#get gloved moron

[spaciebabie]

the gloves are impenetrable!!! until....he takes them off

based on this post followed by this ask

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ … ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW AND TWO CLUELESS MORONS | kinich x gn!reader

— in which ajaw tends to interrupt kisses. and ruin moments.

— this took way too long to get out, winner of this poll w 458 votes .. includes pre + post getting together, kinich does bite , i love ajaw

recently, the little pixelated... thing that called itself "almighty dragonlord k'uhul ajaw" had proved to be quite troublesome.

and it wasn't just in your love affairs with malipo kinich; ajaw took it upon himself to make not a single second of your day silent.

"i'm nOT forigiving you for this you... you... you- aGH, NEVERMIND! you're literally HOGGING kinich's attention so like.. screw off already!!"

needless to say, it seemed that ajaw was a jealous individual. you'd heard a thing or two about him from kinich, though rather.. unsavory things: irrelevant tidbits, a nonchalant little comment of "i forgot to mention, he'll take over my body when i die, so he constantly wishes for my misfortune."

oh yeah, like that was totally normal.

then, perhaps ajaw's jealousy wasn't unfounded — you "owned" kinich more than he ever would, lol. funnily enough, the way the two of you had met was purely due to ajaw, so if anything, he didn't have the right to complain.

from what kinich told you later on, he had been on some bounty mission for a troupe of ragtag saurian poachers, and had swung by to check grappling indents on the cliffside when ajaw spotted an adventurer scaling the rock. doing what he does best — causing a celestial fuck of a racket — he hovered over, preaching about how "real adventurers don't use equipment" and to "drop everything to show your bravery" ... after a proper talking to, kinich met with you to convey a formal apology.

at the time, you didn't know such a professional relationship would develop into something more.

"he's bothering you again? i'll scold him..."

kinich's voice was quiet, his head settled in your lap, one hand gently circling your wrist. you slowly ran a hand through his hair, released from its typical headband-style. soft, it was fluffy to the touch, and you heard kinich hum in content, bringing his hands up to caress your face — a silent request for a kiss.

and how could you resist? there was something in that gaze that seemed so pleading, so intimate-

"you ICKY ICKY LovEBIRDS !! FOR THE LOVE OF- GET A ROOM!!"

kinich withdrew his hands with a scowl, lips pressing into a thin line. "... read the room, ajaw."

"this almighty dragonlord is not going to witness a k-kis- grOSS, i can't even SAY it...!!"

"..."

kinich seemed to consider something, very briefly.

then, he grabbed the sputtering pixel-dragon forcefully, smothering ajaw's face with a gloved hand. watching in awe and feeling thoroughly entertained, you heard indignant shouts grow muffled.. and just like that, ajaw shut up for the first time in over a decade. historical.

your lover leaned forward, angling his head to the side to press a chaste little kiss into your neck. like he had flipped a switch, he grazed his teeth lightly against your skin, nipping at it first, though not hard enough to draw blood, then biting at it.

"ouch, are you trying to leave a mark? what's with you?"

"shush." he spoke with his face flush to your neck, kissing a small trail up your neck and onto your jaw as if in apology. "i'm merely claiming what's mine."

and there ajaw floated, suffocated and forgotten. "..hell, are those two SERIOUSLY making out ?? when im literally rIGHT HERE!?"

(a/n) ajaw is so detestable i love him if possible i think id want to pinch his pixel cheeks. anyway "so call me maybe" is up next w "so cradle these wings" after, they were supposed to be sorta related but i don't the release order matters so :p

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

[seveneyesoup]

curry mmmm

[hopelessromantic5]

The tavern scene where Merlin is playing the King at dice and using his magic and it’s really fucking hot.

As Merlin looked around at their accumulating audience, he saw more than a few red cloaks.

So the knights had come to see their king brought to his knees, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur questioned boisterously.

“Nothing, sire.” Merlin singsonged with a smirk that he knew would only frustrate Arthur further. Merlin threw only a momentary glance to The Once and Future King who is soon to lose all of his silver challenging the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth at dice.

Merlin acted as if he were considering his bet, then stacked two piles of silver coins into the bowl.

Of course, Arthur just slung his about like he had no intention of losing it.

Think again, your royal pratship.

Arthur stepped back, next to Percival and Lancelot, to watch Merlin roll.

“Watch out. Here we go.” Though Merlin thought he saw something akin to doubt behind his King’s startlingly blue eyes.

This made Merlin smile like a fool.

The King is nervous to lose, he thought, at least he isn’t a complete moron.

Merlin schooled his face, and began to tumble the dice around in the cup. The sound almost like hooves on compact earth, or dangling talismans hung by Druids, tinkling together in the wind.

Merlin brought his hand holding the cup, up to his lips blowing air into it and letting just a little of his magic slip out.

“Ten.”

And as he knew they would, they dice rolled a perfect ten.

He laughed as irritation settled onto Arthur’s devilishly handsome face.

The king rounded the table, leaning over so his voice was heard only by Merlin’s ears.

“Enjoy this moment, Merlin. While it lasts.”

Merlin didn’t really hear it, though.

The instant that Arthur moved into his personal space, his servant was lost to the world. Distracted by soft lips twisted into a frown, a jawline chiseled from stone, and eyes too beautiful and kind for their own good.

There must be some magic there, Merlin thought. You can’t have eyes like that by the natural grace of the gods.

But if anyone were to be gifted with such a knee buckling appearance, King Arthur of Camelot was the one to deserve it.

Merlin had never seen him being untoward with any female prospects. Never saw him getting handsy with kitchen staff or lady’s maids. Merlin had never seen Arthur approach anyone in that way.

And, though sometimes he stupidly inappropriately wished it, Merlin had never seen Arthur take anyone back to his chambers.

Never once in the three years Merlin had been working for the spoiled prat of a king. Two of those years, Arthur was still a prince. Yet, he held none of the urges that people often berated when they spoke of the young. None that he gave into, anyway.

Merlin never claimed to know the inner workings on his kings mind, especially not in that area. With each passing season Merlin became more confused and less likely to broach the subject.

Not that he minded.

In fact he didn’t mind, at all.

Because there was the rather unfortunate fact that Merlin had been in love with Arthur Pendragon from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Arthur wasn’t drunk. But he had been drinking. Enough to let lingering doubts disappear into the back of his mind.

He thought about this, as he led the way to his chambers, Merlin following dutifully a few steps behind.

Merlin was completely sober.

Arthur knew because he watched Merlin all night, and the man never touched his cup, not once.

Arthur was determined. He was a King. He was supposed to look fear in the face and laugh.

He didn’t know how to handle fear in the form of the beautiful face of his magical manservant.

Merlin thought everything was normal.

Until the door closed behind him.

Arthur walked to the table, dropped his gloves on the surface, then turned to face Merlin with his arms crossed.

Gods, he was fit.

“Did you enjoy stealing all my money?”

Merlin tutted,

“Come now, sire. We both know that wasn’t anywhere near all your money.”

A chuckle left the Kings lips.

“That is not the point, Merlin.”

“And what is the point, sire?” Merlin was goading him and poking his buttons, unassuming of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in his lap.

Arthur was still smiling, but he narrowed his eyes, which put Merlin on alert. Merlin didn’t know this look. And he knew all of them. Well, almost all of them. He’d never seen this look before.

The King began to approach Merlin, slowly.

It didn’t take very long for him to reach his goal.

“The point, Merlin…” Arthur was very close now. His hopeless manservant was losing his breath, unable to look away from his gorgeous, awe-inspiring face. Merlin was boxed in by Arthur’s muscular arms, inches away from him face.

“…is that you cheated.”

Just like that, all the air was sucked out of the room.

Merlin couldn’t move, or speak, or get oxygen to his brain to make it function.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s smile spread across his face.

He was…smiling?

Oh thank all the gods in all the heavens, he doesn’t hate me!

This is what Merlin’s inner voice was screaming to imaginary skies, until Arthur spoke again.

Merlin zeroed back in on the King’s eyes, and realized that the blue had been swallowed by black.

“You want to know something?” His voice is low and rough, and he was so close. Incredibly, impossibly close.

Merlin was not computing coherent words at the moment so he nodded, eager to know something. Anything. As long as it came from those lips.

Arthur moved in to hover his mouth just above Merlin’s skin. Right below his ear.

Merlin shivered involuntarily at the proximity, and the tease that The King of Camelot turned out to be.

“I’ve known for years, Merlin.”

Merlin might’ve been shocked, if his shock hasn’t been overrun by the way Arthur whispered his name. Like a siren song, begging him to come closer.

“But the way you looked in that tavern,”

Arthur’s breath kept caressing his skin in lapping waves and it was intoxicating. Merlin’s whole body was filled with want. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips and at the very top of his spine. Deep in his gut, where everything pooled to drag him under.

“I knew I had to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Arthur drew back, half lidded, smirking all-knowing.

Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but it must be a sight.

“That is, if you’ll have me.”

Merlin swallowed the past the lump in his throat before speaking, or whispering. Even if every part of him thrummed with this feeling, there was always a chance of everything crumbling. Nothing was certain, until it was.

“I am yours.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he ever held in, Arthur could always read his eyes.

[jjenthusee]

Safe House Pt.2

Pairing: Red Hood x Reader

A/N: im in love with their dynamic ENJOY :) comment, like, and reblog if u can 💐

check out pt. 1 here!

Tags: unhinged Jason, chaotic duo, annoying jason would be my love language

Word Count: 300+

“Are we there yet?” You sighed, the ache in your legs setting in.

“No.” Red continued to walk, unaffected by the unusual terrain.

“Now?”

“No.”

“How about—“

“Shut up.” Red interrupted you, his modulated voice could not hide the annoyance building.

“But I’m getting impatient.”

Red stayed silent.

“Red, don’t ignore me.”

You could only hear his footsteps echo. He had blindfolded you, completely unsure of your surroundings.

Where were you stepping? Why did he even bother covering your eyes?

“This is ridiculous, why can’t I see anything?” You swung your head around trying to listen to anything unusual.

“Maybe that’s the point, moron.” Red kept his hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward.

“Come on, Red! This is how you treat me after all we’ve been through?” You stuttered in disbelief at the betrayal.

“I’ve only known you for a week.” Jason paused, you only heard the sound of his boots jumping up a ledge. “A very long week.” He said underneath his breath.

“I can’t believe you said that. I saved your life!”

“Ha!” Red coughed out a laugh, he was in complete astonishment at your delusion. “You nearly crushed me with your car. Raise your hands.”

“Excuse me, I swerved the last second. I technically crushed the guy chasing after you.”

“Some hero.” Red deadpanned as he grabbed your hands, his gloves clasping over yours to lift you up.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” You mumbled midair.

