#i have no idea what possessed me into doing this

[theoxenfree]

ROOT ROT

possessed!scholar husband x reader|3.7k| 18+

following your cold and reticent husband's return from settling affairs with his deceased uncle's estate, he has changed and done things unheard of. once a great lover of botany and entomology, he has razed his garden to the ground as proof of his love to you. this man—this thing—os not your husband.

warnings;; pseudo-victorian setting, dubcon, mentioned dp, mentioned temperature play, cumshot on body, cum eating, other explicit sexual details, mentions of drug use (opium), unrequited love, hypnosis/trance, some horrific imagery, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a companion piece to imposter. you don't have to read it, but if you want a better idea of what is going on, I suggest you do!

a/n; I reappear after a month hiatus with this piece. I have questions and notes at the end of the fic that I'd love to have feedback to!

please reblog this if you've read it, guys! help keep your favorite writing and authors on this website by reblogging their work!!

“He is simply not himself!”

Bartolomé Medina knew his best friend better than you knew your husband, so you believed him when he said that your husband’s newly acquired, increasing eccentricities were not some fictitious imagining of yours.

Although, Medina himself could not explain the unexplainable and all of the oddness without growing visibly flustered.

A bit flushed in the face, singeing the roundness of his ears. He'd stamp out your justifications for strangeness in the same way he did the fine cigars he'd been accustomed to sharing with his friend, yet had not for quite sometime now.

“And you say his garden is dead?” Medina looked stricken with dread, suddenly ill by repeating something so blasphemous. “Now, my dear, please don't mistake my shock as disbelief. I very much believe in what you're saying. I've seen Solomon and his weirdness! Why, just this morning over breakfast, at a time where you were still tucked away in deep sleep, he wouldn't drink his coffee. So bizarre! That man knows the thousands of tastes and varieties of coffee beans, and he spat the very stuff out on the floor like it'd never once touched his tongue!

“But his garden? A botanist without his garden is like a bird without wings. A dog without a tail to wag. A newborn without his mother’s teat! Vulgar, I understand, but you see my point.” He drank from a heavy glass in his hand. The inside had nearly spilled over at one point with light brown which glittered gold under the overhead light, smelling slightly sour and earthy. “To think that Solomon would let it all die. Something is wrong. Something has happened to my only true friend and to your husband.”

You did not drink with any enthusiasm or anguish from your own cup, rather you used those seconds of delicate sipping to gap the conversation, separate yourself from it all for just a moment. You'd had your time to grieve and contend with knowing the man you had married and come to love was not the same one who kept you awake at night.

Solomon had once been a reclusive and reticent man, the only son of David Agrippa and sole heir of the Agrippa Diamond Mines and Jewelry Galleria. He'd never been able to replicate his father's ardor for business and entrepreneurship, choosing towards academic ventures of entomology and botany and most of everything belonging to the natural world instead.

Among his most prized things was a sprawling, domed greenhouse made of large sheets of pale blue-green glass soldered with metal which shifted rose-gold in bright daylight.

“I loved his garden, but I didn't much like to be in there with him,” you confessed, forgetting your manners as you kept your cup still against your lips, mumbling your words. “He liked to tell me about the plants and flowers he grew. Most of it I could never hope to understand, but… I loved seeing him come alive. He seemed to glow when he could tell me things, so I got into the habit of listening to him when he wanted to speak.”

Medina, not yet drunk or driven to any untoward behavior, set aside his empty vessel with jittering ice cubes and looked at you admiringly. “You said that you didn't like being in there with him? Why?”

“The bees. The bugs. The humidity. The fertilizer he liked to use because of the nitrogen content. He told me that it mattered what he used and couldn't just break up soil from the yard.” You said, tilting your cup.

After taking another sip, you determined you hated the taste of the liquor and how it slid down along your throat like fire trailing an oil spill, yet clung there with residual, syrupy stickiness that nearly made you gag.

“Why did you keep going inside?” Medina asked tranquilly, much of his previous frustration softened, body and soul warmed by the alcohol and how fondly he regarded your sweetness towards his friend.

You thought very little before answering, “I wanted to be where he was. It didn't matter to me if that meant his greenhouse or the coldest part of the arctic.”

That was the truth of it. Once you'd received the first crumbs of understanding who Solomon truly was beneath his stolid exterior built brick-by-brick from tragedy and grief and a lifetime of emotional ineptitude, you would've gone to any length to see more of him. To see his pale eyes gain a wild, flickering candlelight of passion, and the faintest of trembling smiles disguising how deeply your questions had aroused his soul.

In those moments, he revealed to you the things he loved the most and what you envied the most: the natural world.

The flittering, fat-bodied pollinators whose entire world were yellow and red flowers with succulent centers and lush, girthy leaves where they'd rest their weary, iridescent wings and could never understand your husband's appreciation of them.

The thousands of specimens he'd collected from every corner of the world and articulated thoughtfully against wood and felt. Their dead little limbs were pinned in place; perfect mimicry of how they would've been if still alive and crawling. He’d had them all meticulously framed and arranged across the walls in his office; trophies of his success, of his studies and hard work.

The innumerable plants and flowers he trimmed and watered in his greenhouse and the ones not contained within it. Some species he had planted in the yard, others in the cool shade of the nearby woods where they smothered native varieties with tendrils-like vines and climbed upside trees. More aquatic species were placed by the edge of the lake, growing into the water; buoyant; a woman's deep dark hair reaching forever for the surface.

