#he literally drive-by kissed him. deranged

[tedcicle]

live lark reaction

[fushiguho]

Literally nobody asked for this but what about Toji folding you into a mean mating press so he can fuck you full of cum? Think about it…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

You’re not even sure how it got to this point—your plush thighs pressed to your chest, poor, drooling pussy stretched obscenely wide, and your pretty lips gaped in incredulity—all while Toji is unforgivingly pile driving into your sloppy hole over, and over, and over again, fucking you with his entire being, a fat thumb pressed to your ravaged clit. The deranged man has you in a fucking mating press.

“Talk to me, doll,” he’s muttering between the relentless batter of his hips, leaning down to kiss the corner of your wet, parted lips, his ears perking curiously at your choked sobs of rapture, “use your fuckin’ words n’ tell me you love my cock,” he’s so close, the tip of his large nose brushing yours, warm breath fanning your lips, “say it.”

“Nngh—love it… I love it—hah… love it s’muchhh!” Your eyes are crossing while you babble incoherently, sweet tongue lolling out as he fucks you into a stupid, drooling mess. “Love your c-cock s’much, Toji baby… always fuck me so good… s’fuckin’ good!” You’re slurring over yourself, only hoping that he’ll make sense of your broken jargon.

The dopey, languid grin that slowly mars his scarred lips is nothing short of sinful. Time and time again, he always manages to get you like this—so slutty, so mindless, so fucking stupid for cock, yet somehow, he thinks you look prettiest this way. Just like this. In fact, he wouldn’t have it any other way—have you any other way.

“Heh, yeaaah? You loveee takin’ all my fuckin’ cock, don’t you, baby?” His head is cocking to the right in query, the merciless thrust of his hips steadily bullying his fat cock deeper and deeper, the leaking, mushroom tip kissing your battered cervix. “Bet you’d die without it, huh? Can’t live without being fucked so deep like this every fucking day can you, baby?” He doesn’t miss the way you shake your head dumbly, lust-stricken eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head. A gruff, humorous chuckle slips past his lips as he admires your drunken mien. God, you’re such a pretty, fucked-out mess for him. “Always get so stupid for me, look at youuu… such a pretty, obedient girl for that cock. You’ll do anything I say, won’t you, doll?”

You nod, of course. There isn’t a line you wouldn’t cross for this man, a rule you wouldn’t break, a boundary you wouldn’t bend, because if there’s any word to sum you up faultlessly, it’s obedient. Yet, your obedience strays far beyond simple compliance and abidance. Instead, you’re somewhere else—somewhere so far gone, so depraved, that you’re positive you’re only a shell of your former self. Now, you’re something of Toji’s creation, his perfect, handcrafted slut whose only purpose is to take, and take, and take. But is there anything more fulfilling than being his good girl? More consummate than feeling like you belong? Like you’re good enough to be his? At what point does it become obsession? Does it even matter?

“Fuuuck, open that pretty mouth fa’me.” He demands, creeping a large, calloused hand allll the way up, up, up your tummy, past your kiss-bitten breasts, and toward your face to roughly squish your flushed cheeks, rudely forcing your mouth open. “Wider, doll… say ahhh.” Not a second thought passes as you nearly unhinge your jaw for him, lolling out your tongue, waiting patiently for whatever he’s willing to give.

Toji begins gathering saliva in his mouth before leaning closer, puckering his scarred lips, and spitting onto the plush center of your tongue. Two, thick digits are sliding into your mouth, all the way down the slick muscle, forcing his saliva impossibly deeper. The cruel, bewitching grin that plays his wet lips as you gag around his fingers has your poor cunt weeping in arousal, drooling down the girth of his cock.

He spits into your mouth once more for good measure before leaning down to catch your lips in a sloppy, haphazard kiss. You hardly register the warm, eager tongue that bullies its way into your mouth, licking and tasting you from the source. You’re beyond delirious as you feverishly kiss him back, whining so sultrily as a sinful stream of his saliva dribbles from the corners of your swollen lips and down your cheeks, staining your pretty face.

You can’t do anything but take him, all of him—his tongue, his cock, his fingers, his spit, and soon, his cum. After all, it’s what you do best—what you were meant to do all along. That’s why Toji fucks you the way he does—because he knows it’s the only way you’ll ever be satisfied. A tender kiss is never enough, nor is the simple act of making love. You yearn for more—to be fucked, to be destroyed and ruined and defiled. What better man to do it than Toji Fushiguro?

“Hold your legs up f’me,” two, rough hands are searching for yours, hooking them behind the back of your knees, “yeaaah that’s a good girl for daddy, hold ‘em up just like that, baby, fuuuuck… want you to feel allll of me—all of my cock inside you. Gonna cum so deep in that pretty pussy, doll. You want that? Will that satisfy your needy little cunt?” A prolonged hiss of pleasure drags from his gritted teeth as he reels his hips back slowly, “Gonna fuck you so full of my cum… you want a baby? Want me to get you fuckin’ pregnant?” He babbles mindlessly while harshly pummeling his heavy hips forward in staccato, fucking himself impossibly deeper, his full, swollen balls repeatedly striking the fat of your ass.

“Mhmm—yes! I need it, I need it! Fuck fuck fuck, please, Toji baby… need your cum,” your head rolls from side to side while you pant like a bitch in heat, arms growing fatigued as you stretch yourself so wide for him and only him, “pleaseee cum inside, wanna be a mommy… wan’ your babies!” Your delirious eyes search for his, eyebrows furrowing in nothing but your overstimulated pleasure.

A sinful, guttural groan drags from the depths of his chest at your filthy words of encouragement, cock twitching so lewdly against your sticky, beckoning walls, wordlessly threatening to fill you up. “Yeah? Will that make my nasty girl happy?” You can only nod meekly as you hug your knees to your chest, sweet mouth gaped in pleasure while you moan so prettily for him, waiting like a patient, obedient slut for his cum. “F— fuuuck, I’m gonna cum s’muchhh n’ yer gonna take it all, you hear me?” He’s stifling an onslaught of gutteral moans that threaten to spill from his parted lips, “Mhmmm—fuck, you gonna take it all? You gonna take all of my cum like a good fuckin’ girl, hm? Like my good lil’ slut?” Toji huffs out ragged breaths between his feral groans of rapture, heavy thrusts growing haphazard and sloppy as he pummels toward his orgasm.

A helpless, “Please…” is all you can manage—a weak, pathetic plead but then, you feel it.

An incoherent, slew of profanities tumble past Toji’s lips as he fucks several, viscous gushes of cum inside of you. His usual timbre voice hoarse and ragged, breaking so sinfully as he stuffs you full, yet still, his bucking hips never falter. Obscene rivulets of his seed drip from your overfilled cunt, pooling beneath your bodies in a messy little puddle. Eventually, he wills himself away, slipping out of your poor cunt, but only to swipe two, deft digits along his stray seed on the sheets, gathering his release to fuck it back inside of you, ensuring none of it goes to waste.

“Look… you’re so full of me, doll,” he drawls in a low, tantalizing hum, pulling his wet fingers out of you to show you proof—his thick fingers dripping in his own cum, “you gonna clean me up?” He grins wildly, flashing his cuspids at you.

Duh.

[poppy-metal]

So we know love island!Patrick would be messy on purpose but I'm just thinking how love island!Art would be so fucking messy unintentionally.

Like going back to what you were saying about being a bombshell that seduces him. Acting loyal to his partner in front of everyone but letting you crawl into his bed in the mornings to cuddle when she leaves. Sneaking kisses in hidden corners and getting handsy with each other because he can't resist you. Telling the guys his head isn't turned just all over the place but when the next recoupling comes around he picks you and it's like he dropped a bomb in the villa because everyone truly thought he'd be the one loyal guy in the house. It'd be even funnier if he goes to the hideaway with you immediately even though he wanted to "take it slow and do it right" with his last partner lol

It'd make for some great fucking tv.

I love toxic!art ❤️ everyone is lowkey into him being a secret asshole because the whole cookie cutter wholesome boy thing was boring as hell and his relationship was bland and everyone was rolling their eyes at it - drama loving whores.

you're like a picture out of arts wettest dream. literally cherry picked for him - the type of woman he jerks off too secretly but never admits to wanting out loud. seductive and mean and flirty and no one thinks you'll turn his head but he's like wet paper. you straddle his lap during a challenge and kiss him and he can't help himself. he fucking moans into it and can't keep his hands from wandering too your ass - so fucking soft in his hands - he chases your lips when you pull back and everyone is shocked. his girl chews him out and he feels so terrible about it, promises it was just a challenge thing and he was just playing it up - avoids you like the plauge the next day - but a twist is thrown in - you get to choose a man to take to the hideaway - to spend a night with and you're like a tiger - honed in on your prey - art is like a fucking innocent little deer in your jaws. you pick him obviously and all the girls blow up. you don't care though. you only want art and you'll have him no matter how bad it makes you look or how much you're scorned for it. art swallows at the grin you give him.

he makes so many empty promises to his girl - tells her he's gonna sleep on the floor - he's not even gonna talk to her - you're obviously delusional and deranged and he doesn't even like who you are as a person - you digust him - she eventually calms down, and she's pretty sure she can trust him. all the girls are telling her so. telling her how steady art has been this whole time and that you're just a slut and a bitch and art wants a classy woman, of which you are not -

he lasts ten minutes. ten minutes in the hideaway alone with you before he's inside you - pillows knocked off the bed and your skimpy little thong pulled to the side as he slides his cock home - he hates himself, he really does - he can't even think about the consequences and how this will definitely come out and ruin everything he's built - he just can't - he can't resist you - it was hopeless from the start - and god - you're like heaven around his dick - his eyes roll back and his hips are snapping into yours immediately, fucking you how he'd never fuck his couple - fucking you like he's punishing you for making me do this - balls slapping wetly against your pussy and you're moaning into it - fingers dug into his back with your legs wrapped around his waist.

