#god. frothing at the mouth thinking about Them…

[sparky-is-spiders]

Thinking about Amaldyne and Eityr’s Thing like. Prickly and independent Eityr who gives herself up for Amaldyne and her cause. Unquestionably the follwer but she does it because she’s so fucking lonely. She’s so lonely and Amaldyne is the only person who can stand her and they’re the only people who can understand each other beacuse they’ve both become so warped together that they fit perfectly with each other and nowhere else. Even when Amaldyne blames Eityr for things that weren’t her fault or treats her like a loose canon that Amaldyne has to leash Eityr stays because if things are her fault then they were her choice too. She wants that sense of control more than she wants actual control and Amaldyne is willing to give it.

[feroluce]

When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.

Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.

He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.

They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.

Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.

Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.

Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.

It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.

It's an ear.

It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-

Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.

"Hey!"

Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.

"Kaveh, hey!"

The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.

His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.

Quicksand.

Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.

His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-

Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.

"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.

Kaveh is sinking.

Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.

Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.

"Do you believe in karma?"

The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-

Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.

He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.

He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.

He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.

He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.

Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.

Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.

"Kaveh? What are you doing?"

This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."

Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.

"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.

"Do you believe in karma?"

[sunjestic]

I have been listening to “Baby Mine” on loop for 6 hours

[myuminji]

OKAY NEXT WRITER I WANNA SCREAM ABOUT THAT GOT ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND FOR WEEKS BCS THEIR WW CHARACTERISATION IS SO??? IT HAUNTS ME PLEASE READ IT???

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47749684

[introspectivememories]

my timbern hot take is that i thank god everyday that we got riley rossmo's art for those first few issues instead of serg acuña's because i know some of you bitches would've been extremely weird about timbern if we had gotten acuña's manga-esque style from the beginning

[lightningbig]

goddd botw makes me a little bit insane. link going through the story and meeting all of these people who use to know him. he doesn't remember. but they talk about him, "you used to train me!" "we were kids together" "I always looked up to you". they have lived a whole life while he's been asleep. he has not changed.

[star-crossed-joes]

INTERSEX DRAGONA JOESTAR?????????

[raspberryjellybrains]

I've been thinking a lot lately about Delirium and the way she speaks. She talks around a concept, never hitting it head on but glancing off through a series of metaphors and related concepts that explain things far better than wording them straight might. It's very relatable, and I think that's why I like her; that's how I think.

To me, the world isn't composed of precisely defined concepts but a series of interconnected existences which can all, ultimately, be related to each other. I also experience things in the incredibly specific manner Delirium seems to. I have sensitivities largely untethered from aversions, meaning that while I don't often find things deeply unpleasant or intolerable, I still experience them with an unusual specificity which often defies concise explanation. The best way I can convey certain feelings or experiences is through other feelings, experiences, and concepts to weave together a series of approximations that through their similar and dissimilar traits narrow down to what I'm trying to describe. Delirium does this too, and it's treated as a part of her that's no better or worse than any other. There are those that don't understand and those that do, and those that at least try to are awarded for their efforts because finally and most importantly, she genuinely has something to say. Her speech patterns are deceptively rambling because she takes a long time to say what she means to say, while simultaneously saying exactly it.

Delirium is neurodivergent coded in such a cathartic way because of this. I feel her frustration and joy because I know what it's like to be the person trying to explain something that has no words to assign, asking all of the time if there's a word for what she's feeling as a rhetorical and genuine question so that she can explain something without explaining it and call into question why we feel everything must be precisely laid in the place of as few words as possible. She is incredibly intelligent, but loses track of all of what's happening in a far more obvious way than most because there's just so much to keep track of, which is also very relatable as a neurodivergent person. Without putting labels on the experience, she perfectly captures it. I just... I like Delirium quite a lot, and think she'd be very good at post-modern literature.

[letmesleepy]

Hey Sleepy I know about Otto but what about Caroline? I've seen u tag oc tag stuff as Caroline. Who are they?