“In your dreams.” Jason helped you to your feet, standing at your full height, balancing your weight to the new ground level by holding onto his bicep.

Red hadn’t let go of your hand.

You could feel the close proximity. And a slight tingle in your fingertips.

You shook the thought away.

“I promise I’ll aim for you next time.” You cheerfully looked up to the direction of his voice, smiling as you spoke threatening words coated in a silken voice.

“I can’t wait.” Red looked down at your blindfolded face.

A tiny smirk on the edge of his mouth, covered entirely by the red helmet. Nothing but you and him standing in an unknown space.

[belladonazeppole]

The Many Suitors of Miss Fortune

"I fucking knew it!" Adam yelled while pointing at Husk, this asshole reborn as a sinner and didn't took him long enough to come to the hotel asking for a place to stay since it look that lot of sinners could recognizr him and they weren't happy.

Charlie, the bleeding heart that she had, accept him even if she wasn't excited of him be here but she believe that everybody deserve redemption even if that person was Adam who took a liking on Husk.

"You almost convince me that you were a dude!" For some reason Adam believe that Husk is a woman. Maybe it was his chest fur since Angel gave him a shampo that gave Husk more volume or maybe Adam is into woman with deep voices or he's just a fucking moron. "You look so hot that I can get over you having the bitchest personality in this dump."

"I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOU CAN'T BE THIS FUCKING STUPID! " Husk yelled angrily at Adam, he has this argument to many times and just fially he succed in making him see reason in that thick skull of his."I'M JUST IN DRAG!"

The fact that he comes from Adam just makes him lose hope.

Sadly he can't make this moron see reason but he was right in one thing, he look really good. Husk has to congratulate Angel for making his grumpy old ass look this great. Husk was wearing a golden-yellow backless dress with a slip on the side, golden heels to match, a short wig that was the same color that his fur. It make Husk remember his youth when he do some drag as "Lady Luck" but that was when he was alive.

"As crude and imbecile Adam can be, he is right for once, you look quite wonderful tonight, my dear Husker." Said Alastor while spawning out nowhere in the stool of the bar while glaring at Husk. That was actually kinda sweet from Alastor since after their deal was broken their relationship was.... weird. Alastor sometimes tried to treat still like his pet but now Husk could actually refuse.

Alastor still was a bitch in deer clothing but maybe they can move on from their owner/pet relationship, maybe even making Alastor see Husk as an actual person and not his cat.

"Thanks, Al. That—

"Your welcome! But I do have a problem while the dress fits you like a glove the color just don't see like the right one." He squints his eyes while looking at him up and down to then snapping his fingers making the dress changing from golden-yellow to red, "There! It isn't better? Red was always a color that look better on you, my friend."

Or maybe not.

"No thanks. This color fits me way better than red." He said with a smug smile while snaping his fingers and, return the dress from Alastor signature red to his original golden-yellow, which make one of Alastor's ears twitch.

"Just ignore them you can't deal with stupid or batshit crazy." Said Angel while not giving Adam or Alastor much of a thought, the first just flip him in return while the latter strains his smile, "Now give me a spin! I want to see all my hard work before your date ravish you!"

"DATE WITH FUCKING WHO?" Adam yelled now angry knowing that the hottie that he was trying to bang was gonna be bang for somebody else.

"Husker!?" Alastor was shocked that his former (pet) associate was having date he believe that he and Angel were going to one of their silly "going out" but that somebody was having interest in his oldest... friend. It make Alastor feel angry and possesive. Meanwhile, Husk just rolls his eyes and ignore the outburst of these dumbass but still does what his friend ask him, after all Angel did help him and looking like this-

"This is just a first date, Angel."

"Just do what I'll do."

"I won't do anal in the first date." He cringes at bit at the sound of radio interference but refuse to giving Alastor the attention, "Buuh you whore!" Angel said jokingly while Husk just snorted at him.

"There you are!" A new voice make himself know, that was coming from the TV, it was Vox, who succed in coming out of the TV before Alastor could destroy it. "Fuck you old fossil!!" He yell while giving the finger to the radio demon.

Ever since Vox saw Alastor defeat agaisnt Adam he become more bold in entering to the hotel to mock the other overlord and old rival much to everybody else annoyance. Even fake dating Husk to have more info but the dumbass become more invested in Husk.

He may become Husk unofficial sugar daddy.

They don't even fuck.

Vox just gaves Husk money like an idiot for doing nothing.

Again Vox is a moron.

"Are you gonna fuck a fucking TV instead of having me? The Dickmaster?" Adam asked in disbelieve, fuck he fall really hard in this one. "He looks soo desperate."

"Inded and needy." Alastor glare harder at Vox, "I would expect that you have a better taste than this, Husker." At hint of dissapointment was in Alastor voice. Vox, for the first time, didn't put a lot of mind on them, "And you two are better?" He asked while crossing his arms to them point to Adam, "You! A broke fallen angel that is so fucking desperate that come to the place that tried to destroy in the first place!" Now pointing at Alastor, "And you! A coward who escape in battle and treat him like a pet at best!"

Now looking smug, "While I'm a powerful overlord that has tons of money and can make any of his whishes reality."

"I mean he isn't wrong."

"True, but Husk has a date with somebody waaayy better than any of you guys."

"WHO?" The three of them ask in anger.

"Hoo Mama!"

The three sinners slowly begin to turn around to see Lucifer the King of Hell with a bottle of apple cider and his mouth wide open at the sight of Husk, so he was the date.

That motherfucker.

Lucifer seeing that there were more people watching him pulled himself together as best he could, failure of course, "I mean…uh- You look beautiful tonight Hu- I mean Miss Fortune, yes, that color suits you excellently." He said hurriedly as he handed the bottle of apple cider to Husk who only smiled at his reaction.

He hands the bottle to Angel, "Thanks, Duckie." He laughs a little as the redness in his cheeks appears, "But you have Angel to thank, he's the one who made my geezer self look this awesome."

"Uuhhh, thank you Angel." He said a little awkward as with the use of his magic made another bottle appear, "A thank you for making Husk look amazing…I mean more! More amazing than you normally look, you always look good but now? I almost fainted…"

He really was Charlie's father.

The same verbal diarrhea when they're nervous.

It was adorable if he was honest.

"I understand you look amazing today too, Duckie." He said once again using Lucifer's nickname which only made him smile more and more relaxed, "I'll wait for you outside."

"Thanks, Short King" Said Angel with the bottle in his hand and leaving to his room, "Have a good fuck you two!" He just waves his hand a bit awkwardly, "Don't worry I'll make sure Husk has a night he won't forget."

He was ready to leave until he sees the three sinners looking at him with daggers in their eyes, his awkward posture changes to an arrogant one while he flashes them the finger, "You three want to be me so badly right now."

"Adam, looks like third time's the charm after all. Alfred I'm sorry for not being able to stay for a conversation but I have date right now…. and who are you?" He said the last while pointing at Vox but shakes his head nonchalantly, "It doesn't matter if I'm honest. I have go to my date with Miss Fortune and if I'm lucky it will soon be Mrs Fortune." He said while sticking his tongue out between his fingers.

"Toodles!" He cheerfully as he leaves the three of them alone.

The King had a date and felt really lucky if he is honest!

(This takes inspiration by a small convo that @adyophene and I had it was too good for me not write.)

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

Previous

Next

[scary-grace]

I didn’t put this WIP on the list for the WIP game, but I’m hyped about it, so here is an excerpt from a fic inspired partially by a conversation with @sophsiaaa and written for a summer fic event hosted by @threadbaresweater! Shigaraki x reader, coffee shop au + ‘a day at the beach’:

Past noon, things slow down a bit. You decide to speed-clean the espresso machine, and you’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice the customer. It’s possibly also the customer’s fault, since he’s peering at you from over the drink pickup counter instead of standing by the cash register, and when he barks the question at you, it startles you badly. “What’s the password?”

“On the WiFi?” You tuck your burned hand behind your back. “No password. Find a place to sit down and have at it.”

The customer looks disconcerted. Or at least you think he does — the lower half of his face is covered with a surgical mask, and given that he doesn’t have eyebrows, it’s hard to read his expression. “Why?”

“Why isn’t there a password?” You haven’t gotten that question yet. “I want people to be able to use it if they need it.”

“They’re gonna watch porn.”

“Me putting a password on the WiFi wouldn’t stop that,” you say. “And I’m not the Internet police. If somebody starts acting up, I’ll deal with it. If not — just use headphones.”

The customer’s expression twists. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Sure.” You’re not a moron. “It’s not my business what you do. Unless your business starts messing with my business. Seriously. Knock yourself out.”

The customer turns away, and you spend a second being extremely grateful that you went for single-occupancy bathrooms instead of multiple-stall bathrooms before you go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Your hand hurts, but it’s nothing running it under cold water won’t fix later. When you straighten up, there’s someone at the counter.

It’s porn guy, who you really shouldn’t call porn guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. You dry your hands and hurry over. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The customer glances at the pastry case, then shakes his head. Then his stomach growls audibly. He knows you heard it. What little of his face is visible above the mask turns red. “No.”

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’ve got these new pastries the bakery wants me to try out, but next to nobody’s tried one yet. If you agree to tell me how it was, you can have it half off.”

“I have money.” The customer shoves a credit card across the counter to you, and you see that he’s wearing fingerless gloves. Or sort of fingerless gloves. They’re missing the first three fingers and that’s it. “I don’t need help.”

“No, but you’re helping me out,” you say. You add the pastry to his order and discount it by half, then fish it out of the case with a pair of tongs. “For here or to go?”

“Here.” The customer watches as you set it on a plate. “What is that?”

“It’s babka.”

“I can read. What is it?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. Maybe that’s why people aren’t buying them. “The filling is chocolate and cinnamon, though. It’s hard to go wrong with that. It’ll be just a second with the coffee.”

You fill a mug, then point out the cream and sugar. Then you realize you still haven’t tapped the customer’s card. You finish ringing it up and glance at the cardholder’s name. Shimura Tenko. He hasn’t been in before today. You’re not the best with faces, but you never forget a name.

[befabeebee]

I can just imagine Bob Floyd having a motorcycle that nobody knows about until you walk into the hard deck with the gloves/helmet w him. 😝😝

Bob (Robert) Floyd x Gn Reader!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ +*:ꔫ:*﹤ ·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. ﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It was a normal Friday night, you and bob had both gotten off a work and decided to meet the rest of the dagger squad at the Hard Deck like you did most Fridays. Bob had helped you pick an outfit because you didn’t know what would be appropriate and safe for the ride over. He had gotten you your own helmet a couple months ago and helped you decorate it to your liking. He loved how excited you were to be able to ride along with him to and from places. In the end you decided a simple hoodie and jeans would suffice and maybe a slight hair curl for spice. He gave you his favorite hoodie, the one that smelled like him and the cologne you got him for your anniversary. As you arrive at the Hard Deck, you have no place to put the gloves he makes you wear so you end up putting them in your back pocket and forgetting about them for the rest of the night, until…

“What are these for?” Hangman asks confused as he pulls one of the gloves out of your pocket.