"fuck my pussy, yes, yes, yes -" you chant, licking the shell of his ear and driving him crazy. "fucking huge cock - oh my god - you need to cum in me - cum in me and fuck me all night, baby-"

jesus.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Your Time (TWD One-Shot)

Negan Smith x GN!Reader / requests are open / 18+

Summary: You reminisce over your relationship with Negan and look towards the day to come. Based on the prompt "memory."

Fic type: reflective smut lite, violent in nature, extremely deranged relationship, these hoes do not be healthy in the head

EVERYTHING: @winchxters (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

TWD: @nervoussystemss (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Aw, come on, babydoll, don't play coy with me," Negan's lips spread into a smirk, his eyes boring holes that felt as though they were digging right down into your soul. "I know you love it when I play the big bad wolf."

He was right, of course. Negan was always right. Before the sky fell and the world turned entirely to shit, you'd considered yourself a decent person. Maybe even a good person. But that was before and this was now.

Negan had found you a year or two into the shit. He'd found you curled up, covered in grime and ready to take out the Achilles of the next person who looked at you wrong. Negan had seen past that, as he usually did. He saw past the right now and into the what-can-be of a person. It was one of his many talents.

He'd seen you for what you were. A bloodthirsty killer with a thing for reassurance and praise. Negan knew he could use that. Sure, you'd tried to fit in for a while. Be the goody-two-shoes who baked for the soldiers and wore cute cardigans (not that cardigans had anything to do with being sweet. You could certainly still kill a person in a pastel cardi if you pleased).

Eventually, though, you grew bored with your own charade. You'd spent a good long while out in the muck, killing and maiming and stealing from other survivors. Your fingers began to itch for an outlet and once Negan was made aware of this little urge resurfacing, he was sure to provide you that sweet escape.

Traitors, thieves, enemies. He let you at them all. You were his best investigator, and yes, while you were severely fucked in the head, you were his. He was yours, too. Negan loved your ferocity, your drive. He loved that you were unapologetically violent and cruel, and you made a pretty match for his Saviours leader personality.

Now that wasn't to say you were always itching to rip someone a new one (and sometimes literally). Like Negan, you needed a break here and there. You could be sweet, caring, and more than affectionate when you were in the mood. Just like Negan. It was one of the reasons you both got along so well, from what you could tell.

The couple who decompress with cuddles together after ripping a prisoner's fingernails off stays together, after all.

"Maybe," you ventured, walking your fingers over his bare chest as you both looked up into the stars. God, he was so... firm. So strong. He was perfect for you. You didn't need him to protect you, and you both knew it, but it felt nice that he could if you wanted him to. "I had fun tonight."

"Me fuckin' too, darlin'," Negan replied, a rumble of affection emanating from his chest. Fun could mean a lot of things, but tonight, fun meant having fucked each others' brains out while the latest batch of fuckwits cried over the loss of their friend about eight feet away from you both. Morbid, yes, but also, very hot.

You pinched at Negan's nipple teasingly, giggling at the way he swatted your hand with a hiss.

"Don't be mean, doll." He pulled you closer by the hips and planted a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss on your lips. He forced himself to pull away for a moment. "We got work to do tomorrow. You ready for that?"

You nodded, rolling your hips over his groin. Negan sucked his lower lip into his mouth, eyes glinting with heat. "Play the damsel," you relayed, grinding down on him again in harsh circles. "Get inside, scope the place out and sneak out after dark."

Negan's fingers flexed on your hips, his hips rolling up against yours now as well.

"Uh-uh," he tutted. "I think there's something missing from that plan of yours."

You pouted, bringing your hips to a halt. "Don't kill anyone."

"That's right, baby. Don't kill anyone. Your time will fucking come, sweetness, don't you worry about that."

If nothing else, you knew Negan to be a man of his word. If he said there'd be time for your hobbies, you sure as fuck believed him.

[amoristt]

PART 2 BAYBEEE this has completely revamped my love for marble hornets . anon i literally love u SOOO bad for reminding me of this time to binge the entirety of mh for the 10th time

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - wanna tip me? heres my kofi!

Escape Fate | Tim (Masky) x Reader Pt. 2

prev

"For fuck's sake!"

The engine of your car cries out as you jam the gas down to the floor. Rock spit out from your tires, fishtailing out as you struggled to juggle the steering wheel and hanging up the cell phone in your hand. Every couple of seconds your eyes would flick to the rear view just in case that... person was chasing you.

Tim was never known for his ability to answer on the first call. Sometimes the man wouldn't answer at all- you knew this. It was never an issue until now, your mind scrambling to focus on the road. You'd narrowly escaped with your life and it was all thanks to some masked stranger.

With an angry huff, you toss your phone onto the passenger seat and white knuckle the steering wheel, eyes fixated on the road. Flashes of your meeting with death play on rewind in the back of your mind like a projector. The deranged look on Alex's face down to the moment you'd locked eyes with your savior.

Your mind spins on where your destination lies, but it chooses your home. You drive in total silence, listening to nothing but the sound of your car and the wind howling through your cracked window. It's almost like being on autopilot, your eyes distant and far away as you pulled into the driveway. Somewhere deep in your brain, you knew that you should have gone to the police station, but yet you still pull yourself from your car and numbly unlock your front door before slipping inside without a word.

It only takes a few moments before you let yourself fall into your couch cushions. You'd been so close to death you swore you felt its breath down your neck. The warbled memories you have of the masked man force their way to the forefront of your mind. You had so many questions- who was he? Why had he given a shit to save you?

Why did he follow you out to the street?

The thought of him possibly not saving you, just choosing Alex first strikes you, and it draws a cold sweat from your skin. Perhaps you hadn't been saved at all.

Worry spreads like wildfire through you, and in seconds you're up and locking every single window in the house, double-checking any doorways. You want to put on the deadbolt for the front door, but then Tim couldn't get in. You settle back on the couch, glad that other than the coffee table and recliner chair, you had a perfect view of the front door in case anyone tried to break in. The only window was along the far wall with its blinds drawn. Still, sunlight filtered in through the cracks.

A clatter on the floor beside causes every fiber in your being to jump, but when you glance over the edge, you realize it's just your phone falling from your pocket onto the hardwood floor. The screen lights up.

Low battery.

You pick it up and send Tim an urgent message, demanding he come over as soon as possible. And if he sees Alex, run.

Exhaustion riddles you. It doesn't feel real anymore, the memories flashing through your mind. They seem like the frames of a movie now, warped and far away and quite frankly insane. It felt like a nightmare that you'd woken up from, not reality.

After a good sleep to collect yourself, you would go to the police and tell them everything that had happened. And when you woke up, maybe Tim would be there smiling at you from the chair and asking if you were alright. He would touch your face and kiss your forehead, climb onto the couch beside you, and pull you against him. He would make you feel safe.

The idea comforts you enough to lull you to sleep.

--

You don't dream of anything. In fact, if the sun hadn't sunk down beneath the horizon and cast the world in night, you wouldn't even have known you slept at all.

Groggy-eyed and tired, you crack your eyes open. The first thing you notice is how unbelievably dark it is. From your position on your back, looking straight up, you can't even make out where the ceiling begins. Your eyes struggle to adjust, finding the only light in the room to be the streetlights cascading in through the window. With the blinds open on the far right, the light pours in just enough to fill the room midway in orange.

The second thing you notice makes your blood run cold underneath your skin.

You'd had your blinds completely shut when you fell asleep.

You were sure of it. But now they're open on one side. Your mouth runs dry.

Slowly, as if afraid to alert something, or someone, you roll onto your side and tap at the floor in search of your phone. When you're finally able to find it, you tap the power button. Then, when nothing happens, you feel your stomach churn.

It was fucking dead. You'd forgotten to plug it in before your slumber.

And to make matters worse, a third thing gathers all of your attention at once: movement.

Right across from you, perched up on the reclining chair, you make out a pair of jeans and heavy, dark boots. Fear strikes you like a lance. Your breath completely stops in your throat. In the dead silence, you're horrified to realize you can hear breathing that wasn't your own. Slow, long drawn breaths, like the figure was simply observing you.

Maybe it was Tim. You had messaged him hours ago, maybe he'd come in while you were sleeping and didn't want to disturb you.

"Tim?" Your voice cracks as you whisper, fear gripping you by the neck. Doubled when he doesn't answer. Tripled when those legs shift just barely. The energy seeping from the figure is downright evil.

Dread engulfs you as you realize your fate. It was Alex. It had to be. He'd broken in and waited for you to wake up like it was some sick fucking game to him, and trapped you within the confines of your very own home.

All alone, with your phone dead on the floor.

You hope you're just dreaming still. But then his breathing picks up and you're plummeted back into the awful reality that was your inevitable death. And instead of running, fighting, struggling for your life and doing something to get away, you just sit there. You remain still as a statue- like somehow he hadn't seen you. Like if you just don't move, neither will he. The moment is long and agonizingly silent, the air thick with tension, your lungs unable to bring in oxygen.

Time passes in slow motion and your eyes struggle to adjust to the everlong darkness. If you weren't abhorrently frozen with fear, you'd probably just burst out crying right there, pathetically begging for your life. You didn't want to die- not fucking now, when you knew the one finding your body would end up being Tim. Not by Alex, someone you considered your friend.

You always knew he'd been losing a few screws but for fucks sake this was murder.

"Please," You start, voice barely even above a dying whisper. "Don't hurt me."

That same feeling of death's breath on the nape of your neck returns to you. Goosebumps riddle your skin. The air so palpable you could reach out and grab it in the anticipation of his response.

The chair creaks. You almost gag on your tongue. The figure leans forward and rests his gloved hands on his knees. Light finally catches his features and you make out a white mask, with dark eyes and painted lips. That same mask that was running laps in your mind since you'd seen it.