Thats Carolina ^_^ let me talk about her miserable life under the cut. Its under a cut cuz uhhhhh sensitive topics below. Also long as hell

Carolina is my fallout oc/sona/its complicated. We'll say shes an oc cuz shes only really a sona when im playin the games and when thats happening the pronouns are they/them but since its just me playing the they/themming is only in the head.

Shes in 3/nv/4 and dear god she goes through so much trauma. Shes a mute chick w huge anger issues who tries not to show it by constantly being @_@ about life. She had a tumor in her throat when she was 1 yr old, which if it wasnt removed would have traveled to her brain, if it didnt close off her ability to breathe first. She had to have surgery to have it removed, taking her vocal cords in the process.

She has a huge love for repairing tech such as computers and bots, and when she was in the vault she dreamed of being the person to maintain the water chip. But as you know f3 story she never got the chance, only ever being a pipboy repairmen (which she did enjoy but due to how isolated she was she wanted water chip job more so she could be more important and liked). She has an incredible memory too ✌.

Cuz of her mutism she had like almost no friends aside from amata + a few adults, only furthering her @_@ ing and not showing her emotions. This leads to FURTHER isolating cuz everyone just thinks shes weird. She struggles a lot w her self image due to this isolation and kids pickin on her for being mute + tall, leading to struggles w anorexia. Throughout the 10 yrs old f3 to f4 she tries to recover from this, but cuz the apocalyptic world is harsh she doesnt get well off at first, becoming an alcoholic alongside it, due to in f4 shes brainwashed/reprogrammed (cyborg from nv dlc) into believing shes a 200 yr old mom searching for her son. Not only brainwashed but had surgery to look like the original nora. This only worsens her self image problems when she realizes the truth. The reason shes brainwashed is cuz Father believes shes incredible, and due to her work in washington/vegas, believing she should take his place. Originally he thought she was a true vault dweller, having no radiation. By the time he found out she wasnt, it was too late. But he persisted anyway, still considering her determination and the charisma she would gain from nora to make her an excellent leader.

When she realizes shes actually NOT nora, and that they gave her a dead womans voice, thoughts, face, this leads to her almost going over the deep end, for a moment considering horrible things from making her anorexia worse for a sense of control to simply finding a hole to die in. But in the end she decides instead to combine her personality w noras, since nora is now stuck inside her. Nora is a "program" of sorts, existing in the cybernetic part of carolinas brain. She was scanned from the original noras head, who died during the capturing of shawn. Due to her being a corpse there were a lot of memories gone, so a lot was filled in or simply left blank. Shes a ghost of herself but she doesnt wanna die again, so she stays alive through carolina, the two becoming a new one. Carolina is now more vulnerable, with new thoughts, but in a way she finds a peace in it, feeling less lonely even if the company isnt entirely true. They ofc arent totally harmonious, at times being completely separate mentally, but they over time find this to be a good thing, always seeing things in a new way, coming up with better ways to solve things. Her only other constant company is f3 dogmeat, who stays by her side ever since they met. But that changes when she has to take care of shawn, who believes shes his bio mother. Now she has more company with him involved.

Originally carolina doesnt wanna take care of him, being very traumatized by what happened w Father, but in the end he wins her over, so they travel together. Ofc carolina tells shawn the truth, that shes not his mom. But he in the end decides it doesnt matter, that shes really cool and he wants her to be his mom. With this relief, she changes her face back as much as she can, and removes noras voice from her. Because of their new relationship, carolina opens up more, having a healthier lifestyle to set a good example, and making promises to not be as reckless in battle, cuz he worries about her :(. Over time she starts expressing herself more, still ofc sometimes @_@ but thats cuz she has apocalyptic autism and Is Just Like That. But overall she learns to laugh and actually be happy cuz she has someone to love again, and this time she doesnt let ppl step over her. As she recovers and loves, she gains more weight and becomes fat and strong ^-^ leading to her passion of engineering being more easy due to having more energy.... Not to mention the flustering attention she gets cuz shes a beefy woman in the apocalypse.