“What do you mean?..” You asks more confused than he was.

“The gloves. What are they for? Since when did you need gloves to drive a car?” You would think he’d use more common sense because he’s a pilot but I guess not.

“It’s for the motorcycle. Duh.” You say sarcastically as you truly think he is joking about being a brain dead moron right in front of your eyes.

“Since when did you have a motorcycle?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for Bob”

“SINCE WHEN DID BOB HAVE A CYCLE???” He exclaims as a shocked look paints his features.

“Baby on Board!! When did you get a cycle?!?” He yells across the bar at Bob who is winning pool against FanBoy and Coyote.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I got it like 3 years ago, nothing special” Bob casually says as he returns his focus back on the pool table.

You look at hangman and smirk, “He looks good riding it too..~” You softly giggle and walk towards your lovely boyfriend.

You look up at him as he rests his arm around your waist softly, “Love, I think i’m ready to go..”

He looks down at you as his eyes turn to concern, “Why? What’s wrong? What happened?” He asks worried ready to set someone straight.

“No nothing happened, i’m just.. ready to take a ride..” You say to him widening your eyes innocently

He shoots you a confused look and takes a minute to fully in what you mean.

“A ride? We can do laps in a bit love..” He tells you trying to ease your rushing nerves

“No love.. the other kind of ride..~” You smirk and softly kiss his cheek. His face starts to burn and his skin turns the sweetest shade of pink you’ve seen many times before. You strut out of the bar and go to lean on his bike.

“Uhm.. Guys I gotta go.. Something came up.. “ He places down the pool cue and nods to Fanboy and Coyote. “We can rematch another time!..” He runs after you and both of you leave swiftly.

The Dagger Squad is shocked and Phoenix smirks and sips her beer giggling.

A/N: Hi guys.. This is my first writing with Bob so if it is bad i’m sorry, i tried to be creative but i don’t know how to write good blurbs 😭🙏 I would love tips and or requests to write and get better, thanks!!! 🩷🩷

[xstarsdiary]

SWEET GIRL ❤︎︎

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 - 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝖣𝖠 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗒- 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 ’𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉’. 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍．

𝜗𝜚 miles quaritch x female sully reader (22)

warnings - 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗻𝗶!! choking, degradation, hair pulling, slight kuru play, degradation, praise, begging, orgasm denial, unwanted creampie, I didn’t know how else to end it 😭

word count - 2.2k 𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡．

vocabulary - vrrtep: demon/s, uniltìrantokx: dreamwalker/s, tawtute: human, skxawng: moron / idiot, thanator: (palulukan) creature on pandora.

tagging - @neteyamsoare ❤︎︎ （ 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍! ）

Getting kidnapped by Colonel Miles Quaritch - the man who was presumed dead, murdered by your mother herself - was one thing. But the things the two of you did behind closed doors was another thing. Another very, very bad thing.

The RDA had taken you after holding you and your younger siblings hostage, spider as well. You had been moved from room to room over the few weeks you stayed there. Or maybe it was months? You had no idea.

Just the other week you had been moved to a different room, a much smaller room. And the very first thing you noticed was that all the walls were a clean white colour, not a single wall held your reflection in it like the large one in your past room.

The vrrteps must’ve thought you were stupid, you thought. You always knew that they were watching you from the other side of the reflective wall as well as the small contraption in the corner of your old cell, which would have a small dot that flashed red whenever they were watching you.

Not only did they watch you. The vrrteps in lab coats would often strut into your room, running all kinds of tests as at least a few uniltìrantokx stood around, their big guns firmly held in their grasp. You couldn’t do anything but sit or lay there helplessly, occasionally hissing to show your displeasure as your hands stayed bound in orange cuffs.

Other than that, you were pretty much left alone. Sometimes you wondered how spider, the human boy who often hung out with your younger siblings was. He had been taken by the RDA too, but you still haven’t seen him since the first day, when you watched with worried eyes as the sky people used their awful machines against him.

It was a horror sight to see a kid be tortured like that, to be in that much pain just because a woman in military clothing wanted answers from him. You were grateful for whoever stopped the machine before your eyes landed on the culprit, the person just happening to be Quaritch.

That was the first time you got a good look at the man. You studied him from your place on a bench in the lab, where the scientists poked and prodded at you with their sharp needles and gloved hands.

His muscles flexed as he tensed up, quietly speaking to the tawtute woman who looked up at him with a frustrated expression. Only the most unholy thoughts filled your mind as you watched his outstretched arm flex, his biceps hardening and fingers slightly twitching.

Your mouth went dry and you internally scolded yourself as you remembered who this man was, disgusted at yourself for even allowing those thoughts- those images to come to mind.

You didn’t know what came over you the first night he came to your cell, predatory eyes scanning over your slim figure as his hands tightly held onto his vest. Hell- he didn’t even know what he was doing.

He felt like he had already failed his mission the second he realized that he- no, his body was attracted to you. Your figure was slim and lean with just the right amount of muscle and the perfect amount of fat in all the right places.

He couldn’t help it. I mean, he gets bought back in a whole new much younger body, of course his hormones are everywhere. He felt like a horny teenager all over again.

He knew it was so wrong being in your room for this reason. You’re his targets oldest kid for fucks sake. But the second he had you on your knees, the side of your face pushed into the soft mattress beneath you and your hands held tightly behind your back while one of his it all felt so right.

You were the perfect stress relief. The perfect distraction. He guessed that's why he would find himself walking towards your cell almost every night, his cock throbbing painfully hard inside of his pants.

The events from earlier today had him especially stressed. Him and his team had gone out into the forest, this time without Spider. Big Mistake. They had almost gotten lost a countless amount of times and had a bad run in with a Thanator.

One of his soldiers was injured, not too severely but enough to be put in the hospital wing for a decent amount of time, definitely putting him at least a couple days behind on his mission.

However, all of that stress seemingly disappeared as soon as he rubbed his pink tip against your wet cunt before pushing inside of your tight hole, relishing in the way you suck him in so perfectly. You were always so good for him on nights like these, so obedient.

You didn't know why you would succumb to him every time. Maybe it was the fact that you were equally as horny, desperate for release. Or maybe it was the fact that you were slightly attracted to the man.

Whatever the reason was, you didn't really care. Especially when he’s pumping in and out of you this fast, his cock filling you up so perfectly that you’re starting to think it was made just for you.

Your heels dug into his shoulder blades as his hand found its placement on your knees, helping to hold our legs up. You didn't even know what to do with your own hands as they gripped the bed sheets above your head, your moans getting choked up in your throat with each rough thrust he gives you.

There was no denying that Miles was rough and relentless when endorsed in intercourse, well at least with you he was. You weren't complaining though, no. You secretly loved the way he would tug on your hair, the way he would switch up between praising and degrading you, a perfect mix of both.

His voice was always rough and demanding, authoritative would be the best way to describe it. And excitement filled your body every time he would speak, making your pussy clench harder around his thick cock. “Such a good girl, hm? Sweet girl.” He would murmur, one of his hands moving to wrap around your throat.

Your hands instinctively move to wrap around his wrist, but still not making any effort to tug his hand away as your nails now dig into his skin instead of the soft bedding beneath you.

“Fff-uck!” You curse, struggling to get any words or noises out as his hand wraps harder around your throat, almost restricting any air from entering as you lightly gasp. With your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head and every now and then fluttering closed you mewl, hips bucking upwards to match his merciless thrusts.

There's a low growl that emits from his throat, his hand unwrapping from your throat before he grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you up off his cock as you unhook your legs from over his shoulders.

You let out a pathetic whine at the feeling of being so empty, the pressure that had just started building up in your abdomen already lost. Miles lifts you upright as if you're some ragdoll. Some toy just for him to play with when he's bored. And maybe that's really just what you are to him, a dumb slutty toy.

Now straddling his lap as the both of you sit on your knees, you grind against him, your wet cunt gliding smoothly against his cock. Your hands wrap around his neck, dainty fingers running through his buzzed hair before finding the base of his queue and wrapping around it.

“So needy aren't you, doll? Always being such a little fuckin’ whore.” And with his harsh words he lifts you up by your hips, roughly slamming you back down on his cock.

You cry out, nails scratching and clawing at his back, surely leaving stinging red marks. The sudden penetration was painful, taking you by surprise as your body stiffened.

Miles let out a quiet hiss, one of his hands tightening its grip on your hip as the other grabs a fustful of your braids and roughly tugs. Tears cloud your vision as the stinging pain in your scalp replaces the throbbing pain in your pussy, your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip.

Suppressing a moan, you bite down on your plump lip harder, eyes staring up at him. You didn't want to admit it but you didn't mind the pain, it was pleasurable even.

A guilty feeling brews in your stomach as you’re reminded of all the pain that this man has bought your family, your people. However, that feeling is forgotten almost as soon as his hips bucked upwards, cock burying impossibly deep inside of you before he lifts you up to pull out again, continuously slamming you down on him.

Your mind was numb. Silent. You couldn't think of anything except for the way his length slid in and out of you so deliciously, a wet clapping noise echoing around the room every time you bounced back down on his dick.

His grip on your hair loosened, allowing you to tilt your head back down and face him. Your mouth is hung wide open, breathy moans and whines escaping, worming their way out of your sore throat.

That familiar pressure in your lower stomach begins to build up, encouraging you to bounce harder, Miles’ hand still holding your plush hip as he guides you up and down. A series of moans leaves your mouth, followed by a few curses here and there.

Miles can tell you're getting close by the way your cunt is clenching around him. He lets out a groan of his own, watching your flushed face as he fucks you. “You close, girl?” He questions almost pridefully.

With another whine you shake your head, denying what's true as to save yourself from the humiliation that's soon to come.

He lets out a gruff chuckle, grip tightening on your hip. “Yeah you are. I know you are.” I can tell by the way your pretty pussy is gripping me even tighter. Miles thinks to himself, smirking slightly as his eyes drift down to where his cock is ruthlessly fucking you.

“Please- please just let me come!” You plead, speaking with a heavy accent in English in hopes that that will help convince him to let you have your release. Miles always liked when you spoke in his mother tongue.

“Please what?” His words are harsher than intended, sharp and demanding.

Sucking up your pride you answer. “Please sir.. I need to come!” You sucked in a breath of air, on the verge of snapping and finally feeling your blissful climax.