Fear saps up and down your spine like electricity. The man had followed you home.

You hate that you stay stuck in place as he get's up from his crouched position and slowly saunters towards you. Like an animal, he climbs onto the coffee table and towers over you with shadowed eyes. Frantically, you search for something, anything human in those dark eyes. You find nothing but shadows. The man feels almost feral, tilting his head side to side as he drew closer to you. His gloved hand reaches out, and traces a line down your jaw, just barely touching over your skin.

Something in the way he touches you finally causes you to react. It makes the moment real, you could feel him touching you. You heave yourself up and try to scrabble off the couch, kicking your legs out. But he's faster. He's stronger- and in the blink of an eye, he grabs your shoulders and hauls you onto your back once more, forced to watch up at him with helpless eyes. When you try to shove him away, he catches your hands and pins them beside your head at the wrists. How simple it is for him to restrain you is terrifying. He wasn't even trying and he still managed to trap you in a second's notice.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" You babble, eyes squeezed shut and your legs uselessly kicking out. He straddles you and you sob in vain. "Please, my boyfriend will be here any moment just- just leave! I won't tell!"

But the man just tilts his head again. Does it like he doesn't understand.

You're already in tears when he barely loosens his grip on your wrists. Dreadful reality dawns upon you, and you realize you had been right after all. He hadn't saved you. You escaped him just as much as you'd escaped Alex.

Tears slip down your cheeks. He just inches closer until you can hear the sound of his soft breaths from behind his mask. If God was around, he'd hear your endless prayers begging for the strength to get away or for someone to help you.

But clearly, he isn't, because the man lets your wrists go just long enough to touch the sides of your face. Slowly, carefully, they pet down your skin and wipe away those tears freely falling from your wide eyes. And Christ, you let him. You could be fighting back, snarling and clawing. Instead, you're barely breathing, frozen and feeling your life tick away by the second.

He dips his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers ball into fists beside your head, and you feel him breathing you in.

"What the fuck." You whimper, shaking like a leaf underneath his form. The seconds pass like hours.

After a tense pause, the only audible sound being your combined heavy breaths, he pulls his head away a few inches to look into your eyes. Though you struggle to see his, you can feel them on you like fire. Like those eyes are wrapping around your neck, choking your breath away.

And then you really do think your breath is stolen from you- gone when you feel the unmistakable texture of his gloves move once more. He runs his fingers down your bare neck, to your shoulder. Feather light touches over your collarbones that make you squirm underneath him. Those fingers linger over the line of your cleavage and your stomach flips.

They only stay for a few seconds. Then they're southbound which causes an even heavier pit of dread to settle in your stomach. His head tilts while he explores your clothed body, the fabric of your tank top bunching up around his fingertips. He moves them slowly, languidly, like he's exploring you. Trying to memorize the point where your waist meets your hips.

In the worst way imaginable, it feels... Familiar. You can't put your finger on it but you've been touched like this before, had the curves of your soft skin mapped out by wandering large hands. The same path, the same lingering pauses... The low sounds of his soft breaths reach your ears, and you recognize them.

Your chest heaves, your skin warm.

Only further blossoming in heat when the man leans back and you feel the weight of him rest on your hips. His hands settle on your waist, his burning gaze lingers over your form. The streetlight filtering in paints the outline of him. Glows in the loose strands of brown, messy hair.

Reveals his brown cargo jacket and the broad build of his shoulders. Your lips part in a gasp. His head lowers and you catch a glimpse of that unmistakable facial hair just as his fingers dip underneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Your skin vibrates under his touch. You can't take it anymore.

"Tim...?"

You'd said it so quietly that you almost wonder if he'd heard it at all.

But he did. He freezes and snaps his gaze straight to you. The first real reaction you'd gotten out of him so far- and it only further confirms your question.

Your mind reels, thoughts spinning out of control. It feels like you're dreaming all over again.

The man- Tim, straightens his back as he stares down at you, his gaze heavy and undeniable. Even fully clothed underneath him, you feel naked. So exposed. His hands retract from under your shirt and rest at his sides loosely.

You'd always known Tim struggled with mental illness. Even early on in the relationship, it was a known fact after you'd found his medication. He always refused to elaborate beyond just telling you he was 'managing' it- and though you of course always felt a sense of curiosity to know more, you didn't want to pry. Plus, it was true. He was managing it. You'd never seen a single outburst, episode, or really... Anything other than some paranoia. And even that never got the best of him.

Just as you were his, he was your comfort, your peace.

But this was something else entirely. This wasn't even him anymore- it couldn't be. This man was too animalistic, moved too feral for it to be true.

Yet this appearance rang true.

His thick brown hair, and squared shoulders. His usual attire and those sideburns that only he could pull off.

But you had to be sure.

You had to be sure that they shared the same face. The same soulful, tired eyes.

To your shock, Tim doesn't react when you prop yourself up to your elbows. Nor does he react when you slowly reach up with a tentative hand and graze your fingers along the hard edge of his mask. You touch at the side of his face- the only visible skin. He sighs when you make contact, long and drawn, almost as if he enjoys the feeling. Just barely, he leans into the touch.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Drops when you tug at the elastic band holding the mask to his head, and he finally reacts.

Violently.

Tim rips away from you like you'd burned him and stumbles backward, failing to climb off you properly and instead flipping over the armrest at your feet. You hear his back smack the hard ground with a thud and then absolute silence.

The silence only lasts so long. Because suddenly there's clamoring, his feet kicking out, and by the time you're up and peering over the edge of the armrest he seems to be full-blown seizing there on the floor.

Now this you had seen before.

Like every other time, you rush to his side, mind completely forgetting the entire scenario that'd happened moments ago. As much as you want to grab him, hold him close until it's passed, you know you can't. Instead, you kneel beside him, covering your mouth, silently begging for it to be over with, counting the time in 30 second intervals.

The light outside finally shines over his mask. You see his eyes through the gaps.

Thirty seconds.

His body tense, finger's balling into fists. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

One minute.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

Minute, thirty seconds.

"Tim!"

Finally, like he hears you, he stills. Your heart thrashes in your chest.

In the blink of an eye, you're pulling at the bands of his mask. It peels away with little restrain, and there he is.

Tim. Your Tim. His eyelashes resting heavy over his cheekbones- like he'd simply fallen asleep. Like he'd been here the whole time completely unbothered. His lips are barely parted enough for his soft breaths to creep through. You aren't sure if you should feel relief or fear. All you feel is raw confusion and anxiety eating you alive.

First Alex, now this? What the hell was going on?

Tim makes a soft sound and you look at him with wide eyes, cautious in the waking presence of the man you'd once felt to be your protector. What would you do if he remained the same as before? If when he opened his eyes, you were assaulted all over again?

Another quiet chirp escapes him, and you reach out to gently hold his face. When his eyes finally open, you're the first thing they see. A part of you tells yourself to back away just in case. The rest of you demands you stay planted beside him no matter what.

You listen to the ladder.

His gloved hands come up to paw at your wrists and for a moment, you're afraid your worries proved true. But then, in his low voice, he speaks. And you nearly collapse onto him, a puddle of solace.

"Baby...?"

[gregoftom]

good morning i'm thinking about tomgreg and shaving today! Like we've seen Greg with a bit of a shadow and there's certainly a place for enjoying a bit of a stubble scrape and all, but I think Tom loves it most when Greg's all smooth, he looks so pretty and young with a completely bare face. At some point they'd get into the idea of Tom doing the shaving for him and he'd have a proper straight razor for it because it's only proper

Just the image of Greg sat on the bathroom counter or the edge of the tub, Tom standing between his spread thighs-- Tom making a luxurious lather with his own shaving soap and gently spreading it on Greg's cheeks and chin and neck,, taking the blade and so carefully running it over his skin

And Greg just watching him eyes wide and lips parted and flushing under the lather because. Tom's literally got a knife to his throat, he could hurt him if he wanted to but Greg trusts him 100%. And Tom's good for it, shaves him slow and careful and maybe dropping a few kisses on the newly revealed smooth skin and just. Pampering his boy. Showing love through an act of service even though they both know Tom is getting just as much out of this as Greg is, the power and the hint of danger and the active choice to be gentle instead.

They finish with Tom wiping him down with a warm towel and then there's Tom cupping his cheeks and caressing them and Greg finally tugging him into a frantic kiss because somehow this _really_ got him going

(And omg maybe later they experiment with Tom shaving him elsewhere too :3 )

good morningggg!

OUGH AUGH OUUUHHHRRRR ohhhh you are killing meeeee yeah no that’d drive them both insane bc they’re deranged abt each other like that. the absolute trust from greg and the act of service from tom. it would just push all the right buttons for both of them.

It would indeed end with that and ain’t no way they’re getting out of there without fucking in some fashion because they would’ve gotten them super riled up. can just imagine the deep breathing as tom sets the blade each time, especially when he takes a hold of greg’s hair [ofc taking his tim to pet it a little and get some soft sounds out of him] and pulls his head back gently to press it to his neck and begin moving it against the skin to shave. greg’s eyes looking down at him, chest heaving, adam’s apple bobbing when tom pulls back to wash the cream off. hhhhhhhhh

[cressthebest]

Tender Curiosities, Baby! thoughts pt. 3

chapter 4:

1. awwww barty is about to go to reg about his boy (evan) problems

2. barty notices that reg was expecting someone else 👀

3. BARTY MY DUDE that is NOT the way to begin the conversation. all he does is ask reg if he’s gay. 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 SIR that’s not what you do

4. reg telling the story of how sirius walked in on him making out with some boy 😭😭😭 and sirius just gave reg A THUMBS UP. stop that’s so in canon

5. i love how tender and personal reg and barty’s conversation is

6. 😦😦 barty. wtf my man. you just KISSED regulus like that. just straight up kissed him

7. i love how call reg is being tho. he’s just like. “Explain to me your thought process here. In words, preferably.”