He had turned the lonely, sprawling estate into a monument of life, of love that did not belong to you. And for that, sometimes you hated living there. Hated the things that he loved.

Choking the plants, poisoning their roots with any number of things from your father’s pharmacy crossed your mind more than once.

Feeding the bees something enticingly sweet and deadly; filling the greenhouse with noxious gas at night while they slept on their big leaves and your husband in his bed. It would've been such an easy thing for you to do—own your husband's grief as you held his face in your hands and comforted him in the morning when all had atrophied and rotted.

But, those feelings had become a reality you truly never wished to have seen after Solomon returned from his deceased uncle's estate months ago.

He was not the same man.

“Tell me what happened.” Medina’s voice buzzed in your ear from nearby, closer than it had been before. Your hand was caressed by tight warmth—his holding yours, his handsome face looking up at you from where he had crouched in front of your chair. “Tell me everything you've seen. It's of grave importance that you remember it all, as curing Solomon from his affliction relies solely upon you.”

You could not deny his earnestness, the squeeze of his fingers. A promise that he would not be easily shattered by what you had to say, and would think no less of his friend for it. Within his sincere stare, you saw the gleam of another, secret promise. The likes of which you pretended not to see, that he'd never speak of out loud.

“I…” you distracted yourself with the embroidery on your clothes, pinching loose threads and beads. “It was subtle, at first. I noticed some of the bees were dead on the ground. And then some plants had started developing spots. Leaves turned brown and yellow and fell off. A lot of them withered, even though their soil was still damp when I checked…”

And then, the morning came where you witnessed Solomon among a carnage of broken stalks weeping foul-smelling sap, leaves he'd ripped apart with his own hands, and some of his larger flowering plants with fiery manes completely severed. Their bountiful heads lay at his feet, flattened by the heel of his boot as he walked aimlessly, snipping and tearing indiscriminately.

“My god, Solomon! Stop!” you stepped around the countless tiny, contracted bodies of bees and other pollinators to reach him. He let go of the gardening shears as you grabbed them. “What are you doing?! What have you done?! Decades of work! Gone! Are you mad?!”

“Well, you've gone and ruined my surprise for you. I've been working on it for hours. I didn't expect you would be awake so soon.” Solomon said, sounding much like himself despite the savagery he stood surrounded by. He smiled at you in an unfamiliar way, as if trying to navigate his facial muscles around a mask. “Isn't it simply wonderful?”

The sweltering humidity trapped within this greenhouse of death had turned the air stagnant and foul, heavily pungent of detritus and mildew. Across all zones of the greenhouse, once painstakingly organized and labeled for the purpose of easier cataloging, no slithers of greenery or color remained. Each step you took in any direction seemed to sink you deeper into the decay, wet gurgling underfoot as you crossed stumpy mounds of plants and flowers he'd destroyed and thrown into piles.

“How could you? My husband spent almost twenty years building this garden and studying it. This was his life’s work!” You wished you could force life back into the severed plants; pray that the ground of yellow-brown waste would suddenly freckle with tiny, green sprouts and grow with thick stalks and thorns to keep his hands away.

“I am your husband.” Solomon took the gardening shears from your hand and tossed them aside. He leaned into your body, nose and lips pressed into the fabric covering your neck. “I've only done what you wanted. What you wished you could've done yourself, but never did.”

You flinched against the movement of his hands smoothing down your waist to the notches in your hips. Sliding inward, he unfastened the hook-and-loops and buttons holding your trousers up to push them down your thighs along with your undergarments.

“I know your thoughts and what you really think. I've been listening the entire time. I've always been listening.” Solomon let his hips roll along the back of his hand while he used his fingers to lay long, languid strokes on you. “It was tiring, wasn't it? Always competing for love and affection in a place like this. You were never going to have what you wanted. Not with this place still standing. Not with his ineptitudes and selfishness.”

His touch weakened you indescribably; like the caress of heat from the fireplace against your bare skin once the opium had taken effect. Swapping tiny pills on wet tongues with your maid until they'd dissolved into saliva and into your cheeks. You explored one another's bodies thoroughly on those cold nights, silky with sweat from the fire and exertion.

Yet, this was not the same as back then when the sexual appetite of two teenagers transcended societal morals.

Solomon encompassed you in a feeling; consumed you without ever digging into you with his teeth or nails. He could whisper hideous secrets and depravities to you to tip you over into searing euphoria. He had once penetrated you with a hot metal phallus resting on top of his own, thrusting with both until the metal cooled, and you still came anyway.

He'd put worse inside your body and done far worse than that in only a few short months since returning home, yet he never tired of the torture and you remained malleable and enthralled by it all.

“God, you are beautiful. And you are mine.” Solomon had maneuvered both your bodies to the ground, atop of the soggy detritus. Your back was exposed to the mush, leaves, and crushed flower petals, weight pushing an indentation in the loose soil. “This is the fruition of your desires, darling. Don't you love it? Destroying what he loved so you could have it all?”

The one who came back to you was not Solomon; the one fucking you into waste and dirt was not Solomon, either. You told yourself you needed to love imposter as well, because he looked like your husband; wore his signet ring, too.

At night, you imagined only his softest expressions behind clenched eyelids when he wanted to have his way with you, as something else entirely took his place. A creature so diabolical and unsightly that the servants now awaited your screams to rouse them awake in the murky midnight hours.