Tldr: i take yer gruff depressed middle aged man w daughter and raise you: gruff depressed middle aged woman w son. + cute doggy :)

[nexttothelamp]

Jesus fucking christ I hate this country I hate it so god damn much FUCK this place the moment we manage to drag ourselves into a debt free state we're abandoning this sinking ship as fast as fucking possible

[mr-thundercloud]

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM... Mmmmm GOOD SOUP! (Check the other re-blogs their real tasty)

Prompt fill from the Discord server. This one is courtesy of @tourettesdog

Prompt where Danny keeps showing up like a stray cat at various hero's houses. He just comes and goes and they never know when he'll show up next. He's just this like pseudo-adopted child who will come over for dinner, crash on the couch, and he's gone by morning. No amount of research will tell them who he is past the limited information he's given them

The various heroes are unaware that his stray cat range wanders so far until someone mentions him at a JL meeting and all hell breaks loose.

There's eventually an intervention

Stray Cat Danny

Clark had just got home when he noticed the heartbeat on the fire escape two floors above him. As far as he knew, that apartment was empty, so it couldn't be the residents going out for a smoke. It was weird, very strange, and not his business.

He tried to leave it alone, but the heartbeat stayed on the fire escape for a few hours. Every now and again Clark would hear whoever it was shift, but other than that they stayed quiet. Again, weird, but not his business.

Until it started to snow right when Clark was about to start dinner.

He was just going to make sure whoever it was had somewhere warm to stay. Maybe direct them to a shelter. Clark opened the window and looked up, there was a dark bundle, worryingly still, on the fire escape.

"Excuse me?" Clark called. The bundle shifted but whoever it is didn't respond. Clark grumbled and made his way up to them, squatting down a few feet away.

"Are you alright?"

The bundle shifted, revealing one blue eye and a tuft of back hair.

"''m fine" a young male voice answered. The blue eye closed.

"You know it's going to snow tonight. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a shelter than on a fire escape."

"They're full." The boy answered. "All both of them."

Only two shelters for all of Metropolis? That can't be right. Clark looked up to the sky, the snow was starting to come down and he could swear it had gotten colder since he'd been out here. He couldn't leave the kid out here to freeze.

"How about you stay the night at my place? My couch is pretty comfortable, and I'm making beef stew for dinner, Ma's recipe." He let a bit of his Kansas accent show through. Hoping the country accent would put the boy more at ease. He was watching him now with both eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did your Ma ever teach you about stranger danger?" The kid asked.

"Not exactly. She taught me to help people out if they need it. Did your Ma teach you stranger danger?"

"No," the boy said, "my mom taught me to put a full-grown man on the ground if I needed to."

That surprised Clark into laughing. "Well, you won't need to with me. What do you say you come inside?"

The boy watched him for another second before shivering violently and glaring at the sky.

"Yeah, alright. Just one night."

"I'm Clark, by the way," Clark said as he closed the window behind the kid.

"Danny." The kid said. He was rooted to the spot just a few steps into the apartment, eyes scanning the room.

"It's nice to meet you, Danny." Clark held out his hand to shake, but Danny didn't take it. After an awkward second Clark cleared his throat. "Uh. The stew is going to be a little while. You're welcome to the laundry and shower if you need it." Danny was pretty clean, but there was visible dirt on his face and clothes. "I might have some clothes my nephew forgot that you're welcome to." Dick was bigger than Danny for sure, but he was closer to Danny's size than Clark was.

Danny gave him a long look, before shrugging off his backpack. "Sure. Might as well."

Clark left to go get the clothes while Danny loaded some of his clothes and blankets in the washer. Once he presented the tee shirt and sweatpants Danny disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared he was scrubbed clean, his cheeks rosy either from the hot water or scrubbing.

Danny was even smaller than Clark was expecting. He was downright scrawny. Dick's shirt hung off Danny's shoulders, and Clark could clearly see his collarbones. This kid was not getting nearly enough to eat. Well, he was going to tonight if Clark had anything to say about it.

"The stew should be ready in about half an hour. Feel free to make yourself at home." Clark said. He expected Danny to sit on the couch and watch TV, but instead, Danny found his home office. it wasn't more than a desk with his work laptop on it and some of Clark's better pieces and awards framed and tacked to the wall above it.

