg pup looks like Schelura," an exasperated sigh leaves your lips.

"Cuter than you'd expect," the younger girl smiles while Schelura repositions her head. "I also heard he threatened a Tiefling in the courtyard yesterday for disrespecting you." 

  "That sounds likely,” Schelura smirks. 

  "You've made your point very clear Schelura," you roll your eyes and refocus on your craft. 

  "Then you should make sure Kurakh is aware that you know. He needs to know if you reciprocate or not. Not knowing is currently driving him crazy. And if you don’t want his advances he should know before he goes too far.”

  “And how do I do that?” 

  Schelura smirks, “you can start by letting me do your hair.” 

  "I'd rather not think of my hair, it has been so long since I washed it last. " 

  "You haven't gone to the hot springs yet?" 

  "And have strangers see me bare," you flush at the thought. 

  "The girls and I could go with you, and if we go in the evening there shouldn’t be that many people." 

  "I would appreciate the company," a rare smile graces your lips. 

  "We'll go tonight, I've been dying to wash off with something other than cold water." That evening you dropped Mazna off with Roldza, luckily without much fuss. And you left a note for Kurakh since he had yet to return. With your only clean change of clothes and bath oil in hand, you meet the girls in the hall. Maaga and Galta were both equally excited to relax in the warm waters that lie further within the former mine. Like Schelura said there was hardly a soul in the springs. Only a few elven girls sat in one of the smaller pools, applying oils to their hair. 

  With the safety of only being surrounded by women making you more confident you begin to undress. Schelura was the first one in, with a massive smile on her face, "definitely better than cold water and a bucket." You slowly follow in behind her, minding your steps on the slippery rocks beneath you. The water was certainly warmer than any water you bathed with before. After waiting a few minutes, thankfully there was nothing within the water that would irritate your wound. You take the chance to properly inspect it, not having to hide in the shadows from Kurakh. 

  "Is it still bothering you," Maaga asks concerned. 

  "Not as much as it used to, it'll be an awful scar." 

  "There is no such thing as awful scars in our culture," Galta chuckles. "I mean just look at Kurakh. Blind in one eye from one and littered with dozens smaller than that. And Orkisch women swoon over him every day... Well, the ones who don't know him like we do."   

  "Men can be scarred all they want in my culture, but for women it's unsightly."

  "The more I learn about your culture the more it pisses me off," Maaga groans. 

  "How do you think I feel," you scoff and sit on a rock in the water. The warm, mineral-rich water goes up to your shoulders. Galta dunks herself beneath the water with a smile. The whispers of the Elven girls were welcomed in comparison to the noise of the main hall, or Mazna throwing a fit. You slowly sink below the surface after getting more accustomed to the water temperature. The voices above you became louder, and you could practically feel the grime melt away.

  The light burn in your lungs prompted you to stand again. The water trickled down your back as you wiped your face. The cold air of the cavern causes goosebumps to bud across your skin. Once the water was out of your eyes you refocused on the rocks ahead. Trying not to stare at anyone in particular. Schelura scoffs and moves beside you, trying to run her fingers through your soaked hair. "This won't do... Don't worry I brought tools for this." She reaches for her comb and motions for you to sit on the rocks again. 

  "I can brush my hair." 

  "I'm aware, but I need to prep it for braiding tomorrow." 

  "Fine," you sigh and try to relax as she works the comb through the ends of your hair. Luckily it felt much better than Mazna playing with your hair at night. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Schelura reach for the pool edge again, followed by a light herbal smell. "What's that?" 

  "A hair oil," she hums as her hands gently massage your scalp. "Your hair is damaged from the fabric of your headcover. It is too rough... I might need to make you something stronger. You also need a trim; your ends are a mess." 

  "I get it, my hair is awful." 

  "It just needs more than a hairbrush," Schelura chuckles. "Don't worry, you're in good hands," she emphasizes by massaging the back of your neck. You couldn't help but hum in relief, fighting not to melt into her touch. "your muscles are just as stiff as the warriors. You know, for a healer you are terrible at taking care of yourself." 

  An ache settled in your stomach. Schelura was one of many people to point it out to you. Usually, you'd be able to blame it on your duty. The life of a Maid of Eia was busy, even before the King declared war. Maaga seemed to sense this ache, moving closer to the two of you, "so how long until we have snow up to our knees?" 

  You smile softly as you welcome the distraction, "I'd say another month. It's supposed to be a late winter this year. Or as we say in the clergy, Talnir is lazy this year." 

  "Talnir?" 

  "The Spirit of Winter, son of Sokastr and Sala." 

  Galta laughs, "because that explains so much." 

  "The number of deities your people have is ridiculous," Maaga chuckles before dipping her head below water. 

  "It's a lot to remember," you sigh as Schelura's hands leave your scalp. "Honestly I forget most of it now. Just the stories we were told as kids. And the weird stuff you can't forget how much you try." 

  "How weird," Maaga looked apprehensive to ask. 

  "Eia's parents are aunt and nephew." 

  "That's not too bad," Galta relaxes against the pool's edge with her eyes closed. 

  "When creating their children, the elder gods forgot about procreation. So, the new gods had to create their genitalia. Eia took it upon herself to create the females by cutting herself open. Using her muscles to create a womb, and cutting between her legs. Hence the monthly cycle and the pain of childbirth." Galta and Maaga wince, and Schelura groans. "Want to know how Lantes created male gen-" 

  "Absolutely not."

  "Don't even dare." 