8. BARTY ADMITTED TO HIS GAY CRUSH ON EVAN! WE HAVE A WIN HERE!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

9. barty told reg everything about evan!! he’s so soft and in love

10. EVAN AND BARTY AND TALKING AGAIN AND EVAN KISSED HIM!!

11. oh wait i think they’re doing more than kissing

12. wait they stop

13. these people have so much self control to not fuck

14. “It was a curious thing, it was a tender thing,” THE TITLE YALL

15. reg just silently lets evan and barty do their thing. no questions, no comments, no look of surprise

16. “Still, he found himself telling Regulus one morning that they weren’t sleeping together, they were just sleeping together, and they were taking it slow.” -barty AWWWWW that’s so cute!! they’re so tender and in love!!!

17. dorlene mention <333

18. barty lost the bet about reg and james being together 😭😭 i love them

19. BARTY SAID HE LOVED EVAN!! RED ALERT!! RED FUCKING ALERT!!!

20. damn, one “i love you” and suddenly they’re about to fuck after months of not doing it

21. i love the different types of relationships in ahb in terms of privacy. wolfstar is loud and will snog anywhere and declare their love. jegulus is private by nature, but don’t mind doing coupley things around others. dorlene is literally just a couple who everyone knows is a couple, and they say things, but theyre not into pda really. and rosekiller straight up just don’t tell anyone

22. barty is being forced to drive the speed limit and he is APPALLED

23. the heist was so much easier to read the second time around, and from barty’s perspective. barty is so calm about it, that i literally have to remind myself that the heist is actually a big deal, and not just sneaking into a house or something

24. the fact that barty turns the radio on is always wild to me. car chase, guns about to be shot, and barty’s like AH YES! classical music will do!!

25. i forget how deranged barty is, then he goes and says something that makes me remember like “He’d make every last person in this van murderers if that’s what it would take to see Evan again.” ALRIGHTY SIR

[dashielldeveron]

thinking about the katsuki office kiss scene (feat izuku) and the potential unwritten freak it holds is absolutely driving me insane and i have to voice my thoughts before they brain rot me like termites eating the foundations of a house. (also quick disclaimer that I’m sosososos understanding of why this more horny aspect was not explored in fic [goes against like the whole message, and how the harem is handled in fic is one of my favourite aspects of the whole thing] i just thought itd would be fun to explore as it’s own seperate thing)

not to thirst on anon (and please feel free to nuke the fuck out of this ask if it’s too thirsty because i totally understand) but the fact that the reader is too busy freaking the fuck out to notice the reaction of izuku across the room and the unspoken interactions happening between katsuki and him leaving it all deliciously unwritten and completely up however insane the audience interpretation of it is. and im a very insane audience!

like. do you think the katsuki looked izuku straight in the eye and then proceeded to open his mouth and start full on making out with reader?? you think that katsuki saw izuku glare at him with the most restrained desire to kill him and he put his hand on her neck, spurring him on to kiss her deeper??? (because while their more intense high school rivalry has been settled long ago i don’t think they’ll ever fully dull the urge to, at least, be in competition with each other, especially if they both are interested in the same person, katsuki is probably having such an inappropriately good time like ‘the girl i want is sitting in my lap and making out with me and im simultaneously beating izuku at something !! yay!!!’ [he does love to win, and in his mind having izukus soulmate want to make out with him probably registers as some fucked up form of ‘winning’ lmao this guy and his deranged inner world i love you freak number 2])

Do you think when reader sat fully down on katsuki’s lap it was taking so much (sexy) control of his not to march over there and get reader off of him immediately?? do you think that he was looking at the way katsuki was kissing reader and already was making notes on how he could do it so much better???? im going insane. internal battle between him being so pissed that katsuki is getting the makeup session he has been (literally) dying for, being incredibly concerned for your mental well-being and paying attention to how you kiss so he can better his plan to sexually infuriate you till you break.

^ (this led to a very long tangent on me talking about which of the soulmate troupe guys have some kind of jealousy issues, then further spiralled out of control to me rereading some of the chapters again so I could attempt to create a numbered ‘from least to jealous soulmate troupe guy’ list. it’ll have to be it’s own separate deranged ask).

lmaooooo sorry for this very strange ramble (again), i just love freak number one (izuku) and freak number two (katsuki). expect another ridiculously long ask in your inbox again soon

(also it was not a typo izuku is hoe 100% insane and that’s why he is matching my freak like take a look at this ask and tell me he wouldn’t also hyper-analyse literally one thing reader has done and think about all the horny subtext. hoe insane matched my freak.)

-cork board anon

everybody leave i wanna be alone with cork board anon

GOD IZUKU'S REACTION. and none of what i'm about to say is necessarily canonical to the fic, bc, like you said, it's unwritten so that the audience can imagine :)

so. ofc we don't see izuku's reaction bc reader is panicking. but like??? he's right there??? on the other side of the desk?? and he could OFA zip over there and tear them apart, but since it's a choice reader's decided to make, he's going to let her, and izuku knows she's worried about all her potential soulmates, so he just can't bring himself to stop her. which must hurt him so badly.

so holy FUCK the idea of bakugou staring izuku down while he's kissing her. oh my god. that brings izuku into the potential romantic dynamic, so instead of bakugou/reader like reader thinks, it's a fucked-up bakugou/reader/izuku. oh fuck. and i mean this in a sexy, jarring way: what you said reminded me of these CGs in jumin han's route in mystic messenger:

bc jumin is trying to make a point to the people watching him kiss MC and UGH it shooketh me the first time i experienced it. of course it's not a perfect comparison, bc reader's more in control/desperation than either jumin or MC are here, but i think the Vibe could fit. dear GOD bakugou opening his mouth while staring down izuku--would katsuki be more exerting a sort of bragging dominance over izuku, or would he be more surprised at the situation, just going along? bc for the moment, katsuki's winning. he doesn't know why, but he'll take it. and izuku can't do anything about it, because his soulmate would see him act poorly. i fully think that if reader hadn't been having a panic attack and vomiting, then it could've escalated to, like, katsuki sucking a hickey onto the top of her boob, or something, before he felt like he was going too far. and katsuki would be all smug about it, probably laying reader on her back on his desk, and once he surfaced, he'd wipe the back of his mouth with a wry grin and say something like "had to have some taste of you, sweetheart." and then he'd give her waist a final squeeze and say, "she's all yours, izuku." and he proceeds to bring this incident up for the rest of your lives. offers to relieve you if izuku's giving you a hard time (it's brushed off as a joke; he half means it and half doesn't--izuku rolls his eyes from across the restaurant booth and irritatedly peels at the wrapper on his beer bottle, and his grip around your shoulder tightens).

you see, your honour, i'll kill him :) :) :)

but UGH you're so RIGHT it was probably torturing izuku to see his soulmate kiss someone else, but he probably couldn't tear his gaze away because he wanted to see how she kisses people, so he could learn more about what she likes.......you're so big-brained. i love to see a man who is morally tortured inside. imagine his muscles tensing while he's going through all of the options in his brain. imagine him his mouth and nose twitching in fury. but he can't. do. anything. because that's his best friend and his soulmate, the two people (besides his mom and all might) that he loves more than anyone else in the world. he's not gonna hurt them. he understands how violence could be brought into the situation. but. but he's not gonna.

i would LOVE to hear your thoughts on the soulmates and jealousy 👀👀👀 bc i think i've really only thought about izuku's and a tiny bit of tenko's--because i feel like izuku gets INSANELY jealous but also has insanely high self-control--like in fic when reader kisses shinsou and midoriya seems all calm (he is NOT CALM on the inside) and is like "she knows what she's doing wrong." 👀👀👀 and i think that is SO sexy of him. because he COULD be possessive and controlling. it's his first instinct. but he won't. he won't. bc that would make us sad and perhaps a little scared. (and then tenko's jealousy--i've only thought about it in the context of touya, bc to tenko, touya seems confident and charismatic and very capable of stealing his girl away from him. so his jealousy comes from awfulllllll insecurity that he's not good enough :( but we love him very much, so hopefully he'll get over that in time.)

i appreciate you so much. you feel just as crazy insane about these ideas as i am. and yeah lol izuku would prob be into this, the over-analysis for fun and enjoyment. GOOD. we want to attract freaks!!! freaks only zone!!!! i love HIM i love YOU i hope your day is peaceful!!!!!!! xx.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I posted 7,411 times in 2022

That's 703 more posts than 2021!

647 posts created (9%)

6,764 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tea42

@ourflagmeanslgbtqia

@alistairkisser

@potatowitch

@forpiratereasons

I tagged 870 of my posts in 2022

#dragon age - 296 posts

#da2 - 201 posts

#dai - 181 posts

#ofmd - 149 posts

#izzy hands - 71 posts

#anders - 66 posts

#varric - 51 posts

#merrill - 43 posts

#blackhands - 43 posts

#hawke - 40 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#but if they are gonna kill him the choice should be: get hawke back from the fade but lose varric or keep varric but hawke is lost forever

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i’m going insane i’m going insane because i don’t even think that Stede knows. I don’t even think Stede knows that Ed loves him. God, I’m not even sure Stede knows that his crew loves him. He’s literally never been loved before outside of perhaps the love his children have for him. He has no point of reference. His Father spent his childhood insulting him, he didn’t seem to have any friends at school, nobodies ever found him particularly charming, his wife didn’t love him and he just. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. Because he just. He just doesn’t. Like. He leaves Ed and Ed is going through the fucking worst time of his fucking life but Stede doesn’t know that because why would Ed care that much? I mean sure he made Ed happy, but so did Calico Jack, right? So did the rest of the crew? Like he doesn’t even realise that he’s in love with Ed until his wife literally spells it out for him. He doesn’t realise when Ed kisses him because Stede has literally never done this before. He’s a middle aged man and he’s never known what love is don’t fucking touch me 

3,228 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

#4

so, I’m rewatching episode 6 of OFMD and thinking about how Ed admits that he hasn’t killed anyone since he killed his father. And how at the beginning of the episode, Izzy tells Ed that he needs to kill Stede with Fang and Ivan at his back, an intimidation tactic to make Ed realise how serious this shit is. BUT then, Izzy waits until Ed is all by himself and THEN and only THEN he says that he’s happy to do it himself. 