Every time they arrived with their candlesticks and oil lanterns, the thrusting spectre receded into the dark as a black mass hardly distinguishable from shadow.

Only Solomon would remain, and he was swift to send the servants away before they could see your improper, disheveled state sprawled across the bed sheets.

In the daytime light, his face stayed familiar and comforting to you and you could bear to see him, form some coherent words.

“Someone might—might see us out here, Solomon. Mr. Medina is supposed to—oh, oh, mmm—he’s due to arrive at any time.” You were given several long kisses, which turned into severe caresses of hot breath when his thrusts turned savage, cock reaching so deep you were starting to feel numb below the waist. A feverous response. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He adjusted himself to lay on your chest, the sweat on your bodies offering an effortless glide and new angle for his cock that made your moans deeper and dire. Such sounds, whether in agony or pleasure, were melodious to him. Addicting drags from a pipe in an opium den; an alcoholic's first sip at breakfast; a cheating man's night with a new lover.

“Wouldn't you like for them to see that? For someone to witness you being fucked into the ground? Surrounded by everything their master loved?” Solomon tucked his face into the curve of your neck and groaned, hips slow and stuttering. “Bartolomé would be the one to find it most tantalizing. His only friend in the world ruining the only person he's ever loved. Wouldn't that be a sight? We could invite him to watch.”

At the time, it had been quite jarring to learn Bartolomé harbored those silent, ardent feelings for you. It had sufficiently pulled you from whatever trance Solomon had lulled you into, reacquainting you with all the sounds of sex and the filth clinging to your skin. It was as though your mind had been locked into a mostly airless, noiseless void that he controlled and released at will.

You held tight to his shoulders as he molded you deeper into the muck and plant litter. The squat, friable walls of soil holding your shape like the cushions in a tomb, whereas Solomon was the man lowering you into the dark earth; the last to see your face before covering it in clay and dirt.

He was in your ear with loud moans that resonated through you, simultaneously as carnal as a beast amidst its seasonal rut, and velvety as the feathery smooth glide of fingers down your spine. His throat rumbled against you, resembling the intensity of a purring housecat nestled near your head in contentment.

At his tipping point, he removed his cock from your body and used the slippery stuff glistening off it to stroke himself; weepy, deep red tip to the base. You received the aftermath of his release in thick ropes across your abdomen and chest, the warmth of it already cooling on your skin while he continuously kneaded the head to force out what remained as if they were dewdrops made from pearls.

“How do you think Bartolomé would fare seeing you like this?” Solomon swept two fingers through the cum in an elegant curl to smear it around his cock. The viscous white thinned into pale gloss on his girth and a sticky residue inside his hand.

Your lips parted to give an answer, but his fingers and taste were faster than your words.

“And… that is all? Truly?” Bartolomé asked, shattering your visions of the recent past as he revealed a compact silver case from inside his vest, pulling a cigarette from within it. “You simply walked into the garden one morning and saw that he had destroyed everything? He gave you no explanation whatsoever?”

The imposter had stolen much of your dignity over the months, but enough of it remained for you to omit every significant detail from your story. You'd only told him that Solomon had cut the heads off of rare flowers, mumbled in a disorienting way, and gave you no difficulty with the gardening shears.

Bartolomé went away from your side for an open window across the spacious sitting room, matching his cigarette and blowing gray plumes out into the dense summer air.

“This is concerning.” He spoke loud enough for you to hear, even with his thumbnail tracing the underside of his lower lip, muffling him somewhat. “Solomon is considerably worse off than I first thought. We need to investigate this, retrace his every step since the moment he left you that night for his uncle's estate.”

“Oh, Bartolomé, that will be very unnecessary.” Solomon announced himself as he walked in through the open doors, offering you a tepid smile, which came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Your chair jostled slightly as he stood behind it, a weighty hand landing on the tall back above your head. “Why trouble yourself with employing some ludicrous scheme when you could, ah, inquire as to what haunts you instead?”

Bartolomé tamped out his cigarette on the windowsill and pocketed it. “You are ill, Solomon. You may be suffering from some form of hysteria. It's time you visited a doctor, my old friend.”

“Well, that just isn't true.” Solomon kept the neutrality in his tone, but you tracked a rumble of agitation; a warning not far off. His hand followed the curvature of the chair down to the arm that you leaned against, fingers touching your shoulder, lightly kneading you through your clothes.

He was sure to be in Bartolomé’s eyesight as he did this, further aggravating the heavy disquiet. You didn't dare to move out of reach of his touch.

“But, it is true, Solomon!” Bartolomé insisted, gesturing toward the window. “What of your garden? All of your life's work now means nothing, you damned fool! You've snapped, old boy. See a doctor before you do something you regret.”

“That garden was more a source of misery than it was a boon. At any rate, I'm quite finished listening to you harp at me for one night, my dear friend.” Solomon lightly stroked down your cheek with bent fingers, coaxing you to look up at him. “It's time for bed, darling. Us impropertious brutes have kept you up for too long.”

You hesitated, and then stood when Solomon took your arm. “Alright.”

“As usual, your accommodations should exceed expectations. I'll have a servant wake you for breakfast again tomorrow.” It was too soon to call those Solomon's departing words to Bartolomé, as he stopped with you in the doorway, your hand caressing the meat of his forearm. “You know, Bartolomé, I would recommend marrying soon. There is no greater feeling than having the one you love so close to you, don't you think?”