  "I'm close enough to push you underwater." Despite the threats you all laugh. A rare deep belly laugh escapes you. It has been so long since you've laughed like that it almost scared you. The good mood carried through as the four of you finished bathing. You felt the most relaxed and clean you've been in ages.  The clean change of clothes felt heavenly against your skin. Per Schelura's orders, your damp hair flowed down your back as it air-dried. The only bad thing was that you now needed to launder your only other set of clothes. 

  You returned to your quarters with your things in your arms, greeted by the smell of food cooking. Kurakh looks up from the pot but doesn't say anything. His good eye was looking you up and down. His silence was killing you, “is something wrong?” 

  “The scouts spotted a battalion just north of us. We'll ride out before dawn to intercept them." 

  "I should probably pack my supplies-" 

  "You're staying here." 

  "Kurakh, I can be careful." 

  "You are what they want. It would be surrender if you came with." You knew this tone well, Kurakh's words were final. And you didn't want to ruin your evening by wasting your breath. "That was easier than I expected," he smirks.

  "I don't feel like ruining my good mood," you set the dirty clothes in the corner. Hopefully, you won't forget them come morning. Kurakh doesn't say anything, choosing to stare at your hair instead. "Will you at least wake me up before you leave?" 

  "Of course, Odmili," he motions for you to sit. "The stew is almost ready." 

  "Rabbit?" 

  "They are plentiful here." 

  "I fear you will run out of recipes before you run out of rabbits," you sit cross-legged beside him on the bedroll. He breathes out a laugh while handing you a bowl. A plate of Freronbrod on the ground beside the two of you.

  "Your kingdom will run out of rabbits before the horde is full." 

  "Your fault for coming in the winter," you snicker as you dip your bread in the stew. Kurakh elbows you in the rib playfully, his worried expression having finally worn away. You smack him in the chest as retaliation, a challenging look in your eyes. For once you didn't recognize the expression on his face. He looked conflicted like something was holding him back. His eye goes back to your hair, nose twitching. "What?" 

  "It's nothing."

"Considering the face you're making; I highly doubt that. Is it my hair?" 

   "Not necessarily... What oil did they put in your hair?" 

  "I don’t know. Schelura only scolded me for how unhealthy my hair is." 

  "That makes sense. I think Schelura is trying to make a fool of you." 

  "What do you mean?" 

  Kurakh sighs, "Orcs have a stronger sense of smell. Because of that, hair and body oils tend to have different meanings. And the one Schelura used on you… Well, it’s supposed to be seductive." 

  Immediately blood rushes to your cheeks, “you can’t be serious.” 

  “I wish I weren’t,” his lips parted as he tried breathing more through his mouth. 

  “I can go sleep with the girls tonight, considering they’re the ones who got me into this mess.” 

  “No,” Kurakh said rather quickly, “I can handle it.” He smiles sheepishly and continues to eat his soup. You decided not to press any further and do the same. Once the two of you finished eating you took it upon yourself to clear up the dishes. 

  “Do you have anything that needs to be laundered? I’ll be cleaning my spare clothes tomorrow.” 

  “I’ll leave a few things on the pile you’ve made. I know Mazna has a few tunics as well.” There was a quiet hiss of a blade leaving its sheath from behind you, soon followed by it scrapping the whetstone. “Do you not have any more clothes?” 

  You glance over your shoulder, hands still in the tub of cold soapy water used for cleaning, “I do not.” Stew was easy to clean off the wooden bowls, you hardly needed to look at what you were doing. “Clergy life is not as luxurious as people think. I had my own room, but it was tiny and drafty. The library barely had anything other than medical tomes. Three flavorless meals a day. We had no days off because ailments and childbirth don’t care for the calendar. And I would be lucky to get a new apron for my birthday.”  

  “Just enough to keep you from complaining about working for no pay I presume?” 

  “A twenty-pence on high holidays, which there are five of in a year,” anger made itself known in your gut. Stomach turning as you tried to ignore it, “it would take me three years to make enough for taxes. Luckily I don’t have to pay taxes. But I do have to catch a deadly disease, get robbed while traveling from town to town, never see my family again, or get captured by the enemy in a pointless war!” The scraping of the blade stops and so do you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” 

  Kurakh motions for you to return to the bed roll. Patiently waiting as you dump the dirty water into the floor drain. “I wish you would stop apologizing for being your true self.” You pause and open your mouth to rebut, yet nothing comes out. “It is as if you are playing a character,” he gently takes your hand to pull you closer. “When I see that fire in your eyes, I’m reassured that there is a real person hidden within. You need to break free.” 

  “Kurakh, I hardly know how,” the words barely above a whisper. 

  “We can teach you. Remember you are one with the horde now, and we take care of our own.” 

[save-the-villainous-cat]

A villain being forced to kneel for a group of heroes 👀

“Oh, I didn't think they could go that low,” the leader of the group joked. It was cruel, the hero knew that. With the villain’s calves sliced open, there was a hardly any chance that the villain could even get up. They looked at their leader who started taunting their nemesis. Big talk for someone who stood above an injured person.

Their jokes were of poor taste and the hero’s throat started to burn. They had been getting on their nerves for months but the hero had managed to mostly ignore it.

“Get lower, maybe you can start licking my boots...” They pushed the villain’s head down with two fingers and kicked their leg until the villain fell from their kneeling position. They couldn’t even use their hands to prevent their face from landing in the dirt. Their fingers were broken. Most of the heroes on the team turned away, searched for something to do instead of watching their leader’s cruelty.

“Look at you, how the mighty have fallen.” The leader laughed and put their boot between the villain’s shoulder blades. And then, with all their strength, they pushed down when the villain tried to struggle to their feet.