“Fuckin’ wait. You’re so fuckin’ impatient.” And as his hand tugs your hair once again and his cock begins to twitch inside of you, you can tell that he's close as well. Miles isn't one to give. You know that for a fact. He just takes and takes, not leaving anything else for others.

And that's exactly what he does to you. With a long strangled groan he stills inside of you, tip pushing against your cervix as he spills his hot load inside of you.

“Nooo-” You pathetically whine out, tears finally leaving your eyes and sliding down your cheeks as you lose your upcoming orgasm completely. Trying desperately to move off of his cock you choke out a sob, hair now freed from his grasp as both of his hands are now gripping your waist, sure to leave marks.

Eventually you give up, falling forwards to rest your head on his shoulder, getting over the fact that he just came inside of you. There's nothing you can do about it now other than pray to Eywa that his seed doesn't take.

“Fuckin’ shit-” Finally Miles lifts you up and pulls out of you, coming down from his high as you weakly sit on the bed infront of him with a pout. “Why didn’t you let me come?” Your eyes look up into his as your brows furrow in frustration.

Your stare follows him as he stands, watching as his back muscles flex before the red scratch marks on his back momentarily catch your attention. You can feel his come slowly ooze out of your hole as you continue to wait for his reply, still kneeling on the soft bed.

“Next time.” He nods, pulling his pants up and not even bothering to put his shirt back on as he holds it in his hand, hurriedly leaving your cell.

Your anger grows at that, brows furrowing even further as the crease between them deepens. He said that same exact thing last time, yet he still didn't let you come. What a skxawng. Getting up with trembling legs you grab your loincloth and beaded top, the same clothes you've been wearing for the time you've been here.

With a sigh you finish dressing yourself, fixing up your bedding before plopping down on your back, hands resting on the top of your head as you wait for the other uniltìrantokx to come and pleasure you in ways that Miles Quaritch never could.

[ravencincaide]

Precious flowers get picked first

Summary: Being in charge was not an easy feat for Chuuya�� especially when his subordinates reached a new level of failure. A mission a glorified monkey would be able to accomplish. Yet here they were, humiliated in front of the entire Yokohama by a little brat. Still if you kept up with that attitude then Chuuya would just have to make the move himself. Before anyone else managed to pluck his flower from him. 

Pairing: Ability user fem!reader x Boss Chuuya!

Inspired request from anon: “Placed in a universe where Chuuya is the port mafia's boss and the reader is someone who made a mistake and caught the eye of the port mafia. Maybe they got involved with some mess and ended up being a port mafia's target?” 

Warnings: Cursing, blood, an intrigued, possessive and annoyed Chuuya

Enjoy~

“ So let me get this straight” the executives words were spoken slowly, condescendingly, as if addressed to a child or a barely competent idiot who sputtered pure gibberish “- you butchered the fuckin’ mission; got your asses kicked, pick pocketed and left naked at the bank of Yokohama river to waddle all the way to the base by a fucking brat?!” 

Chuuya’s piercing eyes studied the dozen men in his office. He ran his gaze over each and every one of them; their blank faces, fear filled eyes and a slight shift in their body language that loudly screamed ‘failure’. The disheveled appearance of the more experienced members and the fish-out-of-water expressions from the new recruits only added to the awkward atmosphere. They all looked like they would have preferred anything- even death- to the predicament of delivering such a humiliating report, in person, to their boss. To stare Chuuya in the face and admit that they not only failed in their assignment but did so in the most shameful fashion- a disgrace so spectacular that death was the least of their worries. In fact they all looked like they would have preferred the encounter with the grim reaper instead of this. 

For a second, Chuuya shared that sentiment. Frustrated sigh escaped his lips; a gloved hand reached up and pressed against the bridge of his nose between his eyes in a futile attempt to combat the oncoming headache at the realization that he had yet another mess to clean up. Why bother with subordinates if they were this fucking incompetent? Why be a boss if he spent more time in the field than ever before? 

Fucking morons. 

Chuuya’s free hand rested on his desk, a nervous finger tapped away against the mahogany wood right beside his top hat, a freshly poured and forgotten glass of wine and an unlit cigarette propped up against the ashtray. A ritual to mourn the lost. The initial plan was the lost comrades- now he had the mafia’s tarnished reputation to lament for. An incident that would make Port Mafia the laughing stock of the entire district; an invitation for other organizations to challenge them. To challenge the current world order, the long since established status-quo. 

“..A girl” 

Chuuya’s eyes instantly shifted to the youngest recruit who’s pitiful voice echoed around the office. The man ducked his head; finding the carpet-clad floor uncharacteristically interesting as he repeated himself an octave louder “ It was a girl” 

“ So you had the fucking time to check the brat out instead of roundin’ her up?”

Several men flickered their gazes between each other; the closest to a lewd grin they’d dare express in front of their boss. It was as if they took Chuuya’s question as an invitation to share their observation- perhaps if they appealed to the man rather than the boss then their punishment would decrease from certain murder to manageable- albeit torturous existence.  

“ Well she was really pretty, like a serene pretty and her voice was-—” Chuuya’s fist made contact with the table; the crack of protest from the splintered wood- like the fracture of bones- silenced the office. The red power surrounded him like an ominous warning; it dared the next person to open their fucking mouth, and  become very acquainted with gravity.  

“ A little girl beat a dozen mafia and you’re fucking raving about her appearance? Get out of my sight before you regret it” Chuuya’s voice was a dangerous hiss that came out in between deep breaths. When none of the men moved he launched an ashtrash at their heads; the heavy glass hitting the youngest subordinates in the forehead. It split the skull in half, spilled its dark red insides all over the boy's face and Chuuya’s office. Not sufficiently to kill but damned near close. 

The final warning. 

A warning no one questioned as the men shuffled out of the office; some of them lingered just long enough to gasp out an apology and a ‘thank you’ for his mercy. A sharp look made them rush out and shut the door firmly behind themselves. It left Chuuya in dead silence for once during this entire damned day. Surely no one would be stupid enough to disturb him more on this godforsaken night. 

Chuuya took several calm breaths. Regained his composure, calmed the spiraled bloodlust into a manageable humm in the back of his skull. Then he stood up from his desk and made sure to take the glass of wine with him. He took a sip of it, the sweetness of it shifted the murderous bloodlust into a different emotion-  a different type of lust. For a moment Chuuya lingered by his desk, torn between going back to the icy luxurious apartment in the city or to remain in the stuffy spare room of his office. He glanced at the paperwork; eyes lingered on the late evening newspapers that depicted his underlings humiliation. 

Then he groaned audibly. 

He would need to gather his executives first thing tomorrow. Silence the publicist- deal with anyone who dared question Port Mafia's authority. Sign new deals; shut Dazai the fuck up before the damage could spread to irreversible proportions. 

With quick steps Chuuya headed towards the door in the corner of his office partially hidden by a dark curtain. Past it was a simple room with a bed, a dresser and another door which led towards the bathroom with a shower. He walked past those and towards the tiny glass table with a lamp in the corner by the only window.  He flickered it on. The lamp flared and lit up, the strong rays chased back the darkness of the room. In doing so, it illuminated a handful of pictures on the wall. 

Your pictures.

 The ones stolen from city archives- copied from security cameras. Most were fuzzy with the exception of the largest one in the middle which he had stolen- purchased- from your old family photographer. A picture unfitting the family album- or engagement-proposal photo. It was most certainly Chuuya favorite. This was the one where you showed your true character. Large curious eyes half lidded in boredom behind long lashes, lips pulled up into a displeased frown and arms stubbornly crossed over your chest. A huge red flower in your hair, just barely held in place with hair pins. 

“ You’re losing your touch, flower” Chuuya murmured as he stared at your picture. “Such a mistake to be seen; so careless. Tsk tsk tsk” 

A twirl of his wine, its sweet aroma filled Chuuya’s senses. He took a sip of it- salvaged it in the moments it took to walk up to your picture. A gloved finger trailed out your features; from your hair, to the outline of your face, over your neck then up to the frown on your lips. He ran his thumb over them, as if to brush out the sullen look. His own lips itched up into a humorless smile.  

“ hmm  m’precious, keep showing off, keep being a such stubborn naughty girl and I might just need to fetch you myself” Chuuya’s grip tightened over the photograph, scrunched it in between his fingertips as his expression twisted into something obsessively morbid. Indeed you, alive and in front of him, would be magnificently better than a mere photograph. A precious little flower who would not escape his grasp; a pretty flower he would not let others-  let any other man-  touch ever again.

After all, Chuuya was the boss of the strongest underground organization, the leader of Port Mafia. And what kind of boss would he be if he let someone else pick his precious flower first? 

Author Note: Finally this fic is out! It took me longer than I wanted it to and I hope this piece fulfilled the anon's request (if you're still around of course! So so sorry it took me so long!).

And for the rest of my gorgeous reader I hoped it peeked your interest enough that you'd wanna read a (possible) part two ;)

Liked this fic and want more? check out Raven's masterlist!

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[thepenultimateword]

Secret Santa 2023

For this year’s secret Santa I got @watercolorfreckles (I know you got mine too, but I promise I used a randomizer!) I’m sorry this is late, I’ve been traveling and just writing every chance I can get. I got a little overambitious and wrote several scenes instead of just one, so hopefully it doesn’t feel choppy and you like it!

"Hero's shy medic is the unsung and unappreciated glue that keeps the team together, magically repairing their every injury with her power to heal. What happens when Villain finds out how the hero's broken bones are always so quickly mending, and kidnaps the medic to utilize himself?"

Henchman was waiting in baggage claim when Villain arrived. His violet-dyed hair, thick mess of scars, and tall stature made him stand out against the crowd, but he still waved his whole arm over his head as Villain came through the doors.

Villain's glove creaked feelingless against his suitcase handle. This was getting tiresome. Probably for Henchman too. It was ridiculous that he insisted on picking him up from the airport every trip instead of looking for a new employer.

"Any luck?" Henchman said, seamlessly transferring Villain's bag into his own hand.

Villain's insides twisted. Maybe he should fire Henchman. That would force the underling to think about himself. Though Villain couldn't deny his reluctance to lose such loyalty. He wasn't sure he actually had the strength to enforce his own abandonment.

"Nah." He rubbed his numb hands together and forced a lighthearted tone. "Just another waste of money. I spent three weeks meditating away the damage, only for the so-called "power guru" to say I don't want to be healed. Apparently, if I did, I would have been able to banish the "bile" from my body."

Henchman gave the suitcase wheels a little bang against the ground. "Morons and scam artists.”

"Yes, well, it was a 50/50 shot in the first place. How's my bird?"

Henchman grimaced. "Still eating very little. She has stopped beating against her cage, but now she's very lethargic and despondent."