Bartolomé became unreadable as he fished a hand into his vest pocket for the cigarette case again. You were led away for the bedroom before anything else could be said, but you knew that Solomon had struck a nerve.

“That was cruel.” you said.

Once in the bedroom, your back was pressed flush to the door while he unfastened the buttons to your outerwear and the blouse underneath it. Solomon kissed your lips slowly, first, before moving underside your jaw after shucking you down to your undergarments.

“And you are mine. You made your vows to me. Remember that, my sweet.”

You watched him strip out of his clothes and then stroke the length of his cock until it was hard.

“I married someone else. Not you.”

As he dimmed the lights within the space, sweeping the bedroom under a shroud of near pitch black, your annoyance shifted into a swell of anxiety both freezing cold and burning hot. Your body pulsed in rhythm with your wild heartbeat, throat clenched as tightly as infantile flower buds.

You waited for Solomon to touch you, startling once he finally did. His fingers had elongated and sharpened, his touch now far more delicate and methodical.

“Don't worry, he’s still in here with me.”

a/n; so, some notes real quick

do not count this scene as canon bc idk how much I'm going to take from it to incorporate into the actual story. like, certain things will be there fs, but a good chunk won't.

tbh, this didn't go as hard as I thought it was going to. by comparison to the actual story, this is pretty tame. but I've already relented that the full story is just hopelessly slutty and pornographic lmaooo

bartolomé medina was actually included late into my current version of the story outline. I wanted a somewhat paralleling foil character for solomon, and he's who I came up with. in a lot of ways, bartolomé and solomon are very similar, which is why they get along so well as friends. but, they're also starkly different in other aspects (e.g. wealth differences, careers, bartolomé forces his sociability and personality, whereas solomon can't be fucking bothered). tbh, I love bartolomé as a character and this oneshot does not do him justice—at all.

sadiya, mc's maid, is actually the most important supporting character in the entire story and is completely different from her first appearance in imposter. like, completely. I'd like to do one more concept piece where I can actually introduce her.

men moaning is one of the hottest things imo. get out of here with that silent ejaculating bs.

NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!

what are your thoughts on me incorporating the idea that bartolomé is in love with mc into the actual story? there is a possibility of an ending with him if enough folks show interest before the final chapters. or, would you prefer it strictly focused on solomon, the demon, and mc? this subplot would not come to fruition as a side romance or "cheating" plotline. like I said, bartolomé exists mainly as a parallel and foil for solomon.

are you guys interested in smut scenes with actual, explicit details of the demon in his true form (he ain't pretty y'all. this story is majorly psychological for a reason). but, if you kinky fucks want it, I'm happy to oblige.

would having a bolder mc who experimented with things (mainly opium) and has a bit more of a sexually promiscuous background take you out of immersion and be a deterrent, or would you be interested in me continuing that route? be honest.

I dropped several hints in this piece on the inspired identity of the demon in the story. have you guessed who? 👀

how depraved y'all want me to get with the smut scenes fr???

[raichukfm]

It's a fascinating question and the answer doesn't speak to it at all. We're talking about swapping perceptions, you know, the hypothetical thing that could answer those "What if my blue is your red?" ponderings. Were that the case and you were to swap, you would start seeing everything red as blue and vice versa, but you would be able to tell this. That's a controversial point, but we aren't proposing a full qualia inversion here; your internal concepts of red and blue haven't changed, just the way that your brain maps sensory stimuli to your qualia has. You can imagine red, and it's red as you have always imagined it, you just look at a red delicious apple and you see it as blue. (Actually a fascinating question whether people would agree with this assessment, and has me wondering about people with aphantasia specifically about if they think their 'red as they have always imagined it' can be separated from the way things with that color look to them. I'm getting off track.)

But this swap is different. Semiotics refers to the meanings that things have; for instance, the way you are looking at these squiggles or hearing these sound waves and taking them as a message. I am intending a meaning now as I type these words out, and you are taking away a meaning as you perceive them, and though it won't quite be the same meaning it is related. There's a question of where exactly the meaning you perceive is; is it in the message itself? Is it just contained in the context around it? Was it put there by me? Is it only there when you read or hear it?

And now specifically we're talking about abstract objects, things which aren't concrete; for instance, words as words, not images or sounds but the thing that those patterns invoke. Things where it is already an interesting philosophical question about how exactly it is that they exist. (For those with the bent to ponder it and not just go 'Uh, they just do, duh' because yeah that's fair.) And that's just one example of an abstract object. It's not all messages. There are numbers. There are complex mathematical objects, like groups and rings and fields. Are things like "peace" abstract objects?

If we do this swap of perceptions, so you perceive the meaning of an abstract thing to be the meaning that I perceive... What are you perceiving, exactly? Is it the thing anymore? Is this even truly a swap of perceptions or is it rather a swap of thoughts? If you took one piece of my mental model of the world and swapped it out with one of yours, how would it fit in? Would it fit in at all? It's fascinating.

The world isn't shrouded in darkness. There's not some blinding fog that has settled over everything. You can observe the world, make sense of parts of it, peer into its mysteries and try to think of answers. Yeah, it's confusing and a lot of pieces of it are out of reach but that's just because the world is so fucking big and complicated and so many parts we simply lack the faculties to possess. This question is that lovely kind of philosophical pondering that is fundamentally unresolvable and by all rights has no practical purpose... But we can still talk about it, and in talking about it, we can share ideas and work through how it is we think of things. If nothing else, we can enjoy ourselves. And that's as practical a purpose as anything else.