“I think you might be overstepping here,” the hero said. They walked towards their leader despite their head screaming at them not to disagree. The agency wasn’t blind, this institution wasn’t dumb. Everyone was aware of the leader’s tyranny. However, the city still let them work because they simply got things done. Even if it took inhumane measures. It wasn’t fair.

The leader turned around.

“What did you say?”

“That’s my villain.” The hero pointed at their nemesis on the ground. “My assignment, my problem, my responsibility.”

“Your villain?”

“I got assigned to them, yes. Your boss made that decision, actually.” They eyed the villain shortly. Blood dripped down their calves, their fingers were crooked and their breathing was definitely not normal. They wanted to shout at the next best medic to take care of them.

“Well—” their hand landed on the hero’s shoulder “— be glad that I got your back. This one was pretty nasty. You would’ve never gotten them.”

They squeezed the hero’s shoulder harshly and the hero understood the warning.

However, they didn’t really care.

They pushed the leader’s hand off their shoulder, basically slapping their hand away.

“Isn’t that lovely?” the hero asked. “You’re such a kind soul.”

They walked past them, feeling the stare in their back and their heart was beating harder than ever. They had the tiny suspicion that wasn’t the leader’s but the villain’s fault.

They kneeled down and took the villain’s face into their hands. Simply put, the villain looked awful. More dead than alive, anyway. The hero rubbed their thumb over the villain’s cheek over and over again.

“Technically, they’re mine now. I beat them and I captured them,” the leader spat.

“I need a medic over here,” the hero said. “Could you call them with all your kindness?”

“I don’t think you understood me. I am your leader. You don’t want to make me your enemy.” The hero sighed and mumbled a few reassuring words towards the villain before they helped them up. They stabilised the villain as good as they could but the villain was muscular and heavy.

“Of course not. It would be quite a pathetic fight.” The hero pulled their villain closer. “Since I am such an incompetent hero and definitely no role model. I can’t fight, can’t even follow orders properly.”

They cocked their head.

“Now, please call a medic. We are good people, aren’t we?”

The leader only scowled, having understood the sarcasm and demand in the hero’s voice. They left and the hero wasn’t sure if they actually got a medic or not.

“Thank you,” the villain whispered next to them, clinging to the hero’s chest.

“Anytime,” they answered. Their grip around the villain tightened and the hero had to admit, they were scared of letting them go again.

[ch0wen]

Cover - Part III | Tangerine x Fem!Reader | 18+

warnings: smut mentioned, (minors dni), cursing, & violence

to catch up - Cover - parts one & two

———-

Tangerine's large hands wrapped around the diner's ceramic mug full of his muddled-grey tea. Warming himself while also trying to still his shakiness. He was having a tough time attempting to conceal his nerves. He avoided eye contact to retroactively stall the dreaded discussion.

“So,” you started, “Tangerine and Lemon. Fruits. Why choose from that category?”

Across from you, the man looked physically and mentally relieved that you hadn't leaped right into the hard questions. A smile wriggled under his mustache,

"When we were younger, Lem and I loved to watch American cinema. We would get inspired by a lot of ‘em. We played the games they did, tried out the sports, and picked up similar traditions.

One day, during a rare, hot English summer, I suggested starting a lemonade stand. My brother reacted with, ‘lemons are too tart! No one even likes sour drinks. I don't want to sell rotten lemons,' and I would remind him that you can turn a sour lemon into a sweet delight with a little bit of sugar. Shit, you should've seen his face when I ended up persuading him and he tried our first attempt at a batch. We got the measurements so wrong!”

His eyes shone as he spoke. He seemed to have been slowly opening up. Laughing into his hand and playing it off as a scratch to his face before dropping it to the table's surface. He was earnest as he told of his boyhood. Intriguing you with his storytelling, and leaning toward him as he continued on.

"Anyway. He would tell me that I'm like the sugar. That I make things better. But frankly, I can be a rotten arsehole to him. And by now, maybe he has forgotten about those silly childhood praises, but I never did. Those were the times, especially at the beginning of our career, when he made me feel wanted. He's good at that. He doesn't even require me to be the sugar in our brotherhood. He's naturally a genuinely good man.

I do need to tell myself I am useful, and deep down, I may not believe that to be all true. But he reminds me. He’s good at making people feel understood and cared for. He is true to his codename. He's a lemon, and everybody loves ‘em.”

Absentmindedly, you played with his finger twitching on the sticky table. He curled his hand properly around yours to hold.

———-

The hours passed and the diner went through waves of people. Coming and going, in and out, like clouds in unsettled coffee. Breakfast rush, stillness, then lunch chaos. To the both of you, the other was the focal point. Everything else just felt like a static buzz.

“I can't help but notice that you haven't asked the question. Basically the entire point of this morning."

"I didn't want to force it out," you finger at the sugar packets, like skimming a mini record collection. Attempting to downplay your interest. “I wanted us to get there without having to press it.”

A grateful hum of, “You are a peach," transitioned into a sigh, "but I suppose you deserve to know that I am a contracted assassin."

———-

It was only half past two in the afternoon when you both emerged from the diner. You made sure to avoid the eyes in the queue of the waiting patrons. The large tip, Tangerine thought he dropped into the checkbook unseen, should at least ease the hostess's agitation about your prolonged stay. You stand facing each other on the bustling city sidewalk.

The silence felt heavy after hours-long conversations. You studied each other. Your chance to fully take him in, in a different perspective, a new light. You were wary of how to leave this after the time you just spent together. The things he depicted. The part of himself that he had fanned out. He seemed to have bore it all. How do you grapple with that while having to part ways?