"You've tried cheering her up? Good food, nice things?"

"Yes, but she's not very chatty. Maybe we should have waited to get her until after your trip. This would have gone better with...some stability."

The automatic door swooshed open, and they stepped out into the chill winter air. Villain blew out a long cloudy breath and watched it disappear into the dreary, gray city landscape. Everything was so temporary. Here one moment, gone the next.

"The opportunity was too good," he said. "Besides, we couldn't leave her with our friend."

Hero had enough of an advantage without also having a decent healer on his side. No matter how many hits Villain divvied out, the heroic team always got back up unscathed. Perhaps without their golden goose, Villain could actually turn the tide. And maybe... Villain didn't want to get his hopes up, but maybe she could do something more too. He knew that Henchman knew that was the main reason he’d stolen her away in the first place. By this point he was just pretending to himself that there was a bigger purpose behind it all.

The crosswalk sign beeped its permission to cross the street, and Villain scanned the lot for Henchman's car, spotting its orangey paint job near the front.

"I am concerned she's been doing poorly this whole time. Why don't we stop by her enclosure first."

Henchman nodded and very kindly played along with the act that this was truly concern over an asset and not another cowardly excuse for himself. “I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see you.”

She’s not going to help you.

“That’s alright.” Villain slid into the passenger seat. As Henchman loaded his suitcase into the trunk, he muttered under his breath, “I don’t have much left to lose.”

***

Villain called her Birdie.

Of course he knew her real title as Hero’s medic, but the nickname just encapsulated her so well.

So small. So skittish. Always flitting around the outskirts of a fight, the great folds of her medic’s cloak flapping at her sides like wings as she lighted briefly at each fallen party. The color was supposed to mark her as a noncombatant, take any targets of her back, but she had the instincts to remain wary always. Most villains didn’t follow the rules, and the gray was as likely to get her killed as not.

So why continue to wear it? Villain wondered, watching her through the one way glass of her cell's wall mirror. It was really more of a mini apartment than a cell--sitting room, bedroom, bathroom. The sitting room was the only room Villain could view into, but he doubted whether Medic knew that. Perhaps it was riskier to give a hostage so much blind space, but anyone worth keeping around couldn't be kept like any regular prisoner. Though, from the looks of it, Medic wasn't exactly grateful for the thoughtful accommodations.

She sat with her face buried in her knees, grey cloak nearly swallowing her little curled up body whole. He'd asked Henchman to prepare daily clothes changes, and the peeking green edge of sleeve implied she'd been taking them, but the cloak remained the same.

Villain moved around to the front of the cell and drew back the bolt on the otherwise regular door, taking a breath before swinging it open with a flourish. “Hello, Birdie.”

The woman leaped a little, head shooting up and fixing him in the inky black pools that were her eyes.

“Sorry for the delay." He locked the door behind him as casually as he could manage. "I’ve been out of town. But now we can finally chat."

Medic blinked then turned her chin into her shoulder.

Villain plopped down on the couch a couple feet away from her place on the rug. "Apparently you haven't been eating properly. Is the food not up to standard? Can I get you something else? Any favorite meals or treats?"

Medic didn't turn or respond.

"Hmm...what do birdies like. Worms?"

The healer's lip curled a little but still nothing.

"How about chocolate? Steak? Fruit tarts?"

Medic only tucked her chin tighter.

"Alright, I get it. The nice treatment doesn't work on you. Unfortunately, I don't have a mean treatment. Not for you at least. I can't asks favors from someone by relying on fear."

That got her attention. She still didn't unfold, but her eyes watched him sideways. Wary but curious. What could a villain need from a healer. He must have his own, so why her? She didn't need to speak for her thoughts to clutter the air.

"No, I can't just tell you," Villain said with a loud sigh. "You might go tell that precious hero team. I know you're quiet, but I don't believe for a second you're that quiet."

Medic swiveled her shoulders ever so slightly. "How...?"

Her voice was not so birdlike. Short yes, but like a rasped breath than a chirp. Still...

Villain grinned. "The very best of ways: by pretending I knew what you were thinking. Throw out a guess and you'll be right 80% percent of the time. That's also a guess by the way, I haven't actually researched the subject."

Medic retreated back into her cloak.

Darn.

Either he was totally unhumorous, or Medic was just that hard to entertain. Then again, she'd seemed interested by the prospect of a supernatural ability. She'd only clammed up again once she got the simple explanation for her question. She should've already known his Gift from the fights she'd witnessed, though he had held bad considerably this last year.

"You're not like other medics," he said, redirecting the conversation. "You have a Gift, don't you? And don't deny it, I've seen the recovery your patients. Scarless, rapid, perfect. One fight I saw a hero putting full weight on what, minutes previously, had been broken femur."

"And that's why you want me?" Medic squeezed her hands together, nails digging into the back of her knuckles like each word spoken aloud pained her. "Because I'm better than your medics? You want me to turncoat?"

"Not entirely. I took you because your good, yes. So good you've kept that ragtag trash hero team up and running way longer than it should have ever been allowed to go. Hero needs to be stopped."

Nothing.

"I'm going to the statue unveiling tonight." He watched her face closely. "I'm going to break it. And while I'm at it, break him."

"He's not that fragile," Medic said, her voice hushing a little further, and her brow furrowing.

"Ah, you know because you've tried?"

"I know because I' m his medic and I know how much treatment each fight requires." It came out quite a bit snappier than Villain expected and Medic must have realized it too because she set her jaw and looked away again. "I can't help you."

Villain pushed himself back to his feet. The declaration was firm, but hardly the denial of a truly devoted team member. Or maybe he was just reading to hard into things. Medic was shy. Maybe she wanted to make herself clear in as few words as possible. But if there was a chance only her fear was holding her back...

"I'll let you know how it goes," Villain said. With that, he made his way back outside the cell, bolting the door behind him with fumbling fingers. He flexed his hands a couple times, as if to warm them back to full function, but they felt as clumsy and disconnected as always. He shoved them gloved into his coat pockets.

Don't think about that. You have a hero to fight.

***

Villain couldn't feel his shoulders. He'd definitely overdone it. He'd overestimated his ability to fight with his arms as damaged as they were and he had relied too much on the power he'd been so careful to conserve.

He stumbled hard against Medic's door, sliding weakly to his knees. He didn't know why he came here. Henchman was probably having a fit searching for him after he'd bolted. Most of those heroes laid in shattered pieces at the scene. Or at least, parts of them did. Villain had found long ago that his Gift--the power to turn whatever he willed to stone--could be used strategically. The loss of limbs was usually enough to make a hero retire, no need to end a whole life. He wouldn't have minded ending Hero, but once again, the leader was the only one who escaped unscathed. Too this day Villain had only ever managed to take a pinky. It was a wonder no one found that suspicious.

Villain slammed his fist against the cell door, or more like tapped. He stifled a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

Not yet. Not without bringing down Hero’s deceit.

Villain strained to reach the bolt, fumbling it twice before finally jostling it outward. He practically collapsed onto Medic’s rug.

Dark spots clouded his vision but suddenly cool hands were running trails down his face.

“Villain?”

Medic?

No wait, the door…he needed to close…why was she still here?

“Uuughh…” Villain rolled into her knees. “It did not go well.”

“What did he do?”

“Besides use every other person as a shield?”

“I mean to your face.”

Villain squinted up into Medic’s dark eyes, so deep and concerned and…and infinite.

“My face,” he mumbled.

“Are these bruises?” Her fingers trailed a second time down his cheek. “It looks painful.”

“It’s in my face?” Villain barely restrained a wail.

“Villain,” Medic said firmly, her quiet rasp getting almost loud. “What happened? Do you need healing?”

Villain’s throat felt thick and swollen, too sticky to get out words. Of course he needed healing. But if she couldn’t help him…he didn’t know if he could take another failure. He didn’t know if his body could take it.

He extended his hand. When Medic only stared, he nodded at the black, fitted glove.

Medic’s thumb worked under the edge. Villain felt nothing but he imagined her fingers felt just as gentle as they had on his cheek.

She gasped.

Villain glanced at the bare skin for only a moment. The once caramel colored palm now a deep ebony. Like something rotten. Like something dead.

“Villain?”

Villain cleared his throat, fighting the words upward. “All powers have a price.” He forced himself to look at blighted appendage. “Mine’s is killing me.”

Medic turned his hand over in her own. “How long?”

“Always. It used to just be a little. Nails. Hair. Parts I could cut off. Then it hit skin…and it won’t stop. I can’t feel; I can hardly move. And no one…” He choked. “I’m going to die. All from trying too hard to rid the world of Hero, and I couldn’t even finish him tonight.”

Medic rested her fingers on the cuff of Villain’s sleeve, eyes meeting Villain's with some unspoken request for permission.

Villain nodded.

Medic's nimble fingers gently picked at the button, freeing the fabric and rolling it up to his elbow. Villain’s eyes widened along with hers. What had once had been dark veins was now as pitch black his hands. From the nothingness in his shoulders it was probably no different above the elbow.

Medic felt gently at the half-petrifaction. Most people, even his most loyal were afraid of the blight. Henchman was unfazed, but the previous medic had quit rather than admit they didn't want anywhere near Villain. And yet Medic touched him willingly.

“You can’t fix it, can you?” Villain said, practically plead. He didn’t care anymore. Even with the doubt in his gut and in his voice. He just needed help.

“I…I might…” Medic said.

“But Hero wouldn’t like it.”

Medic ducked her head. “It’s not that. Well, no…you’re right, he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t have to know. And there are no specific rules that say I can’t heal a villain, it’s just…”

Villain blinked groggily up at her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“Like you said, all powers have a price.”

“And this one is too much,” Villain said.

“Yes, well, no. I don’t know.” She glanced toward the open door. “Maybe there’s a better healer…”

Villain closed his eyes, practically sinking with resignation. “No. Already tried. I don’t think I have the energy to search anymore.” He clasped numb fingers around his numb arm. “Or the time.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“It’s alright, Birdie. Fly away.”

It didn’t matter who she told now.

Medic pushed him carefully off her lap, clothes rustling as she rose. Two steps sounded toward the door way and then stopped.

“I’m not supposed to…but I’ll do it.”

Villains eyes shot open. “You will?”

Medic sucked in her lips but nodded. “Just…don’t tell.”

She knelt beside him, long gray cloak fanning out around her. The second glove peeled off easier than the first, and she held both hands in hers.

He’d always wondered what it felt it like to experience one of her gifted healings.

It was warm. Like drinking something hot. It spread from head to toe, and the numbness leeched out little by little. The skin lightened from black to charcoal from charcoal to heather grey from grey to brown.