Don't see something you can't think of how to answer and decide that it cannot be answered and that now is a time to shrink away to safe thoughts that can be trusted. Ponder whatever bullshit that strikes your fancy, and try to think about what the answers would be. Even if you can fundamentally never find out if you're right or wrong, the thinking itself is a worthwhile exercise. Encourage other people to do it too, though don't try to force it; different people have their own sorts of funtime questioning. I've got things like this, some people have how much prep time Batman would need to defeat Shrek in a fight.

equally confounded and obsessed by this quora question and response that i just stumbled onto

[xxgoldie]

Congratulations for your 100 followers!

May I request for Lighter (zzz)? As for the alphabets, it's A, J, M, N, and Y!

I hope it's not too much, anywho, once again, congratulations! Hope you have a great day/night <3

thank u sm! ofc lighter nation pulls up first hehehe

main event page - event masterlist

A: Admiration - what's something they admire in a partner? Lighter really appreciates someone patient and caring. Partially this is because its something he really needs; while he's not massively secretive about his past, it takes him a while to truly open up about the details and the way it still affects him, plus he kind of forgets to take proper care of himself, since he's used to viewing himself as a means to other people's ends. But its also because so much of his life has been about violence, so he really admires a shift from that, and feels extra in love whenever he sees that gentle care in you, even if it's not directed to him.

J: Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? what are they like when they're jealous? Lighter is pretty secure in your relationship, so he's not gonna get jealous of your friends, and as long as no one's making you uncomfortable, he's not even particularly fussed if someone else asks you out, just keeping a protective eye on you while you reject them in case they take it badly and he has to step in. THAT BEING SAID, he does get possessive if someone tries to flirt with you, especially if they're subtle enough about it that you don't really notice. Directly shooting their shot is one thing, he can respect that, but those flirty little compliments and lingering touches are encroaching a bit too far on his territory. Suddenly he's glued to your side and his hand seems permanently attached to your waist, if the person doesn't know who he is (or doesn't seem to care), he'll drop it into conversation or take his jacket off so they see his scarred, muscled arms, making eye contact with a look that just screams "i dare you to try". Also, he may not get jealous of people, but he's lowkey the type to get jealous of like. pets and plushies. sees you cuddling your plushies or petting a cat and his thought process is just "aww cute. i wish that were me tbh. wait we're dating, that should be me." and he's well aware its a bit of a silly thought to have so he tries to play it off but the way he glares at whatever's taking up your affection is so obvious. He'll pretend he doesn't know what you're talking about if you tease him about it, so long as it works and he ends up in your arms with your hand threading through his hair.

M: Melt - what can you do to fluster them and make them melt? I've had this headcanon for a while that Lighter likes to tease you a lot so you don't get the chance to try to fluster him first, because it's honestly a little crazy how easy it is. Any sort of heartfelt compliment has him losing his words for moment, particularly if you tell him you feel safe around him. But if you want to see him properly flustered and embarrassed, you just have to be unapologetic and bold about your attraction to him. If he catches you staring, he will tease you about it, but just double down on it (e.g. "enjoying the view?" "oh, absolutely", or "take a picture, it'll last longer" "amazing idea actually" and genuinely pulling out your phone) and you have the upper hand in an instant, his ears go red and he tries to think of something smart to say back but he's short-circuiting a little. Poor guy absolutely cannot take what he dishes out.

N: Nicknames - what nicknames / petnames do they have for their S/O? what are their favourite nicknames for you to call them? He likes most variations of babe/baby, tho he uses baby most often. Also likes to use compliments as nicknames, lots of "hey gorgeous" and "pretty girl / pretty boy". When it comes to what you call him, he particularly likes if you call him "love" or some variation of it, like "my love" or "lover". Also, calling him "my champion" with a pout is like a fast-track ticket to him doing whatever you want.

Y: Yearning - how easily do they miss their s/o? what are they like when you're away? He's the kind of guy to always have his partner on his mind, little things just make him think of you. He's always taking photos of cute animals or pretty sunsets or other things he sees to send to you, and when he runs errands in the city he'll come back with lots of little trinkets and treats for you - he doesn't even actively look for them, it's just second instinct for him to think "oh they'd like this" and pick it up. However, I think it takes a bit longer than most for him to really miss you to the point it's a problem. Like, sure, he would always love to see you even more often, but he gets that sometimes life gets in the way and its quite often his gang duties that are keeping you apart, so it takes a little more for it to start genuinely affecting him. When it does, though, he's basically checking his phone for any messages from you - it's not just that he thinks of you in everything, he's actively looking for random reasons to text you. He'll be extra fierce in fights, trying to wrap everything up asap so he can get back to you. But if the gap really can't be shortened, he instinctively starts bringing you up in every conversation. Your name on his tongue helps fill the void a tiny bit, but it's lowkey just "ow, i hurt my hand!" "(Y/N) has hands..."

[dixons-sunshine]

Risky Business | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: During an evening party organized by Carol, you and Daryl couldn’t help but get a little worked up, your hands constantly finding each other amongst the crowd. So you slipped off, the two of you discreetly finding your way to the bathroom to have your fun—even at the risk of getting caught.