Tangerine didn’t keep you speculating. His handsome face sported a pleasant smile as he stepped forward to hug you. The embrace lasted only a moment, but it felt that he didn’t want to let go -

Like he was trying to hold you still. Keeping all those secrets that he poured out over the cooling cups of coffee between the two of you. Pressing them in close and sealing them behind tight lips. To him, when you walk out of his sight, you’ll take his story with you. The moment that he lets you go, the truth gets out. Exposed are all the mysteries on the inside and his safety. The scary reality is that he potentially jeopardized his and his brother’s lives to answer your curiosity.

Except, that was just your mind racing again. Tangerine's hug lasted for a minute and in a beat, he was pulling his shoulders back to look down at your face. And then he pulled you in for a kiss, the breath-stealing and tangling your hand in his hair, kind.

———-

The date with Tangerine was like an omen that you wouldn't be able to get the pair of assassins out of your life. Every day, something happened that would remind you of them. One of your little students would ask for a bandaid. You'd hear a song that played in the diner or a familiar theme song that Lemon definitely was humming. You’d find yourself grinning.

Little reminders would pop up here and there. Until one-half of the duo started turning up here and there when you’d least expect or anticipate it. It was a gradually natural formation of a budding friendship with Lemon and an eventual relationship between you and Tangerine.

Your romance with the latter was like any 2000s Rom. Com. daydream, except for the consistent reminders that you were dating a killer ——

Your boyfriend would show up unannounced with fresh flowers and a splat of blood on his neck peeking out from under his collar.

Written-out jokes from Lemon were handed over with a roll of his eyes but the ghost of a smile on his lips. Signaling that he has already heard the ridiculous gag that his brother came up with.

He’d be up early and missing in action during the day, but made up for it by staying late on date nights.

He always found time to call you between the sporadic periods of action while on the job. Just hoping to chat about your day so far or what he wanted to do to you later. Your mind runs with what exact situations he was calling in the middle of, whenever he was out of breath or your conversations were cut short with crashes and shouts.

You could sense when he exerted too much energy after those particularly long workdays. He tended to be quieter, or his body weight pressed impossibly closer on top of yours as his cock pushed in deep, or when Lemon would physically need to drag him into your apartment and throw him onto the couch.

Regardless of his fatigue, once you got each other going - either by massaging his sore neck, his rough thumbs grazing over your exposed thighs, or knee rubbing against his bulge as you bandage up a cut - He basically reverted back into stealth mode. Targeting his focus on only you. It felt like he existed to get you off. Wanting you to come on either his mouth, fingers, or pounding dick. He may have been exhausted but he wouldn't lose stamina until you were finished.

Nine times out of ten, whether after a hotel rendezvous or candle-lit dinner over a pack of instant potatoes and Kraft Mac and cheese, you’d find yourselves snuggled up in bed. You were always left stated after a good fuck from Tangerine. Hands, tongues, and whispers danced in the shared tranquility of your space. You were making special memories with the limited time you found with him.

———-

It went on like this for years. Each day felt like you peeled away another layer of a fruit's skin. Discovering a new trait or trick of your boyfriend's. You anticipated something exciting when he flung open the apartment door or your bedroom window. He never ceased to thrill and fulfill your every need.

And that one Tuesday in Spring was no different. He strode up to your car after class let out, seizing your waist from behind. A spin to your hips in his grasp had him close enough to breathe into your ear,

"Fly out to France with me, yeah?"

———-

[writingmysanity]

Did I miss it?

Pairing: Zoro x reader

Word count: 1600

TW: drinking, reader is tipsy for sure.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Lissie!! Okay, lets try this again. My computer crashed half way through what I was writing and I lost… everything. I know I asked you a tough question the other day, and you answered lol much to your own pain – so here you go. I truly hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for being my friend and enabling me in my deranged thoughts in our messages. You're such a kind soul, and such a good mum.

I hope you’re spending your free time re-watching the video from Taz and resting. Perhaps thirsting. @stray-kaz

A/N continued: this is the first time i am writing for Zoro, I am pretty sure he is ooc here. i claim being out of practice.

=========

Despite how the shouts and cheers of your crew mates seem to linger around you, their laughter resting in the gusts of wind, the night is quiet. Their words are whisked away without thought or care into the night, seeming to echo back from the depths of the bay as nothing more than whispers. Obsidian waves lap at the hull of the ship, rocking the ship slowly to the tune of what your mother called the whiskey lullaby.

Taking a deep breath, you melt into the side of the ship, sinking to your knees to rest against the railing, still cradling your own glass to your chest. Moonlight washes over the deck, casting the whole of everything you can see with a blue-ish hue. The sight never ceases to amaze you, a gentle smile resting on your lips as you take in your crew, littered about the open space in various rather uncomfortable positions that make you laugh.

If you were a little less drunk, you would move to try and help them shift into at least more comfortable positions. But as things stand currently, you find you are unable to stand properly when the ship and your vision continue to move. Slowly, you shift to face out towards the water, slotting your legs through the railings to allow them to dangle, resting your head against the wood with a sigh.

Celebrations aren’t uncommon for the straw hats, and you have come to even enjoy their rambunctious energy since you joined the ragtag group of pirates. You are certainly still learning to accept their willingness to celebrate you, they certainly have made you feel as part of their family, safe and accepted,but something is missing.

A certain head of moss colored hair.

Not two weeks prior, Luffy had sent his first mate off on a special retrieval mission. Zoro had been nervous to leave, knowing he wouldn’t be able to be there for his crew, but also the certainty that he wouldn’t be able to be there for you.