Medic’s hands turned soft in his grip. He squeezed them lightly, his mouth parting in disbelief at the feeling of pressure of warmth of regular mobility. When he sat up, it came easy. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“You did it! You actually did it! Medic, you are—“

He stopped at the sight of her slumping figure. Sweat rolled down her temples, her face was flushed, and her teeth were grit as if in agony.

“Birdie?”

Medic only shivered.

“Birdie. Birdie, are you alright?”

Villain reached out, but she lurched back, stumbling toward the back corner. Veiny blackness spread from her fingertips, trailing up the creases in her skin. Her shoulders trembled. A small vein popped out of from her forehead. And she glared at the blight. Not like someone afraid of it, but like someone who’d like to peel it off and throw it away. Or burn it.

“No!” she cried and slammed both palms against the wall mirror with a feral cry. Immediately the glass crackled and, like a rolling wave, turned to cold, hard stone.

The black faded from dark ebony to a tan spot only

A few shades darker than her skin. She still glared.

Villain gaped. “You… That’s what I do. How did you do what I do? Did I…? Did you…?”

Medic’s eyes darted toward the door.

Villain jumped in front of it first. “Hey hey hey! I’m not going to tell!”

Another guess but apparently the right one because Medic’s shouldered untensed a fraction.

“I’m not going to tell,” Villain repeated. “I just… How?”

Medic wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. Her eyes had taken on a glazed shine suspiciously alike to unshed tears.

“It’s not exactly healing,” she murmured. “More like stealing. Taking injuries and making them mine.”

“The price.”

She nodded. “But this sort of injury…made from a Gift, it doesn’t work the same. It’s more like a build up of power concentrated in one place. And now that it’s mine…I can do what I like with it.”

Villain cocked his head. “And that’s…bad?”

“I don’t work for Hero,” Medic said. “I’m on the team because he’s supposed to watch me. Stop me from doing things like this.”

“Becoming too powerful?”

“Becoming a villain.”

Villain might have laughed if she didn’t actually look so scared. He took her hands carefully, savoring the sensation of skin on skin warmth once again. He fixed her with a hard stare that she seemed uncertain to hold or shy away from. He smiled, the first real one in a long time.

“What’s wrong with villains?”

Medic swallowed, looking away but not pulling back her hands. Her voice came out very quiet. “I guess…not everything.”

[gorouinheat]

If you want it, then drug it!

( Scaramouche x m!reader ) Minors, fem DNI

- all characters are 18+

cw: non-con to consent at the end?? , use of drugs (aphrodisiacs n’ other stuff), powerbottom!scara, trans scara, scratches, sloppy sex, confession at the end

You're walking towards your best friend Scaramouche's house, feeling the winter chill biting at your cheeks. You're all wrapped up in a cozy coat, gloves, and a scarf, and you're psyched to hang out with Scaramouche since he offered to help you study for your finals. You've been stressing out since your grades have sucked lately, and you're worried about having to retake courses next semester. Thankfully, Scaramouche is a total brainiac who's acing all his classes, so you're hopeful that he can help you turn things around. As you approach his house, you rub your hands together, hoping that it's warm and inviting inside. You could use some blankets and a hot cup of tea right now.

You give the door a firm knock and stand there waiting for him to answer. It seems to be taking him longer than usual, so you start to wonder if he's in the bathroom or if he's just being difficult and making you wait in the cold. You let out an exasperated sigh and knock once more. Finally, he answers the door.

“What took so long? I’m freezing out here, you moron.” You say with your teeth catering from the cold.

Scaramouche stands in the doorway and greets you with a snarky attitude, "Not my fault you don't know how to properly dress for the cold." You roll your eyes and step into the warm embrace of his house, feeling the heat immediately soothe your cold skin. You let out a sigh of relief and a smile spreads across your face as you take off your jacket and shoes. Scaramouche shuts the door behind you and his face contorts into a grimace as he notices you just plopping your jacket carelessly on the floor.

“Hey, remember the coat rack by the door? It's there for a reason," he says with the same attitude in his voice as he picks up your coat and hangs it up. You glance around the cozy living room, admiring the festive Christmas decorations his mom has put up for the holidays. Suddenly, your eyes are drawn to the enchanting mini Christmas village on the side table, and you can't help but feel a little bit of holiday cheer bubbling up inside you.

"6 o'clock is when my mom usually comes home. So, I think it's important we get started on studying now.” Scara says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. You glance over at him while still admiring the miniature houses and nod in agreement.

As you are standing in the hallway with Scaramouche, he turns to you and tells you that it's time to study. "That means stop looking around like an idiot and go up to my room," he says, snapping his fingers in your face. You feel slightly taken aback but decide to ignore his rudeness and follow him upstairs.

You both enter his room, and Scaramouche heads towards his bookshelf to fetch his study materials. You plop down on his bed, letting out a sigh of relief after walking up the stairs. However, Scaramouche doesn't seem to appreciate your relaxed attitude. "Sit up," he barks at you, smacking your head. You let out a yelp of pain and rub the spot where he hit you.

Feeling annoyed, you sit up straight as he places the books on your lap. You can't help but wonder why he is being so harsh with you. Nonetheless, you try to focus on the task at hand and begin studying with him.

"If you fail this exam, you're spending your Christmas break alone," Scara threatens. You groan and open the books to the study guide pages for the exam. "For you, I won't," you say dryly. Scaramouche's face heats up as he scoffs and sits beside you on the bed.

He helps you study for a bit, leaning up against you as he points at a question that you need help with. His breath tickles you as he talks, of course, he did all of this on purpose but he knew you were too oblivious to that. He did this daily actually, showing obvious signs he likes you but you shrug it off every time. it's really starting to make him upset

You've been studying for the past 30 minutes, trying your best to focus on the dense material in front of you. Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Scaramouche's voice breaks the silence, "Want anything to drink?" You look up, surprised by his sudden offer. "Uhh..sure," you reply, grateful for the interruption. Scaramouche nods and disappears downstairs to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, you take a deep breath and try to get back into the zone. But your mind is still struggling to process everything, and you can feel the frustration building up inside you. Suddenly, Scaramouche appears again, carrying a tray with two cups of tea. The warm and soothing aroma fills the room, making you feel calmer.

As you reach out to take the cup, you notice a certain glint in Scaramouche's eyes. He hands you the hot cup, and you can instantly smell the aroma of cinnamon tea. "Mmm, it smells so good," you say, feeling content. Scaramouche stands there, grinning, as you take a sip. "Did I make it alright?" he asks innocently. You smile and reply, "You always make the best tea, Scara." You take another sip, and another, while Scaramouche watches you intently. His heart races with anticipation, knowing that he's finally going to get what he wants. His mind wanders for a moment as you finish the tea, and he can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

As you place the cup of tea on the nightstand, he snaps out of his thoughts and lets out a deep sigh. You feel the warmth spreading through your belly, soothing your nerves. Suddenly, Scara's cheeky grin returns, and he suggests taking a break from the books for a moment. He sits on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs, inviting you to join him. How could you resist such an offer?

As you hum and ponder for a moment, Scaramouche looks at you expectantly. "What will it be?" he asks, his metallic voice ringing in your ears. You open your mouth to speak, but suddenly feel a wave of dizziness wash over you, causing your sentence to cut short. "You okay, Y/N?" Scaramouche's hand rests on your leg, concern etched into his features.

As you slowly open your eyes, you feel a slight dizziness, but you try to shake it off and try to sit up. Suddenly, you feel Scaramouche's hand on your thigh, and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you look into his eyes, wondering what he's thinking.

As you rise to your feet, you feel a shiver run down your spine. You gently move Scaramouche’s hand away and take a step forward, feeling a bit unsteady. "I think I need to use the bathroom," you say, your words a bit uncertain. But before you can take another step, your legs give out and you collapse onto the bed once again.

"Take a break and lie down for a moment, Y/N," Scaramouche whispers as he gently props you up on the pillows. He then leans in close to your ear and says, “Let me take care of you.”

You utter a confused "Oh..yeah, okay", trying to make sense of what's going on. You close your eyes in an attempt to steady yourself as the room begins to spin around you. Suddenly, the heat becomes too much to bear, making you long for the freezing cold outside. You start to feel uneasy, fidgeting on the bed and frantically clawing at your jeans. As you struggle to keep your thoughts in check, your mind wanders to something completely unexpected - Scaramouche. You can't help but notice how appetizing he looks right now, but then you quickly remind yourself that he is your best friend. What is happening to you?

You find yourself struggling to stay conscious as you gasp out Scara's name. The heat is too intense, and your head is spinning. Scaramouche looks at you, feigning concern, but you can sense the malevolence behind his facade. Suddenly, you feel his hands, cold as ice, pressing against your chest. It sends shivers down your spine and you try to push him away, but your strength is failing. Scaramouche gradually started to unbutton your shirt.

As you shake your head no, you feel your face getting hot with anger. Scaramouche notices your reaction and quickly moves closer cupping your cheek to calm you down. "Hey, hey, it's just me and you. You can trust me, can't you?" he says in a sad tone, trying to manipulate you.

As you gaze at him, your heart races and you can feel your chest heaving up and down. Despite the nerves, you nod in agreement. Scaramouche is your closest friend; the one who's always been there for you. You know in your heart that he would never do anything to hurt you. Right?

As Scaramouche's warm smile reaches your face, his gentle caress on your cheek sends shivers down your spine. You feel an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety around him. As his hand moves down to your neck, you can't help but feel a tingle of excitement mixed with the comfort. Despite the side effects of the drink you had earlier, the dizziness and confusion continue to linger, but being with Scaramouche makes you forget all your worries.

That was before he made it down to your chest finishing off the rest of the buttons and slipped off your shirt. Scaramouche bites his lip when he sees your chest, running his cold hand against your pecs and down to your belly. A whine slips from your lips as he moves down to remove your pants next. You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel your pants get pulled down to your knees.

Scaramouche sighs as he finally gets what he waited so long for. He reaches for your growing bulge and starts rubbing you through your boxers, “Mm you feel kinda big..” He grins.

Sparks of pleasure course through your body now that the effects of whatever he had put in your drink took their hold. You whine loudly, not expecting this sudden touch. Beginning to feel the sudden need to submit to Scaramouche. All you wanted was for him to have his way with you, you’d just sit there and take it. The swirling pool of desire grows stronger as you jerk your hips up against his hand.

A gasp leaves your lips as you make contact with his hand again. “Scara?.. what are you do-fuck that feels good.” You shudder and moan out as he rubs your clothed tip. Scaramouche grins sinisterly, “yeah? Feels good?” His voice was so smooth and rich, like honey dripping over your senses, that you couldn't help but crave more. As you took in a deep breath, the room seemed to become hazy and distant. You strained to hear what he was saying, but his words were lost in the fog of lust and desire.