Genre: Smut.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, porn with the tiniest bit of plot towards the end, quickie, semi public sex? (they do it in someone’s bathroom), risk of getting caught (they don’t), unprotected p in v (wrap it up, guys), creampie, aftercare because of course, mentions of pregnancy.

Word count: 1.7k.

A/N: I’m just gonna leave this here and disappear lol. I really don’t know what possessed me when I got this idea, but I hope it’s enjoyable. Also, massive thanks to @thevegandarkelf for encouraging me to write this (and for help with the summary) 💜.

Laughter and chatter could be heard from the living room. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to be enjoying the small get-together that Carol had planned. The party was in full swing, with no sign of anyone returning to their respective homes anytime soon. It was nice to have an escape from the horrors of a world run by the undead.

However, the pleasantries downstairs were only a vague remembrance in your mind. No offense to Carol’s efforts to make the party fun, but you found what you and Daryl were up to way more enjoyable.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed against your lips, his mouth moving against yours desperately as his hands gripped at your hips. He pushed you against the sink in the bathroom, your back making contact with the cold marble.

You gently nipped at his lower lip, smiling when he groaned and pressed his body against yours, his growing erection pressing against your thigh. “This is wrong,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hands working at his belt buckle, and then at the buttons of his jeans.

“So wrong,” Daryl agreed, his chapped lips moving down your jaw, trailing hungry, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your neck, before finally stopping to gently scrape his teeth against the pulse point beneath your ear.

You gasped, leaning your head back to allow him better access to your neck. You pushed his jeans down, just enough to reveal his hard-on that was still covered by the fabric of his boxers. “They’re waiting for us. If they come looking, they might find us like this.”

“They could,” Daryl agreed again, his own hands working to push your pants down as well. “This s’risky. We could get caught.”

Despite the both of you agreeing that what you were doing was, indeed, very risky, neither of you made any effort to stop the other. In fact, as Daryl pushed your underwear down and you stepped out of both your pants and panties, and you helped Daryl push his boxers down to bundle up with his jeans at his knees, sharing looks full of lust, you realized that you would not be able to find it in yourself to stop him.

Daryl’s mouth collided against yours again, his tongue delving deep into your mouth and groaning at the taste. He tapped the side of your leg, signalling for you to jump. You did just that, wrapping your arms around his neck. Daryl caught you, walking—albeit awkwardly, due to his jeans being bundled up by his knees—you away from the sink in favour of holding you up against the wall.

You pulled your lips from his, your mouths being connected by a string of saliva. Daryl’s usual stunning cerulean-coloured eyes were barely visible behind his blown pupils, showing just how desperate he was for you in that moment. He needed you, just like you needed him.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked through panting breaths. “We have maybe ten minutes before someone comes looking. Let’s get to it.”

“Ya sure? We dun’ gotta rush—”

“Daryl, I love you, but please hurry up.”

Daryl chuckled gruffly at your eagerness, but nodded nonetheless. “Yes, ma’am.”

You watched in anticipation as Daryl lined himself up with your entrance, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The archer kept eye contact with you the entire time, not wanting to miss even a second of the beautiful expressions that graced your features as he slowly pushed his cock into you.

The breath got knocked from your lungs as he fully bottomed out. A high-pitched moan escaped your chest at the pleasurable stretch, your nails digging into his leather-covered shoulders. Even after all that time of regularly doing the devil’s tango, you still had to take a moment to get used to the slight sting that accompanied him when he had his dick stuffed all the way inside of you.

Daryl inhaled sharply, his lust-filled eyes meeting yours. “Y’alright?” he questioned. Despite the situation, the archer was more than willing to stop everything if you wanted him to. He would never do anything like this without your go-ahead first.

You took a few seconds to adjust. Once the little bit of pain subsided, you nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Just… Please move,” you begged him, not knowing how long you would be able to be patient with him being immobile.

Daryl took a few deep breaths. “Okay.” Then, he pulled back until only his tip was inside of you, before plunging right back in.

The rhythm started off slow and steady, but Daryl quickly picked up the pace. The two of you were running against the clock. He wanted to ensure that you got off as well, and to do that, he could not waste any time.

“Daryl,” you moaned quietly, right next to his ear, which you knew would always drive him insane. It seemed to work in your favour. Daryl’s hips snapped against yours, the tip of his cock hitting just the right spot. “Oh, fuck!” you gasped out in pleasure, your fingers disappearing into his hair and lightly tugging on his wavy brown roots.

Daryl groaned at the sensation. He smashed his lips against yours, both in an attempt to drown out the beautiful noises you made—which were for his ears only—and the noises you were pulling from him.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “You ain’t got—” Thrust. “—no idea—” Thrust. “—how fuckin’—” Another thrust. “—good ya feel.”

“Yeah?” you asked rhetorically, a whine slipping past your lips and being swallowed up by Daryl’s. Your back was moving up and down against the cold tiles of the wall with each of his thrusts.

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed with a choked off moan. “You feel like heaven.” He carefully moved one of his arms to your front, ensuring you did not fall, before pressing his calloused thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves and moving it in time with the pace of his hips.

“Shit! Oh, shit! Daryl, fuck!” You were trying really hard to keep quiet, but Daryl was making it damn near impossible. You lowered your head and pressed your face into his shoulder, muffling your moans with the leather of his vest. You could feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten, and some far-off piece of your mind was impressed by it. Never before had you been close so fast before. Daryl truly was the best partner you ever had.