And the first time that I watched this I was like ‘yeah of course he’s happy to deal with this himself, he hates Stede and he also thinks Edward see’s Stede as a ‘pet’ so wouldn’t want to hurt him’ (interesting that Izzy can’t conceive of Stede being a friend only a ‘pet’ but I digress) but with the context that Ed doesn’t kill it’s like. Oh. OH. He’s offering, while Ed is all alone, because Ed doesn’t kill. And because Izzy is the one who kills for Ed, probably the most out of anyone in Ed’s crew because he’s the one who’s tasked with protecting Blackbeard’s reputation and so this is probably a secret that (until Ed tells Stede) only he and Izzy share.

And like GOD their relationship is so LAYERED and interesting. Because it’s obviously toxic but also there’s this thing which is such a WEAKNESS and Izzy HATES all the weaknesses that he sees in Ed but also THIS weakness he protects unfailingly, keeps out of the way of everyone else. and it’s just. Yeah. I’m having some emotions about it.  

4,977 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

#3

Izzy and Stede are a lot of fun because their dynamic is absolutely crazy. Bizzare. Deranged. Wild. Like. I think Stede treats Izzy how he WANTED to treat his school bullies but never could: 'he's an ARSEHOLE' and 'go suck eggs in hell' and even side remarks of 'trouble in paradise' and it DRIVES IZZY UP THE FUCKING WALL like he HATES this guy and Stede is just like. A completely unhinged guy with Izzy in a way he is with literally nobody else like everyone else he's polite as rain to or else just sorta. Stedey with but no Izzy Hands makes him want to throw down and argue, no passive aggression let's just DUEL. Like. He was SO READY to duel Izzy Hands who is a MASTER DUELER and WHY??? Like. Stede unfailing adopts misfits and accepts the crew who want to kill him and yet Izzy Hands makes primordial rage and years of repressed anger spit out of him Like a spit fire.

And like. Izzy HATED this dude before Ed was even in the mix. This isn't just a 'they're jealous of one another' especially on Izzys side. Before Ed even says 'hey I wanna meet him' or 'follow that ship' Izzy is like 'this isn't over' to Stede. Its not just jealousy its like. They fucking HATE one another immediately and for no reason. Izzy cuts his FUCKING SHIRT UP why did he have to be so EXTRA about it. Izzy wants him in doggy heaven. Izzy is so mad that Ed might like this bloke he's gonna sell them BOTH out to the goddamn British navy and it ALL could have been avoided if he'd been chill about Stede for literally 5 whole seconds but from the moment they saw each other they're just two angry little dogs yapping in the play park.

Hatred at first sight 💖 love that for them.

5,136 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

are you aware of what you’re putting me through right now tumblr? are you even AWARE? i grew up in a small seaside town called Whitby. Oh, never heard of it, well you WILL because it’s where a bunch of the action in your beloved Dracula is held. 

ARE YOU AWARE OF WHAT ITS LIKE TO GROW UP IN THE PLACE DRACULA WAS SET???

all we ever DO is talk about dracula! I worked at the abbey and i learnt so MUCH history to do tour guides and nobody ever wanted to talk about it! they just wanted to talk about dracula! we have goth weekends where people come to whitby to dress up as goths! My primary school and both my secondary schools studied dracula in depth. There is a ‘dracula experience’ and it is NOT good but everyone and their mother wants to go to it when they come visit you. We had to put on dracula plays! we had to see dracula decorations! every b&b is dracula themed! we did a school trip as children to one of the dracula themed hotels in the town because everyone was obsessed with it! There are big dogs and people make dracula jokes! I used to play in the dracula grave yard after my campanology sessions and everyone just wanted to play dracula! 

And I RAN AWAY. I left that life behind! I moved out of that town so nobody could ever say that stupid vampires name to me again!

But now it is like I cannot escape the hero’s call except the hero’s call is that STUPID BOOK. It won’t leave me alone. Will I ever be free? I cannot even be free on this website. I am doomed to dracula, haunted by him. I am crying. I am screaming. Look what you’ve done tumblr

14,092 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Modern AU Stede isn't a tailor or a flower shop owner btw. He's a divorced dad in his late 40's who just figured out he's queer and wants to 'engage with his community' and 'do something fun for once' so he opens a queer bar. Unfortunately he has no fucking idea HOW to run a queer bar, like at all. It's the most ridiculous bar you've ever been in. He stocks more tea than alcohol. There is a wall of bookshelves next to a place that's often used as a make shift dance floor. On Tuesdays and Sundays they open early and serve 'brunch' while Stede does dramatic readings of fairytales. 'Perhaps you'd be more comfortable making it a cafe' 'no its a BAR I want it to be a bar' stede insists. Its called 'The Revenge'. Because what is a modern au of if not a bizzare place for queers to hang out?

25,961 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 29: Fire and DDMD

Ignored the concept of going back to work tomorrow--which will be fine, it'll be fine except that if anyone brings me any nonsense I'll quit--by watching Daria, Fire! and DDMD back to back. That's just where I am in this re-watch but they're certainly distracting episodes. Drive me a little bit up the wall actually. I can't believe how much they put into not even 40 minutes' worth of runtime.

A few random thoughts:

"The place with the giant CLOG" is a really underrated iconic line.

I have rather an affection for Helen and Jake actually relaxing and having fun. Even if they relaxed so much they straight up lost one of their daughters. Details, details.

"Can I stop short of your wedding night?" is still an absolutely deranged line and I hate that we don't get a shot of Daria's face reacting to that. It just moves right on to Jane saying other things. Usually I feel like the homoeroticism is literally just me projecting but every now and then I think, mmm, no, you're totally justified in writing the things you write; you are correct.

I wonder how much Tom told Jane of what happened with him and Daria. Because Daria tells Jane "I kissed your boyfriend" but then later Jane tells Daria "five minutes later you're making out with him in his car," so clearly Tom told some kind of story. I understand why they can't waste time on a character re-telling events we as viewers already saw but I would love to be able to dissect minutely what he shared and what he didn't, and how he phrased it.

It's funny how all three of them take something totally different from the car incident. Daria assumes she's fucked up her own friendship but the quite-obviously-crumbling relationship between Jane and Tom will somehow survive. She's shocked to hear they've broken up. (This is adorable of her, as an aside.) Jane assumes that not only are they automatically broken up but that Tom will automatically start dating Daria. And Tom I think is also pretty clear on this thing with Jane being unsalvageable--he was clear on that before he came to Daria's house lbr--but he doesn't immediately assume he and Daria could date or even seem to be 100% clear on what he /wants/ from her.

Totally forgot that half the credits of DDMD are stills from the movie, though I guess that makes sense. If I'd been watching this live I'd be feral at this point. I don't even remember watching IIFY on TV but I feel like I must have... just with all the gay stuff taken out lol.

... Gotta get to sleep. Gotta go to work tomorrow. I miss my vacation already.

[freechicken]

As for 'how can it impact the story' - their canon relationship is literally the driving force behind the entire plot of the series. The sheer multitudes to their interactions, to their dynamic, to their personalities, means that the impact they'd have is impossible to calculate. They are the two most important figures, opposites, so any decision they make in regards to each other can change the entire plot of the story.

Going into their shared qualities would take hours - all I can say is that they are both narrative foils and parallels. Tom is the what-could-be to Harry. A possible future of who - what - he could become. Their natural conflict arises from the sides they're on, and it provides the tension that a lot of people find compelling to explore. Enemies-to-lovers is a very popular trope for a reason.

I’m so glad you put it into words! Not all of us ship Voldemort and Harry Potter, some of us ship Tom Riddle and Harry Potter, two parallels who mirror each other unconsciously, who made each other who they are. Without Tom Riddle, Harry Potter would be someone completely different. Without Harry Potter, Tom Riddle would have no ‘equal’.

It is how Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are fundamentally the same person, but still so different; the bleeding heart and the self-made cynic. Both war orphans brought up by people who did not care for them. But Tom Riddle was terrified of dying and started a war to ensure he would live forever. Harry Potter died willingly to end one.

It’s about rage, obsession, that their two-person war is their entire existence. Love and destruction and a mutual pact that it will end in death and terror. The inherent tragedy of having unknowingly known someone your entire life because they are your mirror, the person you could have been if you hadn’t chosen your path.

Harry guards that piece of soul encased next to his for years. What is fate, if not souls touching each other?

It doesn’t have to be about the soft type of love, kisses and meet-cutes. It is also about the violent kind of love, the tragedy and anger and grief of two boys who in another world could have been best friends, if the time and place were right.

Instead we have the anger of a tragic hero doomed to fight for his people. The anger of a deranged villain, ready to kill him again and again.

In the eyes of Tomarry fans, what potential does the relationship between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter have, and how can it impact the story? Which shared qualities or conflicts can enrich this relationship, and what kind of emotional developments can form the foundation of this imaginary connection? Additionally, in this alternative scenario, how might Tomarry's friendship dynamics and interactions with other characters at Hogwarts change?

I think for a lot of fans it can boil down to the parallels between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. It's pointed out a lot in canon, even by Tom himself, that he and Harry are pretty similar. Those similarities open a pathway to understanding - which is important. The fact that these two enemies intrinsically know each other.