"You're Clark Kent, the reporter?" Danny asked, eyes switching between the wall and Clark.

"That's me," Clark said. "You know my work?"

"I read your piece on metahuman and alien rights last year. It was good."

"Thanks. I really liked working on that piece."

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"uh. No. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." Clark said, stirring the stew. Danny snorted. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Danny said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. "I wanted to be an astronaut, too."

"Yeah? You still could." Clark said.

"Nah. It's hard to be an astronaut without a high school diploma. What made you change to writing?"

"I went through a few different career paths before I landed on journalism."

"Do you like it?"

"I do. I like uncovering the truths people try to hide." Clark said. "You'd make a decent journalist, I'd think. Half of it is just asking the right questions."

Clark served up the stew into two bowls and brought them over to the table with some rolls and butter. "I don't have much in the way of drinks, is water okay?"

"Water would be great, thanks."

They ate in relative silence, Danny was too focused on his food to ask more questions. After they ate Danny nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he sat down. Clark couldn't bring himself to wake him up, so he just covered him with a blanket from the linen closet and headed to his own room.

Maybe in the morning he could make Danny pancakes or waffles and get him some new gloves and a jacket. The question was what to do after that? He didn't want to drop Danny off at a shelter, and taking him to the police would only destroy whatever trust he had gained with the boy. At the same time, he only had a one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't keep Danny here. Clark sighed. He'd have to talk to Danny in the morning and see what he wanted to do.

When Clark woke up he was greeted by the silence of the apartment and it took him a few minutes to figure out why that was wrong. There should be another heartbeat. Fearing the worst, Clark rushed into the living room to find it empty.

The blanket and clothes Danny had used had been neatly folded and placed on the back of the couch, along with a handwritten thank you note.

How did Danny leave without him hearing? Moreover, how'd he leave with the doors and windows still locked?

[bpdanakins]

i do love watching people online slowly lose their minds over msr, the greatest slowburn on television of all time

[fettuccin-e]

Honey-Sweet

Description: You're far too sweet for him. He's determined not to ruin you, despite the fact that he seems to ruin everything, and everything about you just seems to make his fantasies worse. But one night can change everything, apparently, when Miguel finally sees how completely not sweet you can be.

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, hoooh boy a lotta smut okay, oral (m and f recieving), unprotected piv (pls oh pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), riding, doggy, missionary, some fluff bc i'm not completely deranged, light degradation (w/c: 2.1K)

A/N: oh lord the Miguel brainrot is REAL folks okay this is fucking crazy. I WANT THIS MAN TO **** ** **** * ****** ******* okay he has me fuckin frothing at the DAMN MOUTH actin like a DAMN DOG okay so please enjoy a bit of a miguel smutfest

You’re too fucking sweet for him. That’s what he tells himself. Miguel O’Hara doesn’t do sweet.

You’re fucking sweet with the way you bring cookies in for the other Spiders that accompany you on missions. You’re sweet in how you brought in a ridiculous hand-made baby blanket for Mayday when Peter first brought her in, emblazoned with his Spider-Man logo to wrap her up tight in. You’d kissed the baby on the head, whispering tiny sweet nothings into her bright red hair, and Miguel had had to hide the emergence of his fangs at the sight of it.

You’re too sweet, too kind for him. You organize little movie nights at the office, you make him stay a little longer on missions so you can see the tourist spots from different universes. And the way you look at him, all wide-eyed and bright and smiling… it does things to him.

It makes him want to bring you flowers, kiss you on the cheek. It makes him want to plan fucking candle-lit dinners and bake cupcakes with you. All sweet, too sweet.

But, because he apparently can’t stop himself, you also want to make him do decidedly not sweet things. Like grab at your tits through your suit, pinching your nipples until your knees go weak and you whimper his name in your gorgeous little voice. Like force you down on your knees, fucking his cock into your hot mouth while tears leak down your cheeks. Like tying you up with his webs, eating your pretty cunt out while you struggle against them, whining that “it’s too much, too much Miguel.” Like fucking you deep, so fucking deep on his cock, making you squeeze around him while you scream for him, beg for him to fill you up with cum. He thinks about watching it leak out of your achy pussy, dripping down your thighs.