Abruptly Scaramouche manages to pull down your boxers, making your cock slap against your stomach. Your hard shaft is swollen with need, already leaking from the burning desire to take Scaramouche. As your eyes fill up with tears and your head starts throbbing, you gaze down at him, feeling a mix of emotions. “Scara..” you mutter, his name seems to be the only thing you can say right now. “Shhh don’t fight it,” he says grabbing your throbbing length, “I’ve wanted this for so long..” he whines as he licks a straight line up your base with His damp tongue.

You bawl your fist against the sheets tightly, nails digging into the palm of your hand. Scara lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction, “cock sensitive?” he says mouthing against your cock, his hot breath making your cock jerk in his hand. You nod dumbly- the drugs making your mind hazy, you don’t care what he does at this point..not that you could muster up the words to say anything right now anyway, only whimpers and whines leaving your lips.

Hastily, Scaramouche flattens his tongue against your mushroom head tip before he gradually sinks his mouth on your cock. You abruptly let out a choked sob from the sudden wave of overwhelming pleasure, making your thighs shudder wildly. As Scaramouche goes further down your length, trying his best not to gag - your cock stretches his throat so good making his eyes roll back in pleasure. You buck your hips up into his mouth out of need, causing your tip to jab the back of Scara’s throat. He gags and jerks his head back up from your length, coughing up saliva that lands on your cock. He inhales shakily as he catches his breath with his eyes squeezed shut. When he gathers his composer again he chuckles, looking back at you with glossy eyes. “My mouth feels that good?” his tone is teasing and he slowly strokes the base of your cock, smearing his saliva all over it.

The sound of squelching comes from the movement where Scara rubs your cock softly. Out of his pleasure, he ruts himself against his mattress as he strokes your length sloppily. Even the slightest gliding of his fingers was making you go crazy. You moan loudly each time his hand reaches your overly sensitive tip. “You moan like a fucking girl.” he snarkily says before leaning his head down and sucking up the pre-cum that flowed out from your cock.

He moans when he feels the salty taste of your pre-cum spread across his tongue, savoring the taste before popping off your cock. He gasps, catching his breath before moving back to his original place. His mouth engulfs your cock, taking in whatever he can down his small throat. His tongue swirls around your sensitive head. The feeling of his lips sliding up and down, combined with the stroking hands of where he couldn’t reach, sends waves of intense pleasure throughout your body.

Your hips shudder as you try to force your cock deeper into his mouth. His hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you still as he continues to take more of you down his throat, gagging before he comes back up and suckles on your cock head.

With a satisfied smirk, Scaramouche pulls away from you, leaving your cock still hard and glistening with his saliva. “I didn’t expect you to taste so good” he purrs, his throat a bit sore. As you lay there, breathlessly and aroused, Scaramouche slowly slides up your body, his lips pressing light kisses along your throat and jawline. You feel him gradually remove his shorts and panties, leaving him only in his black tank top.

You wait impatiently for Scaramouche to position himself on top of you. You can't help but feel frustrated that you can't even speak properly. The pills are still taking effect and you're starting to feel numb all over, making it hard to do anything but whine and wiggle your hips in anticipation.

Scaramouche seeing your anticipation, laughs and looks at you with a sly grin before he positions himself over your throbbing cock, guiding it towards his exposed entrance. “Wanted this for so long..” he whines, his voice suddenly going soft.

“Wouldn’t mind if we went in raw right?” he says softly, not even giving you enough time to respond before he sinks down onto your cock. The moment Scaramouche’s hot, slick cunt engulfs your cock, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, like you were made for only him. His lips wrap around your base, massaging you with his velvet walls. You choked out a loud moan and toss your head back, your mind filled with nothing but the urge to cum.

Scaramouche whines, his face now decorated with a cute blush and teary eyes. Not being able to handle the pleasure, you move your hands up to push Scara off.

Shaking his head rapidly, he whines out “He-hey! No, no please” in a high pitch tone, your cock filling him just right. He swears he feels you in his stomach. He pins your hands down, gasping “Just, ngh- just let me have this.”

He groans softly, his head rolling back as he adjusts to the fullness of your cock. His body shudders, hips rocking back and forth. Your small whimpers and whines encouraging him.

He lets go of your hands and rubs your hips, making you whine and turn your head to the side. His walls being too much for your sensitive cock, you felt like you were going to bust any moment. You let out a shaky sigh as you try to calm down from the overwhelming feeling of his constant squeezing.

Scara’s shaky hands move up to your shoulders and grip them tight, nails digging into your skin - before lifting his hips and plopping back down on your cock. You toss your head back as Scaramouche lets out a high-pitched moan, “fuck! You’re so big…” he whines. Nails breaking your skin as he moves up and down on your cock, nearly knocking the air out of you with each movement. Your head rolled against the pillow as you let out uncontrollable moans, your mind fuzzy with lust. 

You didn’t even notice you were drooling til Scaramouche leans down, licks it up from your lips, and kisses you. It was sloppy but loving, you kiss back and slip your tongue into his mouth. The sounds of the sloppy makeout mix in with the constant plap of Scaramouche’s hips hitting yours, filling the room. He moans into your mouth and squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your tip brush against the deepest part of him.

You feel his body tense up before he pulls away, stuttering, “G-god damnit..” A thin strand of saliva still connects your lips as his eyes roll back, and he drops his head onto your shoulder. You feel the sweat from his forehead as he roughly grinds down on your cock, taking one of your hands close to his clit. You feel your tingling fingers against the hot sensitive flesh of his clit, making your fingers do a circle movement on the small nub.

Scaramouche shudders, forcing your fingers to rub faster. “Ah, fuck! …” he tries to catch his breath, his heart racing. “B-Buck into me, m’ so so close” he whines. His hands move to grip your wrist tighter. You were fading in and out of consciousness when you grit your teeth and thrust up into his sopping-wet hole, making another loud plap.

Scaramouche’s tongue rolls out of his mouth, drooling all over your shoulder as you buck into him fast and hitting his spot dead on. He squeals and grips onto you tight, “Fuck- FUCK, Y/N!” He shouts your name as his thighs shudder and give out. “Mmmmph!” He groans, his body tensing at each thrust. He tries his best to hold back his orgasm, wanting nothing more but to cum with you.

You huff, shakily moving your hands on Scara’s hip and gripping them tight enough to bruise. He winces in pain but it's soon lost when you lift his hips and fuck him back down onto your length, making him mewl in pleasure. “A-are you close?” He says in the crook of your neck, his voice trembling. As he feels you nodding against his head, he tightens his grip on you, eagerly grinding against you after each thrust.

His body trembles as he holds back the impending orgasm, his cunt throbbing in anticipation. “Fuck…I can't hold it- please cum..” He gasps, his voice strained.

You hear your heartbeat in your ears as your balls clenched and the swirling in your stomach snaps. You bite hard on Scara’s shoulder as you grunt and shoot your thick load into Scaramouche. He grits his teeth at the bite but feeling your load enter him sends him over the edge. His hips jerk forward as he loses control. His orgasm crashes over him, his back arching as he throws his head back.

“Sh-shit!” He shudders as you feel his walls clenching tight around your cock, milking every last drop of worth from it. You let out a shaky breath, plopping your head back onto the pillow. Your hips twitch from the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling it slowly leak out of Scara’s hole. He lets out a soft moan as he lifts his hips and your cock slips out, his body still trembling from the aftermath of his intense orgasm. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t move for a few moments, keeping you inside. He feels your cum run down his thigh, leaving them sticky.

His eyes open slowly, taking in the sight of you. Your cheeks stained with tears but you had a blissful look on your face.

Scaramouche's mind is plagued with guilt as he dwells on all the things he has done to you, all because of lust. He can't help but feel remorseful for the pain and hurt he has caused you. The weight of his guilt is heavy.

I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice hoarse from his previous actions, but you know he means it. You lick your dry lips and take a breath as Scaramouche continues, defending his actions, "This was the only way I could get you to finally see me. You were always going after people who didn't care about you, always going after people who didn't love you," he rambles. "I love you, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with pain, "I didn't mean to hurt you in the process. It's fine if you never want to talk to me ever again after this.”

You look up at him, trying your best to take in all his words but everything is moving so fast for you. You hear the true guilt in his voice and for a second you feel bad. Probably wasn't the best plan to drug you and then straddle your lap but, the power of possessiveness grows strong over time - it makes you do crazy things. Your heart warms up at his soft words, his confession being a bit cute with sweaty, messy hair and a red face. You smirk, your personality coming back. “I thought it was kinda hot,” you say with a smug look. Scaramouche looks back up at you wide-eyed, soon turning into a glare.

As you hold him in your lap, he looks at you with a red face and mumbles, "Oh shut up and answer me." Without saying a word, you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his lips. "Does that answer your question?" you whisper. He shakes his head and demands, "I wanna hear you say it." You can feel your heartbeat quicken as you consider how to respond.

You gently whisper, "I love you, Scara," and as the words leave your lips, you notice a flicker of emotion in his eyes. His heart flutters in his chest, and he tries to look away to hide the tears that are welling up in his eyes. You can hear his breathing quicken as he takes a moment to compose himself, overwhelmed by the depth of your affection.

As you finish speaking, you can't help but add a bit of sarcasm to your tone. "How's that, or do you want me to say it again?" you say, with a smirk on your face. Scaramouche pinches you hard in embarrassment, causing you to wince and shout out. "Shut it already…that was enough," he says, looking up at you. You can sense the tension and guilt in the room disappearing as your words sink in.

You feel a sudden, intense pain in your head that throbs and pounds with each pulse. The pain is likely a side effect from the numerous pills you took earlier, you groan and rub your head. “What the hell did you exactly give me?” Scaramouche shrugs, his snarky at this returning “I'm not saying, I might have to use it on you again.” You scoff playfully at his words.

“You fucking brat..”

an: day 23 of no pussy, i hated this fic actually 🤓🤓

[kafkacrisis]

Anything for you

characters: kafka.

warning(s): N.SFW, minors DNI, AFAB fem!reader, dom/sub dynamics (sub!reader & dom!kafka), sadom.asochism, crotch stepping & bootlicking, humiliation k¡nk, unhealthy devotion.

summary: punishments for insubordination are a necessary evil kafka particularly enjoys.

You can't imagine how you must look right now, wearing your dirtied uniform and leaned down on your knees in some dingy hotel room. Your legs ache from the pressure of them against the hard wood floors, specks of dust falling from the opened window onto your skin. Anyone could peer in and see you like this—completely at the mercy of your superior.

Kafka is above you, sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her arms and legs crossed. Her elegance looks out of place in the little run down room you're both camping out in for this mission. Her face trained into perfect boredom, and if you didn't know better, you truly would believe she was trying not to fall asleep.