“Close.” That’s all you managed to get out. Any other words would fall short.

Daryl could feel himself getting close as well. In fact, he was tapering on the edge of bliss. He grit his teeth together and upped his game. He was determined to make you finish first. His thumb pressed against your clit the tiniest bit harder, and his thrusts became more precise, more firm, hitting that one delicious spot inside you each time.

Before you could even fully process what was happening, you could feel the knot in your stomach snap. You came undone with a shout, that was drowned out by Daryl’s mouth against yours, waves and waves of pleasure washing through your body.

The clenching of your walls around his dick sent Daryl toppling over the edge. His hips stuttered and his pace wavered immensely as he spilled his seed deep inside of you, barely registering that he had intended to pull out like he always did. He leaned his forehead against yours, sweat dribbling down his temples.

The two of you said and did nothing for a good thirty seconds. You both simply stayed there in each other’s embrace, each catching your breaths as the intensity of the moment washed away, instead being replaced by reality.

Daryl was the first to move away. He pulled his cock out of you and pulled his boxers and jeans back up, before leaning over to grab a washcloth. He wet it and crouched down, gently cleaning you of both your juices and his.

And his.

“Fuck, m’so sorry!” Daryl apologized, his eyes widening at the realization of what line he had crossed.

His apology took you off guard. “What? Why are you sorry? What’s wrong?”

Daryl looked down and continued his task of cleaning you up, his cheeks burning in embarrassment of the admission he was about to make. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t pull out.”

Oh, you thought to yourself, relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. Despite his heartfelt apology, you could not help the small laugh that escaped your chest, finding him rather adorable in that moment for reasons even you could not put names on.

Daryl frowned at that, standing up from his crouched position. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head as you smiled at him. “Nothing.” You reached down and reached for your discarded clothes, getting re-dressed into your panties and trousers. “You don’t have to be sorry, Daryl. I’m not mad.”

Daryl visibly relaxed at that. “You ain’t?”

You shook your head and looped your arms around his neck. “Not at all. It was bound to happen eventually. Besides, “worst” case scenario is that we have a little you running around in nine months. I don’t hate the sound of that.”

Daryl felt his heart speed up. You wouldn’t mind giving him a child? Starting a family with him? That made him happier than he would like to admit.

His hands came to rest on your hips. “Pretty sure the baby ain’t gon’ be able to run when they’re jus’ born, Sweetheart. Ain’t gon’ be able to do no runnin’ in nine months.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “You know I didn’t mean it literally.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Has anyone seen Daryl?”

The sound of Rick’s voice from somewhere in the home cut the archer off. You chuckled and withdrew from his hold, instead offering your hand to him.

“Come on. They noticed you are gone. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’m gone, too.”

“And what if they question us comin’ back to the party together?” Daryl inquired, but took your hand in his nonetheless and allowed you to lead him from the bathroom.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

Daryl huffed a small laugh. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

“I am choosing to see that as a compliment.”

[shizuturnspages]

Hi I have a request could you make a yandere gojo with a shy reader who doesn't care that he is a yandere because the reader was in toxic relationships and doesn't see yandere behavior as bad Thank you for reading me ^^

Oh. My. God. THAT IS SUCH AN IMPRESSIVE IDEA. I'm so down for this.

Gojo’s Ego Feeds Off Your Acceptance

❥ When Gojo realizes you don’t see his obsessive, possessive tendencies as a red flag, he feels invincible. Most people would run screaming if they caught a glimpse of the real Satoru, but you? You’re fine with it. That just confirms what he’s always believed—you’re meant for him.

❥ He sees your tolerance as proof of your love. In his mind, you’re basically giving him permission to be as controlling and overbearing as he wants. “You don’t mind, do you? Of course not. You’re perfect, and perfect people don’t need anyone else but me.”

Your Shyness Brings Out His Protective Side

❥ Gojo already sees himself as your protector, but your shy nature makes him feel even more responsible for your well-being. He’s constantly hovering, ready to step in if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way.

❥ He loves that you rely on him—whether it’s for emotional support or dealing with situations that make you uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got this. You don’t have to lift a finger.”

He Gets a Little… Territorial

❥ Gojo doesn’t like the idea of anyone else getting close to you, especially since you’ve been in toxic relationships before. He’s convinced that only he can keep you safe, so he goes out of his way to isolate you from potential threats (aka anyone who isn’t him).

❥ He’s not subtle about it, either. If someone from your past tries to reach out, they’ll regret it. “Oops. Looks like they had a little accident. Guess you’ll have to stick with me, huh?”

He Twists Your Past to His Advantage

❥ Gojo uses your history with toxic relationships to justify his behaviour. In his mind, he’s not being overbearing—he’s saving you from ever being hurt again.

❥ He’ll casually remind you of how much better he is than anyone else you’ve been with. “They didn’t deserve you. None of them did. But me? I’m different. I’ll take care of you, no matter what.”

A little scenario for having such a good idea <3

You’d barely settled into your seat at the small café when you felt it—the unmistakable prickle of someone watching you. Or rather, someone burning a hole into your soul with their gaze. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Gojo Satoru, with his signature sunglasses and that infuriatingly cocky smirk, was already making his way toward you.