But you’re so goddamn sweet, too gorgeous and lovely, and he can’t ruin you, he can’t. 

So when you finally wear him down, finally get him to go to coffee with you, he tries to be just as sweet as you. You hold his fucking hand, you kiss him on the cheek. You smile into his mouth as his lips meet yours in front of your apartment door. Miguel swears that his heart will pop with how much it swells when you’re near him.

He brings you flowers, walks you to your door, brings you lunch while you’re filing post-mission paperwork. And God, it’s beautiful. It’s fantastic and bright and so wonderfully domestic that Miguel wonders if he’s died, gone to some heaven he doesn’t deserve. He’s determined to revel in the domesticity of this… thing he’s created with you, his disgusting fantasies be damned.

He doesn’t like to think about how he has to fuck his hand after he drops you off at your house, his lips still burning with the touch of your soft, soft kiss. He thinks about how your lips would look stretched around his dick.

He’s content. He’s happy. For the first time in so fucking long, he’s happy. And he’ll happily tug on his dick by himself for the rest of damn time if it means that he gets to revel in your soft, pretty, wonderful sweetness for a little bit longer. He will not ruin you.

But.

As he kisses you softly in front of your apartment, the both of you still suited up from your latest mission, you tug him closer. You pull him down into your hungry mouth, and you lick into him like you’re starving for it. He can’t help how he growls at the feeling of it, his big hands coming to clutch at your hips. God, you’re pretty, fucking addicting with the way your tongue tangles with his and how you whimper when his hands cup your ass, tugging you up just that extra inch.

“Take me to bed, Miguel,” you gasp between feverish kisses, and fuck, he’s gone.

He hauls you into his arms, and his knees almost go weak at the way you wrap your thighs tightly around his middle, the way you lick into his mouth all over again.

And Miguel has spent so much time in his head, thinking, no, knowing that you’re sweeter than goddamn pie. It’s in every fucking breath you take, every moment he spends with you. 

But that night, as he lays you onto the bed, gently, gently like you deserve, he learns that you’re not as sweet as he thinks you are.

Not at all.

Not with the way you roll him over with your strength, begging for him to disengage his suit, looking at him like you want to devour him as it dissolves around him, leaving him bare to your gaze. You graze a reverent hand up his chest as he heaves under you, whispering, “God, can’t believe I’ve waited this long to have you like this. You’re so pretty, Miguel.” 

Pretty. Pretty? He can’t be the pretty one, no, not when you’re unzipping your own suit, and he can see everything. Every inch of supple, soft skin. Your nipples, hard and peaked and begging for his touch. Your pretty, pretty pussy; he can see how you’re practically dripping, the wetness between your legs glistening in the soft lamplight.

And you’re not sweet, not sweet at all, when you nip and suck little marks down his chest and abs, grinning up at him like a damn siren when he gasps at your touch. Fuck, you’re the opposite of everything he thought when you take his cock into your mouth, bobbing deeper, deeper until you just can’t anymore, jacking the rest of his cock while you kiss and lick and suck at him.

You grab his hand with your free one, and pull it into your hair. You pull up from his cock, and Christ, there’s a line of your spit that connects you to his throbbing tip, and Miguel thinks that he might die. 

“Fuck my face, baby?” you rasp, and yes, that’s it, Miguel is going to fucking die here. But he can’t refuse you, with those gorgeous eyes gazing up at him, the tip of his cock on your tongue. 

It’s not sweet, not at all, when he forces your head down on his cock, pressing himself deep into your pretty little mouth. And you moan like you love it, just taking it as he thrusts roughly into your mouth. Your spit runs down his shaft, your little whimpers and the way you choke when the tip jams into the back of your throat all echoing in his ears. 