Normally, he would have already crowded you away in the crows nest or back in the kitchen hiding behind the island, finishing off the last of the liquor with you, his attention solely on you. Those dark eyes locked on your form beside him as he listened to you drunkenly ramble about whatever seemed to have caught your fancy that night. The thought of not getting to celebrate with him weighing heavier on your heart than you expected it to.

You have long since stopped trying to deny your feelings for the swordsman, and though unspoken, you know he feels the same – though neither of you have tried to push it further.

Sitting in silence, you let the rush of the waters below over take your senses, the distant push and pull dancing beneath your feet coupled with the distant cry of a sea bird lifting from the oceans surface. So engrossed in your thoughts and the siren call of the sea, you don’t hear the steps rushing up the plank of wood connecting the ship to the harbor, nor the gentle bumps of the body stumbling up onto the deck as they make their way to you. You don’t hear any of it, until his voice startles you from your reverie, the depths of your thoughts lingering on him more than you would ever admit to anyone else.

“Did I miss it?” his voice is slow, measured as you yank yourself around with a gasp, nearly throwing your glass at him in surprise. At this, he chuckles, slowly moving to kneel before you, careful of his swords and your hold on the cup as he tugs it from your hand.

“Zo…” he nods slowly, gaze softening in a way that you've learned is meant only for you. “You startled me.” you confess, the drunken tilt to your words making him frown slightly. You're out here, drunk, and the only one awake.

“I noticed,” he states calmly as he slides closer, sitting beside you, relaxing at the near awestruck look painting your face, eyes wide and glassy with emotions you've yet to speak on, lips parted. “I’m sorry I’m late.” he starts again. “Did I miss it?”

“I thought you weren’t meant to be back until next week,” you stumble out, reaching for him, completely ignoring his question. Or not hearing it. Chuckling, again, he lets you tug him closer, one hand resting on his arm, the other taking the opposite hand.

“I took larger steps,” he half jokes, running his thumb over your knuckles with a gentleness no one else would believe he is capable of, your laughter earning one of his rare smiles. “Now, please answer me this time, pretty girl.” he asks slowly, catching your attention as he rests his free hand on your cheek. Nodding slowly, your eyes lock with his, immediately lost in the depths of the blackened seas washing in his gaze.

“Did I miss it?” he asks again, gently emphasizing each word. At this, you frown slightly, looking up to the moon, as if trying to discern the time. Between your addled brain, and your excitement at seeing him again so soon, you shrug with a crooked grin that leaves him dizzy.

“I don’t know,” you state honestly. “we can say no,” you offer, eyes softening as you match his gaze again, able to see that this means something to him. Sighing in relief, his shoulders sag a bit before he moves away from you, earning a soft whine. His shoulders shake at the sound, eyeing you amused.

“patience, princess,” he chides, pulling a box from the bag at his side, setting it in your lap. Its not big, it can fit in the palm of your hand, but it is expertly wrapped, a beautiful bow resting on top. Frowning, you lift it to your face, shaking it.

“What is it?” you hum, tilting your head at it. He huffs a bit, amused. He has never dealt with you when drunk, at least, not without the both of you being drunk together.

“Open it and find out,” his normal measured voice laced with an amusement he would deny later. Beaming up at him, you nod, tugging the bow lightly, watching it fall away with ease before tugging at the corner of the beautiful silver paper that gleams in the moonlight. Inside is a small box. There is nothing too special about it, a simple smooth brown box. Humming in curiosity, you tug it open, peeking in as if something would jump out before the top fumbles off completely. Inside is a thin silver chain.

Frowning, you tug it up, watching in awe as the charm swings to the end.

At first, all you're able to discern is that the charm is a silver circle. Clumsily, you grab at it, wanting to look closer, oblivious to zoro’s anxious shifting beside you. On one side, there is a compass etched into it, careful practiced lines marking each direction with a small brilliant emerald resting in the center. You stare at it for a moment before realizing you can feel the same raised edges on the other side.

Flipping it slowly, your eyebrows furrow as you try to read it, scrawled in perfect cursive.

Lets get lost together

head whipping to him, your eyes are wide, gaping at him. He shifts slightly, moving away from the railing now, eyes flitting between you and the necklace.

“Do.. do you like it?” his voice is quiet, all of his insecurities and internal doubts swarming him as you sit there, staring. After a minute of tense silence, he shakes his head, jaw tense as he moves to stand. “I knew it was a bad idea” he sighs, moving to take the offending item from your grasp, but you refuse to let go.

“you mean it?” your voice almost whisked away by the wind its so soft. This is as close to a confession as hes ever gotten other than a drunken “I like your face” or one of his pet names you’ve come to adore. He pauses again, uncertainty resting clear in his eyes as he nods slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice is quiet, watching as your demeanor switches from quiet and contemplative to bright and excited – the brilliance he finds himself melting for. Quickly, you turn, scootching the best you can, drunk and sitting, to turn your back to him while holding the necklace up impatiently.

“Put it on me,” you nearly demand before pausing, looking at him pleadingly over your shoulder. “Please.” shaking his head at your antics, he takes it from your hand gently, slowly shifting to his knees to raise it over your head and around your neck from behind. Once its clasped, he tugs it loose, allowing it to rest over your shirt, his touch lingering on your neck as he leans down slowly to whisper in your ear, the sensation making you shiver.

“Happy birthday, Princess.”

======

happy birthday, my friend. It was super quick, but I really hope you enjoy it or at least get a chuckle out of it. I hope your day is the best.

[velvetvexations]

I did not mean to sleep all day. Here all the non-kink asks in my inbox lol.