"I really do not understand how you think sometimes," she finally speaks, the harsh sound of her voice almost making you wince.

You look up at her, eyes probably shining in anticipation. You see her jaw clench harder.

"You risked the entire mission, and for what? Are you just that—" her voice lowers as she stands to her full height, grabbing your face with a painful intensity, "—damn stupid?"

It's rare for Kafka to show any real emotion at all, much less the bone chilling rage she's trying and failing to contain now. In some sick, twisted way, you feel proud of yourself for getting her to react like this.

You open your mouth to speak, but you're cut off with a harsh slap against your cheek, the force of it knocking your head to the side. You let out a small gasp of surprise, mouth hanging open stupidly. She grabs your face again by the chin, pulling it up and to the side so you could lock eyes. Her expression is positively dangerous.

"I should know better than to count on your help," she rasps. "After all, you're just a useless moron who would do anything to get my attention—even if will get you killed."

Her foot raises, the heel of her boot pressing into your clothed thigh. You bite your lip, trying not to let out a cry of pain. She only continues, never releasing her harsh grip on your chin. Your lips wobble with the desire to babble obscenities, to tell her Yes, Kafka, I'd do anything for this, Kafka, please—

"I have to punish you for that stunt you pulled, you know that," Kafka mumbles, her fingers briefly relaxing, running along the curve of your jaw. "I can't do with everyone disobeying me. If you want me to do this, sit you down and hit you until you're coming untouched..."

She pauses, reaching to hold your face delicately with both of her gloved hands. Her thumb wipes away an errant tear from your eye, gentle in a way that almost makes you forget about her heel digging into your leg.

"Then just ask me, instead of doing those pitiful things to make me hurt you. I will welcome you into my arms every time, my sweet girl. You don't even need to ask."

You're crying now, for reasons you can't even begin to name. You've wanted your superior for so long, throwing yourself into danger to protect her, all so you could hear her scold you afterwards for being so reckless.

Kafka is everything to you. She has to know that.

"I will be yours for as long as you want me." Your words come out watery and choked up, remnants of your tears falling into your opened mouth. "Kafka, I—"

"Shh, shh, I know. It's alright," she leans down, her lips just barely brushing against your own, the kiss as chaste as could be. Her eyes are close to yours, the color so deep you could get lost in them forever. "Let me take care of you now, I promise I'll show you how much I desire you, too."

The toe of her boot pries open your legs, pushing against the seam of your pants, and you let out a scream. Kafka looks pleased with herself, her painted lips turning upwards into a familiar wry smile.

Your squeals eventually break off into broken pants, your breath escaping you in short bursts. The pressure feels so good, it feels even better knowing its Kafka doing this to you—but the pain of her boot against your clit is making your vision blacken at the edges.

"You're shaking like a leaf, but isn't this what you wanted?" Her mocking tone lights your blood on fire, and you cry out in disappointment when her boot leaves you. She leans back, her ankles crossed as she once again sits down on the edge of the bed. She leaves you there, choking and wheezing on the floor, painfully wet in the confines of your pants and underwear.

You look up at her, an attempt at pleading that Kafka only laughs at. She's enjoying every second of this, watching her beloved devotee squirm at every denial of pleasure.

She snaps her fingers and directs you forward, as if you were a dog meant to follow her every command. You're flushed down to your chest, with watery eyes and bruises on your arms from a previous battle—but Kafka doesn't seem to care if you're hurting or not. It feels so good to be treated this way, and you wonder (not for the first time), what wires got crossed in your brain to make you feel like this.

"My precious girl," she smiles, pushing your head down to the floor so you're eye level with her shoes. "Won't you clean my boots for me? I can't go out knowing they were up against you like that—isn't it much too vulgar?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow. She is having too much fun with this. You wish you wanted to say no, that the idea of being at Kafka's mercy and being a disgusting bootlicker upset you.

But it doesn't. And so you lower yourself down, and listen to Kafka's voice as you run your tongue along the top of her boot. The taste is inconsequential, it means nothing compared to the sound of Kafka breathing in sharply above you.

"You really would do anything if I asked you to, huh?" Kafka says, almost in disbelief herself. You can feel your heart aching, your eyes shut tightly as you think of how embarrassing this is. Its so fucking embarrassing to be doing this, you can't even think straight. You feel your clit throbbing against your tight pants, your hand itching to reach down and absolve yourself of the pressure.

She suddenly pulls her foot away, and in your embarrassment you can't even find it in yourself to look up and meet her eyes. You really just did that. She probably thinks you're gross. This could be it now—she's going to tell you to get up and leave.

"Get up here, now," she calls, holding her hand out for you to grab. With hesitancy, you reach to take her hand—your breath hitching when she yanks you up on top of the bed. She pushes you down with an urgency you just don't get, scrambling to unbutton your pants as you writhe and cry for it above her.

"Kafka, Kafka, please," you pant, chanting her name without pause. It hurts. You're so desperate for her, and it hurts more than any pain or humiliation she's subjected you to in the past hour.

"You're too good. Too willing to do anything for me," Kafka whispers into your neck as she rubs fingers against your now exposed cunt, rough and fast in their movements. Her gloves hurt, but the sensation of them is also so unbearably good it makes you want to screech. "I will keep you here, fuck you all the time til I'm the only person you care to remember. I promise."

You come after that, loud and messy—your face flushing once you realize how it had gotten everywhere. Kafka doesn't seem to mind though, watching the way you start to drift off into a deep sleep as she licks the remnants from her gloved fingers.

this was so nasty i'm sorry everyone. the demons took over and they wouldn't leave me be.

[blindmagdalena]

Hey again! So following up on the s/o with close older brother question, let's say the older brother kinda sorta knows that Homelander is fucked up, and has the "talk" with him (the "if you hurt a thread of hair on my sibling I'll fuck you up" type talk. The older brother doesn't really care that Homelander is this famous powerful being or whatever). Maybe the older brother tries to keep Homelander's s/o away from him. How would that scenario go?

Clearly Homelander's persona as an upstanding hero and dream-perfect boyfriend has lulled this moron into a false sense of security. He thinks he can speak to him with some kind of authority the moment he gets a whiff of something being off.

He's in for a harsh wakeup call.

“It you hurt her I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Homelander interjects sharply, smiling in the same way a beast bares its teeth. The threat of it echoes in his eyes, wide and unkindly set. “No, really. You’ll what?”

Your brother only hesitates a second, but that’s all Homelander needs to pounce.

“That’s right. Not a fucking thing. I could shove your fist all the way down your throat and high-five you out your ass, and no one in this world would do a goddamn thing about it. You wanna know why?”

He leans in, that predator grin stretching wider. “I’m me, and you’re nobody.”

He relishes the look that puts on the poor saps face. He can’t help but continue to push, to establish that he’s the only one calling the shots here.

“Here’s the deal, bro,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulder. “Your sister? She fucking worships me. I don’t care how close you were or how much you thought she loved you, she’s mine now. And I will tell you one goddamn thing for certain, buckaroo,” he says, possessiveness making his tone vicious. His gloved hand tightens like a claw on the man's shoulder. “No one tells me what to do with what’s mine," he says through his teeth, leaning uncomfortably close. "Threaten me again and you’ll be eating from a tube and shitting into a bag for the rest of your miserable life.”

He soaks up the look of horror on the man’s face, knowing that by saying something so extreme, something so entirely out of character for the man you know, you’ll never believe it. If your brother tries to tattle, he'll look like the psychopath. Homelander will naturally deny every word of it while being as supportive as any good boyfriend should be.

“Okie-dokie. Good talk, bro!” He says, abruptly chipper, his smile now broad and eerily friendly. He gives him a harsh pat on the back and leaves him to stew on his friendly advice. “Let’s not do it again, okay?” He stops in the doorway, turning to point his index finger at him, thumb raised. “And remember, you’re the real hero.”

He savors the fading sound of the man’s heart pounding in his chest and the lingering bitter stink of his fear as he walks away. The taste of you will be the sweetest chaser to it.

[fandomworld9728]

Bad Day (Soft Alastor/Lucifer)

(Requested by @shadesofyoos) (Apologies. I got a little carried away with it. Have some angst with your soft RadioApple) (I hope you enjoy)

It was a bad day for Lucifer. Most of his days were and he had gotten used to it. At least before all the changes in his life. After he reconnected with his daughter and moved into her hotel, those bad days became less and less. But that meant that when they happened, were harder to ignore and push through.

Too many thoughts swirling around his head. Too many memories haunting him. Too many voices kicking him while he was down and constantly reminding him of everything that he hated about himself. He knew he needed help, but he didn't want to worry his precious daughter or bother any of her friends.

So, he did what he did best. Locked himself away in his room and tried to distract himself. And when that failed, he laid in his bed wrapped up in his wings until it passed. Lucifer wasn't sure how long he had laid there. Long enough for someone to come check on him it seems.

Did Charlie finally get tired of him ignoring her calls and texts and decide to come see what was happening for himself? He hoped not. He doesn't want her to see him like this. He was a broken, pathetic excuse of a man. Of an angel. Of a king. Of a father- and he was spiraling again.

Whoever had come in didn't say anything. Only closed the door and slowly walked over to the bed. Lucifer pulled his wings tighter around himself. Why couldn't he just be alone right now? It's what he deserves. After everything he's done and everyone he's pushed away.

The thoughts all became silent at once as a clawed, gloved hand gently and uncertainly placed itself on top of his head. It most definitely wasn't Charlie. He was equal parts grateful and freaked the fuck out. There was no way... right? Peeking out from his wings, he saw the Radio Demon sitting on the edge of his bed trying to comfort him. A silent question left lingering in the air. Why?

With an annoyed sigh, the taller demon kicked off his shoes and swung his legs over to lay beside him on the bed. "I am aware we do not get along at the best of times. However, you took care of me when I was too stubborn to ask for assistance and was slowly dying for that moron Adam's attack."

"That can't be the only reason..." His voice was quiet and scratchy from how long he's gone without talking. And how much he's cried. "Besides, I did that for Charlie- I... I-I mostly did it for Charlie."

Truth be told, Lucifer had to come secretly care for the sinner. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. When he started to care for people, they left him.

"Then you should understand my reasoning for doing this. Haven't you noticed that I have yet to move my hand from your head?"

Alastor? Caring for Lucifer? He couldn't believe it. Mostly because the more he stayed in denial the easier it was to pretend that he didn't care for him in return. Though, just this once, he could allow himself that selfish hope. Uncurling his wings, he allowed Alastor to pull him close and hold his head to his chest. Sighing in content, Lucifer slowly relaxed and let someone take care of him.

Just this once.