He can’t hear himself, but God, you can. You relish the way he growls every time he pushes you down deep, telling you that, “You’re such a good girl, hermosa. Mierda, mi nena perfecta.” Your pussy throbs.

He isn’t soft, isn’t gentle like he told himself to be when he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, and Miguel groans as he pulls you up by your hair, dragging your spit-slick lips to his mouth. He can taste himself on your lips, all sticky and hot and puffy. 

You whine against his mouth, murmuring little pleas of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” into him, and his cock twitches, red and aching desperately for your touch. 

“Have to make sure you’re ready,” he mumbles, even though he aches, even though his claws threaten to show. 

“Nononono,” you whine, and then you sit back, hovering over his cock, fucking monstrous compared to the tiny opening of your dripping pussy, and press down.

Fuck, it’s like heaven inside you, all perfect and wet and hot, and you whine, muttering that, “It’s so fucking big, God, stretches me so perfect, so fucking perfect, so much bigger than I could have dreamed-“

“Nena,” he interrupts you with a hoarse groan of his own, “gotta stop, ‘s gonna, gonna hurt you, oh fuck-“ 

And you grin at him again, filthy and raunchy and not sweet at all, as you say “I fucking want it to hurt, Miguel. Wanna feel you in the morning, wanna feel you all the time.” And you press yourself the rest of the way down his thick cock, gasping for air, your hips twitching like they can’t decide whether to run away from the sensation or seek it. 

“Fuck, wanna feel you all the time,” you murmur and Miguel can’t decide whether you’re actually talking to him or not. “Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe, fill me up so fucking perfect, God, oh my God, ‘m so fucking full,” you roll your hips forward in desperate little circles, a weak attempt at getting him deeper. An endless stream of “fuck me, fuck me, please please please,” starts to leave your lips again, and you sound so desperate, so needy, that Miguel can’t help but roll you over, pinning you underneath him, and fucking his cock so hard and so deep into you that you dig your fingers into his back and sob.

He does what you ask that night. He fucks you and fucks you and fucks you, until tears leak from your eyes and your bed is soaked with a mixture of yours and his cum. And God, you scream for him, begging him for more, deeper, harder.

The slick sounds of your bodies meeting over and over must be heard all over the building, but Miguel can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s able to fuck you like this, disgusting and filthy.

How could a sweet, lovely, soft thing like you love this so much?

From that night on, it seems that all bets are off. From that night on, it seems that you make it a mission to show him exactly how not sweet you are.

Fuck, there’s no sweetness to you when you hump your hips into his face the next morning, practically smothering him in your pussy as you squeal and tangle your fingers in his hair. He digs his fingers so hard into your thighs that he’s sure they’ll bruise, and licks up your juices. Your pussy is honey-sweet on his tongue.

You’re not soft when you ride him into the mattress, throwing yourself down onto his cock and moaning as you stretch yourself out. You drag your nails down his chest as you bounce desperately in his lap, and Miguel kind of hopes you draw blood.

There isn’t an ounce of innocence when you sink down on your knees under his desk when he’s in a goddamn meeting, pulling his cock out and sucking at him until his claws shoot out and leave splintering holes in his desk. He has to hide his fangs from the video camera when you choke. 

When he finally, finally cuts the meeting short, feeding the other Spider-Men some bullshit excuse about a new anomaly, he presses your head to the base of his cock and shoots his cum down your throat. He means it as a punishment, but when he pulls you off his cock, and sees you with your eyes all glassy and smiling lazily, he can’t help but bend you over the desk and finger fuck you until you cry and scream and beg for him to fuck you with his cock.

You are so far from sweet when he fucks you on the floor after a mission, tensions run too taut and adrenaline racing through your veins. You throw your ass back onto him with every thrust into your sloppy cunt, moaning as he growls, “Such a fucking slut, can’t get enough of this cock, huh? My sweet, sweet girl, what would the rest of the Spiders say if they knew what a fucking whore you are for me?” 

And when you choke on your spit around your screams, he leans down to whisper that, “I know, cariño, I know. I'm gonna take care of you,” before he shoves your face down into the carpet and mounts you, shoving his fat cock down into you again and again and again.