Does a little dance. People being weird about transmascs on here has messed up my self perception so bad im not actually sure of my own gender anymore, yayyyyy

Fuck that anon, if you're man that rules. Being a man is awesome. You don't need anyone else's opinion to affect who you are, there is no bad gender.

just saw someone acknowledge trans men are often lumped into female spaces due to bioessentialism but then turn around and say that thats proof that trans men arent oppressed. lol.

People act like being let into the Woman Club is the one and only goal of being trans and it's so fucking annoying.

Ngl I still don't understand why femboys are a "transmisogynistic caricature that can't be reclaimed by transmascs" according to some people. Do you have any insights on this because I genuinely can't understand, femboy sounds like gnc boy culture and in my own experience, maybe transfems before they come out occasionally identify as femboys. Idk is it like, someone with an outwardly feminine appearance being a guy? Because that's why I like calling myself a femboy.

Some people think femboy started as a transfem thing because they're idiots who don't know shit.

hey if catboy is ubiquitous and having nothing to do with crossdressing why did Jerma crossdress when someone drew him as a catboy???

Because catboys are allowed to do that lol. Taking one example of a crossdressing catboy to mean catboys infringe on transfem copyright is wild.

Hi thanks for letting me vent to you cause I am at work and can't properly process my emtions otherwise rn. I've been otherwise generally in a slightly emotionally fragile place and then I just got an awful review for my first actual order from a stranger on Etsy. And like I know logically that it's not the end of the world and I gave them exactly what they ordered and it's not my fault that they measured wrong or didn't take my advice and size up a little for fit etc etc but no one else will know that and I just got started selling craft stuff and it's just a hobby and it sucks that this person clearly expected something that wasn't what they paid for (my prices are low cause it's a hobby sorry I don't have super professional materials that would make my stuff cost double) but it's really fucking me up and I am trying not to like cry at work because of this and it's so stupid. This was just my first purchase online that wasn't from a friend and I was so excited and they hated it and didn't even send a message or anything about the length (that was exactly what they asked for by the way) not fitting before leaving a review. It just fucking sucks and I wish my brain didn't react to the most minor disappointments/shows of dislike with the I'm going to kill everyone in this room and then myself meme as first response Thanks for listening. It really helps to be able to vent this somewhere <3

I'm really sorry anon, that sounds so frustrating and hard to deal with. I love you so much. <3 I know you do great work and I hope it goes better next time.

Having NPD sucks, lmao, sorry for the rant ahead. I have to remind myself that the 'mark' on shinigami eyes doesn't actually mean anything, but it's hard sometimes because it's still a stain on my reputation. :( some people will see that and take it at face value, forever associating me with the filth that is transphobia, and I can't do anything about it. I appreciate the people who actually know what a transphobe is going out of their way to remove that mark, but it's a losing battle against a bunch of buffoons who think catgirls are transmisogynistic. sometimes it's really hard to pretend that it doesn't bother me at all, because it's highly insulting for me to be associated with the things I literally fight against. What an insult to my legacy and efforts to even bother to care about other people, you know? I don't HAVE to take time out of my day to do activism, I could just not bother to care at all, but I still try. I deserve praise, not this bullshit😭

I'll praise you! Thank you for fighting against transphobia. <3

All this catboy talk. Wanted to say hi as a catboy. Meow :3

Nya~!

My prediction for TRF discourse in 2025: closeted, non passing trans men shouldn't wear skirts or other traditional women's clothing (even if they don't want to and literally have no other choice) because they're MEN and men wearing women's clothes is obviously always transmisogynistic

All trans men are transmisogynistic because they grew up mocking transfems by wearing women's clothes.

some of this discourse is just so fucking wild i cant believe this is something people are taking so seriously. sipping my tea from the sidelines as a chubby catboy therian lmao

You have a cooler head than I.

iirc the "catgirls are transfem" thing started happening around the time Ferris got popular as a character because, if I'm correct, Ferris actually is transfem (coded?) and following that some people just decided The Aesthetique belonged exclusively to transfems now (also you're so so so so based for loving Schrödinger I remember first seeing him in like 2007 and wishing I looked exactly like him)

Schrodinger is my secret fifth blorbo. I'm obsessed with him. I think about him constantly. High five.

als catboys are only white passing in the way that people love to say anime characters are white lmao (aka cant conceive of the fact that anime characters are actually light skinned Japanese). not to say anime doesn't have a colorism problem but They Are Not White and its racist to say otherwise

lol yes exactly

I might be really stepping in it here, but tangential to catboy/catgirl discourse, I'm starting to get really uncomfortable with how the cutesy moe-blob yuri is treated as "trans lesbian culture" these days? as though none of it was ever straight guy fantasy shit? as though it's ideal representation instead of another vector of impossible beauty standards? idk, maybe I'm just being way too touchy. 😬

It's fine if something becomes emblematic of transfem culture but you just can't pretend something was always transfem when it blatantly wasn't lol

you got marked red on shinigami eyes and i havev no idea why

My smoke too tough, my swag too different, my bitch too bad.

juggalo here. we don't want them.

Devastating.

For what it's worth, the "cats transforming into people" thing is probably based on the bakeneko, yeah. The "bake" in "bakeneko" means "transforming", often with the implication of transforming into people (like the better known bakedanuki and bakegitsune). The popularization of cat-people in anime probably came from Neko-Musume from Gegege no Kitaro (the anime behind the "youkai boom" in modern Japanese culture), who is a half-bakeneko.

Fascinating.

(Dif anon) "leading one to wonder what transphobia they think trans men do face" 99.999% sure at this point we're at "trans men experience misgendering... maybe...?"