There's an element of 'soulmates' to them, an inevitability, that in no world would those two not be drawn to each other. There's endless potential between them, which is evident in how many AUs for them can use precisely the same tropes and yet each one is unique and intriguing - as if it's the first time you're reading it.

As for 'how can it impact the story' - their canon relationship is literally the driving force behind the entire plot of the series. The sheer multitudes to their interactions, to their dynamic, to their personalities, means that the impact they'd have is impossible to calculate. They are the two most important figures, opposites, so any decision they make in regards to each other can change the entire plot of the story.

Going into their shared qualities would take hours - all I can say is that they are both narrative foils and parallels. Tom is the what-could-be to Harry. A possible future of who - what - he could become. Their natural conflict arises from the sides they're on, and it provides the tension that a lot of people find compelling to explore. Enemies-to-lovers is a very popular trope for a reason.

It makes for exciting reading.

I wouldn't say their connection is imaginary either. I've already mentioned their innate understanding - their childhoods scarily resemble each other, which is an instant emotional connection. Empathy and sympathy are powerful things. Every time Tom and Harry interact, it's a growth moment. They challenge each other, push each other, are obsessed with each other, could make each other better or worse depending on their situations.

From a purely friendship view - if Tom and Harry had grown up together, I sincerely believe they would have been unstoppable.

Tom would have learnt temperance and restraint from Harry, would have understood the importance of compassion (even if it's purely to manipulate people into doing what you want). Tom would have changed the the world without ruining it if he'd had Harry at his side.

Likewise, Harry would have learnt to be more confident, more in control and more commanding with Tom acting as an example. He would have questioned himself less, and been far harder to manipulate.

If they had gone to Hogwarts together, been friends, Tom would have had an emotional support pillar that would act as the wind under his sails. His need to conquer Slytherin for his own safety and desires would have been less, though his need to prove himself would likely still be there. Harry would also not feel like he had to carry everything on his own shoulders. He'd rely on Tom, he'd trust him, he'd go to him with his issues, and that would make him far more relaxed and less likely to blow up at the drop of a hat.

They'd be a bit insular, a very us-against-the-world mentality, but they'd also be compelling and interesting enough to gain a following.

[hwangsify]

SKZ HEADCANONS: AS HIGHSCHOOL BOYFRIENDS !

pairing. stray kids x gn reader

genre. fluff

warnings. food, a disgusting amount of fluff, mild swearing

summary. how skz would be as your highschool lover.

word count. 0.8k+

a/n. thank you all for 100 followers! i'm very honored oml <3 please take this as my thank you present to all of you :3 i'm so fucking whipped for skz as highschool bfs lmao

minho : kicks you from under the table of your joined desks just to annoy you and to get your attention. leaves cartons of strawberry milk by your seat after lunch. takes you to his dance practice and grins subtly whenever he catches you cheering him on by the corner of the dance studio in his peripheral vision. makes you bento boxes whenever he finds the time because he "can't stand watching you skip lunch all the fucking time."

[while looking at you like you're his entire fucking universe] "god, you still haven't eaten yet? what time is it already? such a dumbass."

seungmin : insists on studying with you at the library just so you can pass your exams together. teaches you any concepts you have trouble understanding. keeps an eye on you at all times just to make sure you're comfortable. sighs but smiles fondly whenever he finds you asleep on your desk. is not a big fan of pda but indulges you when you lace your fingers with his while walking down the hallway. constantly nags you to develop a better sleep schedule that isn't fucked up due to caffeine.

[sighing deeply from across the café table] "isn't that your fourth espresso of the day? no wonder why your circadian rhythms are so deranged."

jisung : slacks off on his work just so you'll come over to his place and study with him. yells at you excitedly from across the room whenever he spots you (even if the whole school is staring). is completely dependent on you to be his alarm clock— he would 100% always be late to school if not for you. is such a dumbass in general but it's okay because you love him for it! randomly jumps on you just to hear you yelp in surprise (and smack him and call him insufferable).

[clutching your hands to his chest dramatically] "it's okay, we can face the horrors of ap physics together."

jeongin : gets incredibly blushy in public at the smallest romantic gestures. whines whenever you try to hug him around others because "it's so embarrassing!" stands close to you whenever you're walking on the streets so that your shoulders brush against each other with every step. big spoons you while binging k-dramas together (but he likes small spooning too!). leans into your touch whenever you run a fingertip along his cheekbone.

"just one kiss!" [shying away from you] "we have literally 3 more minutes until chem, can't it wait?"

hyunjin : gives you casual backhugs in the middle of the hallway. absentmindedly presses casual kisses to your cheeks while studying. makes you sign up for art class so you can be painting partners with him! brushes your bangs out of your eyes while he kisses you. holds your hand in his lap and plays with your fingers at lunch. takes you to the school rooftop whenever you're both free because he thinks that it's extremely romantic to stare out into the sky while sitting on the concrete of the roof and holding hands.

[holding out sketch to you] "what do you think? it's pretty, right?"

chan : buys you bungeoppang whenever you walk home from school together. grins whenever he catches sight of you from across the hallway. lets you trace the veins that decorate his forearms and hands with your fingertips. runs his hands along your waist as he kisses you. insists on driving you to school in his car even though you tell him that you're perfectly capable of boarding a bus. scolds you whenever he thinks you're overstudying. always picks up your calls, even when it's 1 am, and listens to all your sleepy rants and ramblings.

"don't you get tired of listening to me vent? i feel like i've been talking too much." [sleepily and lovingly] "i could never get tired of your voice."

changbin : complains loudly whenever your school schedules don't align perfectly. hugs you so tightly that he squeezes the breath out of your lungs. takes care of you whenever you're sick with such tenderness; refuses to leave even when you tell him that he's risking infection by staying with you. cries with you whenever you don't understand a calculus concept because he most likely won't be able to understand it either and he hates to see you feeling bad. sits on a bench and waits for you if you ever have to stay back after school.

[hugging you tightly and refusing to let go] "but i wanted to do chemistry with you! now i'm stuck with jisung as a lab partner."

felix : parallels an overexcited puppy whenever you meet. asks you out to the school dance with blushing cheeks and stumbling words. would rather stay at home scrolling through tiktok but allows you to drag him to the local café to study instead just because he adores your company to an extent that he would study physics for you. stops by your locker to slip in sticky notes of cute little sketches and messages. holds your hand from under the desk whenever you're sitting next to each other in class.

[lying down with his head in your lap] "would you still date me if i was a worm?" "go to sleep, felix."

[stormy-skies-falling]

𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕔𝕜, 𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣

about: quackity

warning(s): swearing

pronouns: none specified?

word count: 1.2k

note: I literally came up with the title on a whim and went "that's a good story idea!" and just went with it. There was literally no storyline basis I just wrote and hoped it turned out. Kisses! <3

summary: after a late night drive Quackity and Y/n have their routine laughing fit and crash

Our laughter rings around the walls of our shared apartment, bouncing off of the ceiling and wood floors creating a slight echo in its wake. The sky was dark from outside the living room windows, the only light coming through the open curtains was from the gentle glow of the streetlights and the brightness of the full moon, few stars could be seen through the smog in the sky. 

Quackity and I had just gotten back from one of our late-night drives. We went to our usual place on these sporadic adventures, the same one he took me on our first date where our relationship of five years started: to the mountain lookout that oversaw the entire city. There, we found that the stars were closer to us than we thought; only this time, they were in the form of the twinkling lights created by the life of our home. 

The lightness of the atmosphere sparked joy in our hearts. Between the jokes cracked, drinks spilled, and impressions made, an outsider would guess that we’re zooted out of our minds. 

“No no! No no! But like if we could get Dwayne ‘The Rick–’”

“The Rick?” Quackity interrupted, making fun of my slip up. I stick my tongue out at him and he does it back as I finish my pitch.

“ – ‘The Rock’ Johnson,” I correct, “to play ‘Zamboni Man’ on ‘George on Ice: The Musical’ we could get crowds of people, Q! They would come for Zamboni Man and stay for George’s two man show about his life story– on ice and in musical form! And Zamboni Man plates everyone in George’s life except for George, so he even plays you!”

“Oh yeah?” He giggles, an entertained smile painted on his face as he listens to my and my friends’ ideas.

“Yeah! Wilbur and I have already written some music for it and there’s this one part when Zamboni Man– as you– says ‘quack quack, mother fucker! You know, as a catchphrase!’” My eyes blow wide and I give Quackity a wide, open-mouth smile, proud of the idea.

The fact that Quackity could tell I was 100% serious by the deranged open-mouthed staredown I was giving him caused him to erupt in his usual contagious laughter and double over at the intensity of it. I kept yelling “think of the opportunities” at him as he laughed harder and harder each time. It got to the point where tears began streaming both of our faces after I joined in and started kettling. I would kettle, he would laugh harder, which would cause me to laugh harder, the cycle continues.

We were once sitting on the couch… not anymore. Quackity kept muttering “quack quack mother fucker” to himself through his laughter as I clutch my stomach, both of us rolling around the floor near where we fell off the couch. I can hear Q crawling towards me as I lay my arm over my eyes and my other over my stomach, both slowly sobering up. Red splotches puff our under eyes and dried up tears paint our faces from both laughter and pain. 

Picking up my arm from my stomach, Alex lays his head on my chest and wraps his arms around me, my deep breaths calming him down even faster than before. I bring my one arm around him, causing him to cuddle closer, and bring my hand up to his hair, threading it through the soft, dark strands.

We lay like this for a while, enjoying each other’s touch as we calm down and bring our breathing back to normal. I keep running my fingers through my boyfriend’s hair, lightly scratching his head, and his gentle hums of contentment resonate my chest. Light kisses pepper my neck and jaw and collarbone– really anything Alex can reach. Over the course of a few short minutes, the kisses lessen as his breathing starts to even out and his eyes begin to flutter shut, slowly drifting to sleep. I shift my gaze from the beautiful man on top of me to the clock on the wall, noticing that it reads 4:00 am. With the knowledge of the whining that he and I are going to do in the morning if we don’t sleep in our actual bed is the motivation that it takes for me to wake up my tired boyfriend.