Miguel is positive that he’s died and gone to heaven.

It’s not to say that you’re not the same, sweet girl who brings cookies to the office and holds his hand. No, you’re the same, perfect, sweet girl, only that you let him thank you for the cookies by eating you out on the kitchen floor. You hold his hand while you jerk his cock and swallow his moans with your kiss.

You’re just the right kind of sweet for him.

[norrizzandpia]

Lando’s Biggest Fangirl (LN4)

Summary: It’s his girlfriend. Lando’s biggest fangirl is his girlfriend.

Warnings: language, sexual references???domestic lando 🧡🧡

Note: a filler while im super busy with school IM SORRY I COULDNT GET TO THE OSCAR CAUGHT IMAGINE TN BUT IT WILL HAPPEN TMRW I PROMISE. PROMISE.

y/nnn ass.

Comments:

Ln4andop81 BYE WHAT IS THIS

mclaren slumped

landonorris BABE.

- mclarensgirly idk why but this comment is so cute to me i love bf lando

landonorris everything about this post is so concerning

- y/nnn wdym? I think its perf

- landonorris first of all when did you take that of me and second of all THE CAPTION???

- y/nnn first of all i took it when you were sleeping thats obvi and second of all i like your ass. whats wrong with that?

- landonorris honestly? Nothing

f1fan2 i didnt know i needed this until rn

oscarpiastri your and lando’s relationship scares me sm

- landonorris TF??? WE DIDNT DO ANYTHING TO YOU.

- y/nnn PASTRY???? I was starting to like you too.

- oscarpiastri y/n i dont think thats the way you talk to someone who has that pic of your bf sweating after getting out of his race car.

- y/nnn oscar. this is not a playful matter. hand. them. over.

- mclarensgirly YO OSCAR LEAK THOSE IM BEGGING YOU

- landonorris WHY ARE PEOPLE TAKING PICS OF ME WITHOUT MY CONSENT.

—

y/nnn finally got that pic from oscar. safe to say my boyfriend’s teammate is in love with him.

Comments:

mclarensgirly THANK YOU FOR DROPPING THIS 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

ln4andop81 YOU ARE A GOD SEND.

landonorris yeah but im in love with you ❤️

- oscarpiastri WDYM “yeah” IM NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU????

- y/nnn idk man this pic says something else

- mclarensgirly LANDOSCAR IRL???? AWWWW

- f1fan2 OMG THE SHIP IS SHIPPING 🤭🤭

- oscarpiastri NO.

—

y/nnn FROTHING AT THE MOUTH. CHEWING ON THE WALLS. JUMPING UP AND DOWN. GIGGLING. SMACKING MY FIST AGAINST MY HEAD.

Comments:

landonorris WOW.

landonorris youve out done yourself with this caption

landonorris very vivid image of you absolutely going bonkers

- y/nnn thats the POINT hottie 😉😉

- mclarensgirly y/n calling him hottie lol shes just like us

oscarpiastri i want to block you

danielricciardo sometimes i wonder if ive followed the wrong account and this is just a 16 year old girl’s fan page

- y/nnn 16 year old me wouldve been feeling the same type of way as me now is.

- danielricciardo plz never say that again

- landonorris im so concerned

—

y/nnn awww look at my baby he’s so cute and babygirl 🤭🤭

Comments:

mclarensgirly the versatility of this woman never fails to amaze me

landonorris the eyes never lie, chica

- y/nnn AWWWW CAUSE YOU WERE LOOKING AT ME IN THIS OMFG AWWWWWWWWWWW

- landonorris i can hear your giggling

- y/nnn im not surprised

mclaren our favorite couple (we are so glad we didn’t come across another violent post on your page) 🧡🧡🧡

- y/nnn dw we will be getting back to regular programming shortly <3

- mclaren take the phone away. landonorris

- landonorris im literally on the other side of the world idk how i can do that

—

y/nnn BARK BARK 👹👹👹 GAHDAMN

Comments:

mclaren here we go again…

- y/nnn WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO??? SAY NOTHING??????