Well that doesn't count since everyone wants to be a girl, an idea that I believe has universal appeal because I'm a self-centered moron.

You're awesome <3

Thank you anon. <3

I didn't realize I was trans from yaoi but I did largely realize it from memes about traps and accidentally stumbling across largely transfem subreddits via a anime memes despite being transmasc so. Great amount of respect for our yaoi soldiers.

Hell yeah!

[insanelyadd]

The Collector's Hat Sewing Pattern and Tutorial

Image of the pattern I made with measurements:

As a little heads up to people with big/small heads and/or more voluminous hair, this was based on measuring my own head which has a circumference of 22 inches which is dead on the average and my hair is completely straight and relatively flat. You may need to do some adjustments of these measurements because the final fit is very fitted, in that it can be easily put on and taken off but does not fall off on it's own under typical circumstances.*

This pattern is meant for knit or other stretch fabrics, I did not make a completed version with woven or stiffer fabrics, so quality may vary depending on the material you select. I recommend knits.

If you are new to sewing or this is one of your first projects you are doing without a physical pattern, I recommend following the given measurements and drawing it out on some type of paper first and then using that as reference for yourself. I am an outlier when it comes to not making patterns and drawing the shape of what I want out onto the fabric directly, and you shouldn't follow my horrible example. This hat is actually the first time I've even made a muslin prototype.

When you are going to cut out the pieces you need to make sure, like double and triple check, that if you were to lay them pattern/top side up, that they would mirror each other like in the above picture. If you don't then you'll have two lefts or two rights.

The first actual step for sewing is taking the straight lines from the V shaped notch in the top of the hat, and lining them up by folding the piece in half so the patterned/top of the fabric is on the inside of the fold, like in the picture above. You do this on one half at a time. When they are lined up sew them with a straight line stitch a 1/4 inch (1/2 cm) in from the cut, starting at the fold towards the top of the hat.

After that you want to lay them pattern to pattern, and pin them into place to make sure it's aligned properly on both sides. To reduce bulk I recommend making the excess fabric from the darts (the V cut-out) point in opposite directions, as shown in the above picture.

After you've sewn the sides together there is an optional step that I did to make sure the seam lies flat on the top of your head. I opted to sew both sides down onto the blue half of my hat because my machine was being picky and skipping stitches on they grey fabric if there was no blue fabric as well (I got around this on the hem by inserting thin pieces from the blue's selvage into the seam). But if your machine isn't being picky or you are hand sewing this, then you could split the excess and sew them down onto their corresponding half. Example above, as usual.

Optional step that MUST go here. If you are attaching a ribbon, or lace for a trim to edge you have to do it now. I do not recommend this step to beginners. I recommend sewing it down while rolling the edge to create the hem, and then securing the other side of the ribbon/lace further into the piece because this guarantees a better placement and straighter lines. If you are doing this step along solely the bottom or front edges then let the lace/ribbon stick out further than the edge of the fabric, so you can fold it under the hem.

The final required step is to hem it, just fold what remains of the raw edge and sew it down.

Final optional step is for adding little trinkets. I added trinkets to the front corners and the floppy bit in the back like the Archivists are depicted as having. I used embroidery thread and slid the needle to go between the seams and tied it off on the inside. If your trinkets are not detachable, like the little stars on my hat, you need to thread the needle through the ring before putting it back into the hat and tying off the thread. Thinner cord or thin ribbon could work as well.

*I actually just did some tests and I have to be tilted further back than lying flat on my back for it to fall off. I was able to bend over and look through my knees and it didn't fall off. I tested it's wind resistance against my two strongest fans and neither could knock it off my head even when I shook it. So I think it will stay in place just shy of someone pointing a leaf blower at you.

Enjoy these pictures of the finished product, including a glamor shot of me wearing it backwards while I fumble with my phone for a picture.

[captain-mj]

Changling!Ghost attempting to court Selkie!Soap before ditching google and asking Soap's mom.

Hell yeah, love it! I also have the next part of this story already planned and ready to go so hope you guys are enjoying it

Ghost checked the time. Currently 4 am. The screen he was on now was an article of Selkies in Scottish folklore.

After reading about how selkies were sexually dominated by those that stole their coats for the dozenth time, he gave up. Every article held pretty much the same thing. An explanation of how men would force the female selkies to be their brides through their coat or how male selkies would have human families they’d see for a while before leaving. Several stated that once a selkie went to sea, they wouldn’t be seen for seven years and he needed to make sure that wasn’t true because he thought he’d go mad if Soap disappeared from him. 

Ghost set his head down. He wished he could sleep, but alas, it was evading him tonight. It’s why he decided to get some research done. Originally, it was to help him court Soap, but he had gotten a bit lost in the stories. 

There were clear distinctions he could make out. Everything before a certain painted selkies as malevolent or benevolent, some even implying there evil. Then the weird sexual stuff. Then when the catholics came and they could be healed by baptism. Considering Soap was very much still here, that wasn’t true. 

There was nothing on courting. Nothing. Just take their coat and force them. He didn't want that.

He checked the time and did the math. Because of the timezone difference it would be 8 where Soap's mom lived.

Ghost called her before he could second guess himself.

"Hello?" She sounded so soft spoken. Her accent just as thick as Soap's though.

"Hi. This is... Ghost? Soap may have called me Simon."

"Oh. I was waiting for your call. I have to say, I appreciate how safe you keep my son." Her voice grew to a whisper and it was clear she was moving around.

"Yes, of course. I'd do anything for him." He had been honest with Soap about one thing and that's that he really did want her to like him.