I gently brush the hair away from Alex’s closed eyes, causing him to stir in my arms. “My Love, we have to go to bed.” I whisper.

His eyes slowly blink open as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He looks up at me, eyes still heavy and nods, slowly getting off the floor and bringing me with him. After I grab both of our phones from where they were thrown on the floor, earlier in the night, Alex picks me up bridal style and wordlessly carries me to our room.

He gently sets me down on our bed and chucks one of his shirts at me (it smacked me in the face but whatever), getting changed as I plug in our phones. I take off everything but my underwear and pull the shirt over my head, breathing in the smell of my boyfriend’s cologne. Q and I crawl into the sheets at the same time, settling into our previous position. The moonlight from the window illuminates my boyfriend’s features, casting a soft blue in its wake. He must’ve sensed me staring, because he looks up to meet my eyes, sending a slightly confused look my way. 

“What?” He giggles, dark eyes shining in the moonlight.

“You just look really pretty.” I say, a dim blush and bashful smile makes its way onto Alex’s face.

“Te amo, mi vida, te amo mucho.” He says, voice low and intimate. Now it’s my turn to blush.

Quackity cups my cheek, thumb stroking my cheekbone, as he stares up at me with eyes full of love and wonder. He brings me down to him, lips brushing and breath intertwining. Alex tilts his head up slightly, causing our lips to meet in a slow and gentle kiss– one so full of love that I savor everything about it. We finally break apart when the need for air gets too much, panting slightly as we look at the other with love-sick smiles on our faces. He peppering soft kisses from my collarbone to under my ear and I subconsciously tilt my head back to give him more space, threading my hand through his hair once more.

“Quack quack, mother fucker.” He whispers in my ear, gently biting at the lobe, jarring me out of the trance I was in. Before I can ask him why the fuck he would say that now, he shushed me and continued to kiss all over my face, now hovering over me. “It’s my catchphrase now, now just enjoy yourself– you woke me up now deal with it.” 

“Did you really want to sleep on the floor?” I ask, amused. Alex pauses his actions and squints before giving me a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m going to keep going with the catchphrase if you don’t stop talking.”

“But–”

“Quack quack, mother fucker– I warned you–”

“Quackity, nO!”

[stormyoceans]

your horny puen thoughts oh my god give me more

SFJKSGFJSGJKSH i swear i don't want to be that person but every time puen opens his mouth he ends up saying the most unhinged things and i just [HEAD IN HANDS] YOU CANNOT BLAME ME FOR ANYTHING IM GONNA SAY AFTER THIS TAKE IT UP WITH EVERYONE INVOLVED IN THIS SHOW THEY'RE THE DERANGED ONE FOR PUTTING THESE THINGS INTO IT

like, they honest to god put hints of sugar daddy/daddy kink in the show???? which admittedly took me by surprise but it actually makes SO MUCH SENSE for puen's character, because it's true that he never had anyone taking care of him so that’s something he craves, but he also never had anyone HE could take care of: no parents or siblings to dote on, no friends to cherish, no lover to spoil…. but now he has talay. and if there’s one message the show has REALLY been set to get across is that puen LOVES to see talay enjoy himself and the things he likes, especially when puen is the one to provide those things for him. a clear example is given by all the times puen buys talay food or just straight up feeds him. he also likes to drive talay around and give him flowers and buy him gifts

it’s not hard to imagine how this can translate into their sex life. i honestly genuinely sincerely truly believe that puen gets off on pleasuring talay. i really can’t think of anything that would give PUEN more pleasure than having talay under him and taking his time to explore every inch of talay’s body (touching it, kissing it, licking it, biting it), until he finds every single spot that makes talay moan and fall apart. puen would revel in the feel, sight, smell, and sound of talay, he’s been wanting to eat talay out for so long (and THEY CONFIRMED IT) im pretty sure the first time he actually gets to do that he’s gonna come untouched just from the feeling of talay’s body trembling through his orgasm all around him

puen’s scent kink also means that he’s gonna steal talay’s clothes all the time, especially when he’s travelling or spending the night out because of his job and he’s missing talay so much he needs to be surrounded by talay’s scent to help him sleep (and im pretty sure puen jerked off more than once while holding one of talay's shirt against his face but you haven't heard that from me)

last thing im gonna say before hiding myself out of shame is that puen clearly has a thing for talay’s neck and for manhandling him. i haven’t made a proper post about it, but i swear i have an embarrassing amount of screenshots (i swear im normal) of puen grabbing talay by the back of his neck. most of the times it happens when they’re kissing, with puen using that as a way to pull talay in. and then there is his OTHER favorite way to pull talay in, which is grabbing his arm. it’s hard to show this through screencaps, but go look at the way puen grabs talay in ep 5 (part 1) and ep 10 (part 4). it’s, frankly, a lot. i wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that puen likes to push talay around a little and to squeeze and mark his neck a lot during sex, doesn’t matter if he tops or bottoms (i do think they switch btw, i mean the show is literally called vice versa. but srsly, even if puen is into the sugar daddy thing and loves to take care of talay, there are moments where he wants to be taken care of too, and when talay becomes more bold puen is definitely gonna be putty in his hands)

IM NOT EVEN GONNA TOUCH ON THE FACT THAT IN EP 10 PUEN THREW /REWARDS/ INTO THE MIX BECAUSE I NEED TO MANTAIN AT LEAST SOME SEMBLANCE OF DIGNITY JUST KNOW THAT HE IS HORNY AND INSANE

in conclusion:

[1016anon]

Title: Random Vampire AU Author: 55anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kathani Sharma Summary: The Races Notes: Maybe NSFW? Nothing Happens explicitly, but Anthony is... intense. And deranged, what else is new.

A/N -- Yes, I know Nectar is supposed to be a stallion, but I wanted a mare. No, I do not know what happens next, I am literally making this up as I type.

Please do not ask for updates (no one has so far, but just a reminder). It makes my inspiration evaporate faster than water on baked clay.

-3-

No one could ever accuse Anthony of being rational when it came to Kathani.

Case in point: after she took his arm at the races, he lasted all of two minutes before he dragged her to some dark corner where no one could see or hear them.

"My Lord, what are you--"

Anthony did not dignify that with a response, wasting no time with one hand at the small of her back and the other right at the juncture of her head and neck, first just scenting her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, the spot right behind her earlobe before he simply gave in to his baser instincts and licked, slowly, groaning.

He had missed this so much.

Kathani, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on, but her body seemed to hold some kind of sense memory because it all felt so strangely familiar-- the contrast between his cool hands and the way he drew the heat out of her blood. She truly meant to protest his outrageous behavior, but her hands had somehow found their way into his hair, running her fingers through the rich brown locks at the side of his head and pulling on the short hairs at the base of his neck.

She surprised herself by pulling his mouth to hers and Anthony quickly intensified everything, as though he meant to make her remember him-- remember their marriage-- by sucking on her tongue. Perhaps he had succeeded to some degree; Kathani broke off the kiss, gasping, and offered him her gloved hand. Anthony wasted no time undoing the tiny button with his tongue and pulling the glove off with his teeth, inhaling deeply at her pulse point and licking.

Neither had expected-- though perhaps he should have anticipated-- him losing control to the extent that his fangs extended-- only slightly-- and he nipped at the tender skin of her wrist. It was enough to draw a thin line of blood from the surface capillaries-- not nearly deep enough to puncture a vein-- but the tiny droplets which gathered at the surface were more than enough to drive Anthony crazy.

Kathani watched with conflicting feelings of horror, fascination, and arousal when Anthony sucked, laving far more attention and dedicating a heretofore unprecedented amount of focus to that one spot. She wasn't sure what he was doing; she felt nothing but his mouth on her skin and it was doing things to her body. It made her want to bring his fingers to her mouth; it made the spot at the base of her neck ache and she had no idea what to make of all this.

The only thing she knew was that Anthony was too far gone to be sensible and it was up to her-- as usual-- to be the voice of reason.

"Anthony"

He made some vague noise of unadulterated hunger, to hear her voice again.

"Anthony, you must stop. The races are about to begin-- we need to find Edwina."

That got his attention, namely because Anthony was a jealous bastard who hated sharing her with anyone in any capacity.

"Who?"

"Edwina, my sister."

"You don't have a sister," he frowned, stuck in the fifteenth century when he was still under the thrall of having found his twin flame.

She pulled herself away from him angrily, picking up her glove from the grass.

"I have a sister, my Lord, and we came to England to find her a good match," she hissed, then glared at the spot on her wrist. It was turning purple. "What is this?"

His wife's many varieties of anger each had a unique scent; this one was true anger, tinged with an acrid top note. It was sufficient enough to knock Anthony back to the nineteenth century. Only to be derailed again by the evidence of his claim-- because that is what it was, no matter how small the mark. Theoretically, he could lick the blood back down to the capillaries and his wife would have demanded it. However, this Kathani did not remember, so he improvised.

"Wait here a moment."

"What?"

Anthony shoved his way upstream through the crowd now taking their seats, bought a long piece of dark blue ribbon which matched the shade of her dress, then made his way back to a furious Kathani. He was gone for less than a minute, but obviously that was less than one minute too many for her.

Normally-- well, normally he had no consistent reaction to her anger. Today, there was nothing which could make him stop smiling as he wrapped the ribbon around her wrist, basking in her glare. Anthony buttoned her glove; before he donned his hat, Kathani huffed and used her fingers to comb his hair back into some semblance of respectability. He was exceedingly happy just to be in her presence.

With exaggerated gallantry, he offered his arm. She rolled her eyes, but took it; they appeared the picture of a genteel couple whose absence was only missed by Lady Danbury. Anthony spotted Benedict and Eloise wandering about and smirking at him.