- mclaren YES.

- y/nnn WELL THATS NOT AN OPTION.

landonorris well the barking is new!

- y/nnn you say it like youre scared

- landonorris thats cause i am.

oscarpiastri bro

danielricciardo ngl he looks good here

- y/nnn THANK. YOU.

- landonorris thanks dan

- y/nnn SO YOU THANK HIM AND NOT ME????

- landonorris YOU BARKED AT ME.

- y/nnn ITS THE PROPER RESPONSE.

- landonorris NO BABY IT IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT.

- f1fan2 their relationship is my roman empire

—

landonorris giving it a try: GAHDAMNNN BABY 🥵

Comments:

mclarensgirly WOWIEEEE SHE DOESNT GET ENOUGH RECOGNITION

F1fan2 she makes me question my sexuality.

Liked by landonorris

ln4andop81 mother of god almighty my jaw is on the floor

mclarensgirly thank you lando for blessing my eyes with this

ln4andop81 SHES SUCH A GREEK GODDESS

y/nnn see i dont like it when you do it 😟

- landonorris are you actually kidding me.

- y/nnn why cant you just leave me to my delusions in peace???

- landonorris bc they arent delusions im literally your boyfriend

- y/nnn YUM SAY IT AGAIN 😩😩😩

- landonorris omfg

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

[princessbrunette]

bounty hunter Rafe grabbin ur face and getting all mean, he calms down for a second bc he thinks ur getting scared but then he sees that u ain’t scared…ur feeling…freaky…

this would be after this occurs me thinks

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

“s’why these fuckin’ hillbillies keep thinking they can come up to you and start shit with us— alright? because — cause you keep lookin’ around, not minding your damn business, giving them the god damn fuck me eyes... yeah? gotta learn to keep that curiosity in check, alright ‘cos — hey,” he clutches you by the jaw, turning your head when you curiously stare off across the bar to identify who had him ranting and raving in such a way.

you’re taken aback by the action, staring up at him sweetly as he as he keeps his grip on you, continuing to tell you off.

“m’talkin’ to you, right— show some damn respect. you’re giving these suckers the wrong idea. eye contact is a fuckin’… marriage proposal to some of these guys and — and you’re mine, ‘kay so quit lookin’ around, eye fuckin’ every tom, dick, n’harry that walks in this place alright infact just keep your eyes on me. yeah? can you handle that shit?” he exasperates, giving you a little jostle with his grasp to keep you alert. your hand instinctually flies up to his wrist where he holds you, blinking a few times in surprise.

usually, this kind of possessive treatment would make your stomach hurt— but in your mind, there was something oddly romantic about it all, despite how sick you knew it was. he’d deflowered you in a rickety motel bed, told you he wouldn’t take no for an answer to his own marriage proposal, that he had to have you, make you his own and not just a hostage… it was a reminder of his unwavering devotion. your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and your pupils swell your eye.

“you better not be thinking of cryin’, okay kid — not in the mood.” he lets go, wondering if he’d scared you as he leans his elbows back against the sticky bar, staring at the back of the bartender, watching him pour a regular a shitty beer with too much froth. rafes brain is already preoccupied with his next complaint, being about how shitty the beers were at your current location.

you shuffle closer to him gingerly, gently slipping your arm through his to hold him there, eyes still on his profile unsurely. he did say to keep your eyes on him.

he glances at you from the side, parted lipped and grumpy. where he sits on the bar stool, you step even more into his space until your hot breath is on his cheek.

“only eye fucking you. yes?” you clarify and it takes him off guard, though he tries to cover that. rafe clears his throat a little, turning his head toward you.

“yeah. m’not asking too much you know.” he defends himself against no one, because you’re staring at your captors mouth.

“mm.” you agree in a low hum, and he stares back at your suddenly aroused body language.

“fuck it, c’mere, yeah?” he pulls your body to him with a huge hand planted on your backside, the limpness of you falling straight onto him so your lips land on his. “s’all fuckin’ mine, and you know it too, huh.”

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