"Good. I will admit, I was worried when he said he planned to not tell you. Selkies are sensitive, especially my son." There was a threat right under the surface. "So why are you calling?"

"I want to know how to court him. Properly."

"..."

Ghost stared at the wall ahead of him and shoved himself through one of the most excruciating sentences of his life. "I've been looking into it, but I'm not good at human romance, let alone this. I want... Soap to be my husband and I want to be a good husband back."

"..."

Ghost gritted his teeth and bore the silence for a few minutes before finally getting an answer.

"Did you feel this way before seeing his coat?"

"I've felt this way a while, ma'am."

He swore for a moment he heard her sniffle. "Good. Good. I'll help you, okay? First, please disregard anything you've seen online."

"Already did. They mostly just suggest taking his coat or chasing him."

"Chasing comes later, doing that so early on is seen as tacky and too forward." She explained while Ghost felt a blush creep up on his face. "Right now, you need to prove yourself to be a good mate. Little difficult considering your jobs, but prove you're useful. If you were a selkie, I'd suggest hunting bu-"

"I hunt." Ghost interrupted. "Mostly deer. Would that... work?"

"Excellent. Yes. Bring him food and shiny objects. Also, wear your arms bare more."

"Why?" That didn't make much sense.

"Because Soap likes your tattoos. And your arms. I love my son very much, but I didn't need to know your measurements or how much you can lift. Congrats on getting to 275 on bench presses by the way. According to Soap, that's very impressive."

Ghost had turned bright red under his mask. "Thank you."

She laughed softly before humming. "Can you do something for me and not ask why?"

"Sure."

"Say you're doing this to control him."

Ghost paused and went to ask why before stopping. "I'm doing this to control Soap."

"Thank you. Good luck." She hung up on him.

He decided to brush it off, sure she asked for a good reason. 

So Ghost took her advice and bought him a handful of pens that glittered. Soap held them to his chest and blushed. “Thank you.”

Ghost nodded, staring at him. The next time he went to eat, he noticed Soap had given him some extra food. He immediately looked for him, seeing him talk to Gaz. Something warm spread through his chest before he fled to his room to eat. 

Soap visited him after a while and sat with him, talking casually. 

“You want to come with me on our next leave?” Ghost asked suddenly. “I have a cabin in Canada I go to occasionally.” 

Soap stared at him for a minute, clearly thinking. “I’m sorry, ask me that again.” 

“I have a cabin in Canada. It’s only an hour by foot from a coast too.” He looked at Soap who was still processing. 

“I thought you had a flat in Manchester?”

“Yeah, I do. But I have a cabin I hunt at. It’s pretty nice.”

“And you’re inviting me. To stay there. For a week. Alone. In the woods.” Soap leaned forward as he talked.

“Yes. You and me.” Ghost nodded. 

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll go.” Soap said softly.

-

“How much further?” Soap groaned at him. They had gotten off the plane maybe thirty minutes ago. The cab had driven them as far as the road went and now they had been trekking for maybe ten minutes.

“Stop being a baby.”

Soap groaned more. “Do we have to do this every time we need anything?”

“Yep.”

“I’m regretting this already. I think my feet are going to fall off.”

“We’ve walked way more than this for a mission!” Ghost didn’t understand, turning to look at him. There was a lot of snow... And he didn’t really prepare Soap as well as he could’ve.. 

He noticed that Soap’s face was completely red from the cold. He assumed he’d be immune to the cold, but he supposed without his coat, he was just human. 

Ghost moved closer. “Sorry.”

Soap blinked and stared up at him. His eyes were so big. Ghost really, really like them. 

He took off his mask and grabbed Soap’s face, very gently holding. If hypothermia had set in, rubbing would cause the ice crystals in his skin to tear. Once he thought Soap was a little more warmed up, he moved closer, gently rubbing now to make sure there was plenty of blood flow. Soap was still really red though which was concerning. 

Soap stared at him, a lot more aware of their proximity than Ghost. “Simon?” His breath made clouds but Ghost’s didn’t. It was an odd thing to notice, but they both did. 

Ghost slipped his ski mask over Soap head, tucking in carefully. “There. I don’t really get cold. I’ll carry your bag.” He took it from him and started trekking again. Soap grabbed his arm and followed. Maybe he leaned in a bit too much, making it hard for Ghost to walk, but Ghost wasn’t going to say anything. 

Finally they got there and Soap collapsed on the couch. Ghost turned the heat on and sat with him. He took off both their gloves and did the process he remembered for warming someone up. Start with the extremities. Ghost hummed softly. 

Soap pulled off the mask and tossed it on the table. “You gave me your mask.”

“Yeah, I was worried. Your face was super red.” He continued rubbing Soap’s hands until they felt warm. Ghost hummed. “I’m not rubbing your feet. You can just lose some toes.” 

Soap laughed. “Alright. Understood.” He moved a little closer. “This place is... To be honest, I was expecting a shack.” 

It really was a nice place. Two stories, big lofty rooms and mostly wood from the looks of it. “I’m a little insulted. But I like space. Plus no one can be hiding anywhere.” 

Soap laughed. “Paranoid as always, huh, Lt?” 

Ghost shrugged. “There’s a spare room. I know we’re married and all but...”

“I’ll be staying in the spare room for now.” Soap said quickly, blushing as he looked away.

Ghost nodded and showed him where it was. “Before you ask, there is a hot water heater and it lasts for hours. Unlike the one on base.”

“You’re making me a very happy man, Simon Riley.” Johnny smiled at him. 

Simon tried not to vibrate out of his skin. “I’m going to bring you so many deer.”

“What?”