They were the only vampires in the coven older than Anthony and Simon; Eloise going back to Ancient Greece and Benedict of some unknown origin. Both had been born with an olive colored, deep tan complexion; spending a few millennia avoiding the sun and living on a diet of blood had a remarkable tendency to make one's skin unnaturally pale.

When Eloise had decided she wanted to participate a bit more in the current century, Anthony had to convince her to lie in the sun a bit before venturing out; she'd argued she was alabaster. Francesca said Eloise had passed alabaster in the seventeenth century and was now the color of sheep tallow. The complaints Eloise subjected them to whilst lying in the sun, cursing them in Aramaic because she liked the sound of the blasphemy, almost made Anthony grateful for the squabbling in Parliament.

Almost, because he constantly had to bite back rebuttals to the idiotic comparisons the British made to the Roman Empire; all of their impressions were based on selective, butchered readings of incomplete texts which were themselves translated from a bastardized form of what was certainly not Latin. All the other stupidity seemed to originate from interpretations of bits of pottery, the circus of the Renaissance, and Shakespeare's historical fantasy.

Another reason why Anthony-- and Eloise, for that matter-- did not by any stretch of the imagination get along with Violet. Benedict floated along, treating Violet with the same patience one might have for a child.

Neither Benedict nor Eloise had met their twin flames yet; again, spending a few millennia interacting only with members of the coven had the remarkable effect of limiting one's exposure to... the world at large. Anthony could not blame them-- they'd both had some close calls and bad experiences with humans determined to kill them. Benedict and Eloise had traveled together far before they happened upon Camilla's coven. When Simon, Daphne, and Anthony left, they followed.

Eloise had treated Anthony, in his post-Kathani years, as some kind of fascinating phenomenon of nature. He felt so deeply, in a way that Eloise had forgotten, and his moods were so unpredictable. It was profoundly annoying but also strangely grounding; she had been indifferent to his presence before he'd disappeared and upon his return, her fascination became her own special brand of fondness.

Simon and Daphne, aside from the fact they did not want to be Head of Coven, gave the responsibility to Anthony because he needed something to protect. He alternated between self-hatred, that he could not protect Kathani and their unborn child, and his natural sense of duty, that he could protect his coven-- and protect it well; Eloise only reinforced that feeling.

Neither Eloise nor Benedict had met Kathani the first time around; news that he had found her again was apparently enough to coax them out to join the masses to catch a glimpse of her.

Anthony decided to introduce them later. For now, he focused on pushing his way through the stands so Kathani could sit next to Edwina and whatever flavor of the day seeking to court her. Today it was Ludley. Luffey. Who the hell knew. All Anthony cared about was the warm line of Kathani's body pressed against his, and the ribbon peeking out from under her glove.

It bore repeating that Anthony had no self control when it came to Kathani. He pulled off her glove and took her hand in his, making sure no one else saw his entirely improper behavior.

"Splendid day for a race," he leaned over and said in her ear, voice low.

She scowled at him, made to remove her hand from his, but he tightened his grip. Kathani pointedly looked at the racecourse, having decided she would have to pick her battles. Anthony acted as though it was a foregone conclusion they would marry; she had no intention of indulging him in anything until she had some answers.

His obsession with her scent and tasting her blood being the least of them.

"Which one is your pick, my Lord?" Edwina asked, sunny disposition masking caution.

"Nectar. Well-bred, highly trained, and well favored."

"Nectar," Kathani scoffed.

"Yes. I have a feeling about her."

"A feeling."

"You have objections to my feelings?"

He rubbed his thumb slowly against the back of her hand. Her self control was admirable but then, it always had been.

Necessary, in truth. Anthony had always delighted in pushing her limits.

"You simply chose the horse everyone else has chosen, quite a feeling."

"I placed bets on both Nectar and High Flyer."

"High Flyer?"

"I had a feeling you would favor him."

"And why is that, my Lord?"

"Honestly? I haven't the slightest idea."

Only that her eyes had narrowed at Nectar's odds and lingered when she saw High Flyer. Those were the only two horses which had caught her attention. But Anthony was not so far gone as to announce that to the general public.

"High Flyer is a much swifter, lighter, cooler horse-- perfect for the conditions of today's track. Nectar is well suited for firmer courses, I grant you, but today the track is soft and hot--"

"Meaning she will struggle to make headway, overheat, and slow down during the final leg."

"-- I-- yes," she frowned.

"I did listen when you lectured me on horses," he grinned. "Contrary to your accusations."

"Kate! You lectured Lord Bridgerton?"

"It was no less than I deserved, Miss Edwina," he said smoothly. "And, I have gained much wisdom from your sister."

When the race began, anyone who did not have eyes on the course could see that Lord Bridgerton was not paying attention to the horses at all. He was, instead, completely and utterly enamored with Kathani's extremely unladylike screaming, so much so he did not mind when she pulled her hand out of his to whistle rather loudly.

The whistling was a new. He knew he would find it annoying later-- the sound seemed to pierce through his eardrums. In that moment, however, it was enthralling to see which parts of her were new, which parts had changed, and which were exactly the same.

He only gathered that High Flyer won because she smelled of pure, uncomplicated joy.

Lundy was saying something to Miss Edwina about going down to see the horses; Anthony automatically offered his arm to Kathani also, knowing she would want to follow her sister.

"Where is my glove?"

"Did you lose it? Perhaps it is under your seat."

"I already looked under my seat, my Lord."

"It may have fallen beneath the stairs."

"Anthony, I know you have it."

"That is a rather bold accusation for you to make."

"I can see it peeking out of your breast pocket."

"I was keeping it safe for you," he said, unrepentant despite being caught out.

This seemed to be his general mood: happy and completely unapologetic for being so.

"Then I thank you for your consideration and must ask that you give it back."

"And what shall I get in return?"

"What makes you think you deserve anything for demonstrating basic courtesy required of a gentleman?"

"What makes you think I am a gentleman?" he responded cheekily.

However, he did give her glove back as he sensed he'd tested her patience far enough. There was a world of difference between Kathani exasperated by his antics and Kathani refusing to speak to him because she'd had enough of his nonsense.

"Kate, it is dreadful! They say Nectar is to be sent to the knacker's yard."

"The knacker's? For losing one race?" Kathani asked, incredulous. "Surely they jest."

"Nectar's owner is known to be extremely harsh when it comes to managing his stables, and she lost a significant sum of money today."

"That is no reason to send her to the knacker's-- there are more races where the course conditions will favor her."

"Kathani--"

Edwina looked at him, shocked that he addressed her sister not only by her first name, but also by her real name.

Anthony ignored her for the time being; that was a problem for later. Right now, he could see Kathani's temper rising; there was little which upset her more than cruelty to animals. He didn't want her day to be spoiled by the Earl of Bogram's methods of breaking his racehorses.

He led her away to someplace private; with Kathani, it was best to allow her to release her sorrow before it hardened into cold rage.

"She could at least be sold to another stable!"

Since she did not begin pacing when he let her go, he gathered her close. This, too, was an intimacy he never though he'd have again.

"I'm afraid Lord Rochester is cruel-- the horses which come out of his stables are ungovernable."

"But surely--"

"Kathani," he looked her in the eyes, "Rochester's methods make them forget they are horses. The only thing know is how to run around a track. Believe me when I say it is a mercy for them to find rest in death."

"Anthony, that is--"

"Despicable, I know."

When they were married, he'd known and cataloged every type of sadness she contained and was ashamed to admit that much of it, he'd caused. The taste of this sadness-- an exhaustion at the senselessness of the cruelty-- contained traces, almost too faint to detect, of bloodwood.

Anthony was immediately transported to that night and the abject helplessness he felt as he continued to strain to free himself. The only thing he could do was witness her death. Watching her burn was the most gruesome thing he'd ever seen in the millennia of his existence and there were so many-- too many-- times he wanted to close his eyes and ears-- to look away.

But he owed it to her to witness because it was his fault.

It was all his fault.

"Anthony," he felt her hands on his face. "Anthony, come back to me."

It was his fault that she'd had to come back to him at all. He should have protected her, he should have--

"Shh, Anthony. It's not your fault. Come back to me, my love."

"It should have been me," he heard himself say.

"No. No-- I've found you again. I'll find my way back to you. Just be patient."

"Anything."

"Be patient with me-- I'm not going to make it easy."

"Anything you need."

"Anthony, there's a storm coming. You cannot lose yourself in the past like this."

"A storm? What do you mean?"

"There's a storm coming. Promise me you'll remember-- it wasn't your fault. Promise me."

"I promise."

"You need to believe it. You don't believe it yet, darling-- you need to believe it to weather the storm."

"Kathani, I don't understand--"

"Understand what, my Lord?"

"What storm? What do you mean by a storm?"

"I-- Anthony, I didn't say anything about a storm."

"You don't remember?"

"This is the second time you've asked. Anthony, what is happening?"

"Nothing," he swallowed. "It's nothing."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"You will explain."

"Another day, I promise."

"You promise?"

He inhaled sharply, to be asked by the same woman to make another promise.

"I promise. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. We should go. Edwina will be worried."

"Wait."

He stared at her again. There should have been something unnerving about them, but Kathani felt an inexplicable sense of deep comfort instead.

Anthony kissed her brow and forehead.

"Now we can go."

--

"A storm?" Benedict asked, popping up from out of nowhere.

Anthony nodded.

"A storm. Do you know what it means?"

For the first time in a long time, Benedict looked like the ancient, formidable creature he pretended not to be. Anthony watched as he visibly searched through his immense memory.

Benedict got a distant look in his eyes then looked sideways at Anthony, assessing.

"You know."

"I have a guess."

"What is it," Anthony braced himself when he saw Benedict's crooked grin.

"A year without summer."

[mypoisonedvine]

Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."