“Hey, sweetheart!” His voice was as loud and unapologetic as ever, turning heads across the room. He dropped into the seat across from you without waiting for an invitation, leaning forward with an intensity that made your cheeks heat up.

“Satoru,” you mumbled, barely managing to meet his eyes. You were shy by nature, but something about Gojo made it even harder to hold your ground. He was overwhelming in every sense of the word.

“Miss me?” he teased, propping his chin on his hand.

You bit your lip, not sure how to respond. Of course, you’d missed him—it was impossible not to miss someone as magnetic as Gojo. But you also knew that admitting it would only feed his ego.

“Maybe,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The waitress approached with a nervous smile, clearly intimidated by Gojo’s presence. He ordered for both of you without consulting you, rattling off your favorite drink and a dessert you’d been craving lately. How he knew about the dessert was a mystery, but with Gojo, you’d learned not to question things.

As the waitress scurried off, Gojo turned his attention back to you. “So, how’s my favorite person doing today?”

You hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m okay.”

“Just okay?” He frowned, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch was warm, almost too warm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “Come on, you can tell me if something’s bothering you.”

You hesitated, but the truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I… I ran into someone I used to know.”

Gojo’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. “Someone from your past, huh?” His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made your stomach churn.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t a big deal. They just wanted to talk.”

“And did you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I didn’t want to.”

His expression softened, but there was still a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “Good. You don’t need people like that in your life. You’ve got me now.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the genuine warmth in his voice. Gojo could be a lot to handle, but moments like this reminded you why you hadn’t pushed him away. He made you feel… safe.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of playful banter and stolen touches. Gojo was relentless in his affection, showering you with compliments and teasing remarks that left you blushing and stammering. By the time he walked you home, you were exhausted in the best way possible.

“Thanks for today,” you said softly as you unlocked your door.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

You nodded, your heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his voice. “I know.”

“Good.” He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. “Because I meant what I said earlier. You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

There was something about the way he said it that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t a threat, exactly, but it was close. Still, you found yourself nodding, unable to argue.

“Just you,” you murmured.

Gojo smiled, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

As he turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just made a deal with the devil. But if Gojo was the devil, then maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind being damned.

[jenosonlywife23]

No Nut November Regrets

summary; nnn with jaehyun but he actually regrets it cause his about to enlist and his devasted cause he should have used those days to bang you up teehee!!!

a/n; Lets pretend he still hasnt enlisted lol.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jaehyun’s pacing your bedroom like a man possessed, muttering to himself with his hands in his hair.

"Are you okay?" you ask, half-laughing at his dramatic behavior. He’s been acting weird ever since he got home.

"No, I’m not okay," he blurts out, turning to face you with a look of absolute despair. "I’ve made a grave mistake."

You tilt your head, trying to stifle a smile. "What, did you lose a bet? Forgot your phone at the gym again?"

He stares at you like you’ve missed the point of life itself. "Worse. I wasted an entire month."

You blink, thoroughly confused. "A month on what? Your skincare routine? 'Cause, babe, you look amazing—"

He groans, cutting you off. "No Nut November."

There’s a beat of silence before you burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that’s what this is about? Are you serious?"

"I’m dead serious!" he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you know how much time we could’ve spent—" He stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to find the words.

"Spent...?" you prompt, clearly enjoying his struggle.

He sighs deeply, his ears turning red. "Banging," he finally mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You choke on your laughter, clutching your stomach. "Are you actually upset you didn’t? What happened to self-control, proving something to yourself, all that motivational crap you were preaching?"

"That was before I knew I was enlisting!" he practically yells, throwing himself onto the bed like a soap opera heroine. "I thought I had time. But now? Now I’ve got weeks—weeks, baby! And I just... I feel like I’ve betrayed us both."

You sit beside him, trying to hold back your laughter. "So, let me get this straight. You’re mad because you spent thirty days not having sex with me, and now you think you’ve wasted your youth?"

"Exactly!" He sits up, his expression so sincere it makes you want to both laugh and kiss him. "I thought I was doing something noble. But now all I can think about is how many times we could’ve—"

"Jaehyun!" you cut him off, cheeks burning.

"No, listen!" he insists, gripping your hands like he’s about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. "We could’ve been doing it every night, every morning, maybe even on lunch breaks. Do you know how much catching up we have to do now?"

You’re crying with laughter at this point, collapsing onto the bed. "You’re ridiculous."

He flops beside you, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. "Ridiculous and horny," he declares. "And I’ve got no time to fix it."

"Well," you say, leaning over him with a sly smile, "we’ve got tonight. Think you can make up for thirty days in one go?"

He peeks at you from under his arm, his eyes narrowing like he’s accepting a challenge. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

[bumblesimagines]

maybe i have a crush on you. so what?

what? me? jealous? never.

- Jinx

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Mild/Implied possessive behavior

The air smelled heavily of perfumes and incense, hiding the stench of liquor and sweat that clung to the brothel walls. While he much preferred the smell of alcohol and cigar smoke over the sickly sweet scent wafting through the halls and rooms, (Y/N) put up with it for the sake of destressing from his long, tiresome weeks of work. The pay was decent and his bosses were fair, but Gods, he wanted a day off without having to deal with one idiot or another. At least he could put a bullet in them from time to time.

Swaying her hips as she walked over, Blossom carefully settled down on his lap without spilling any wine from the cup in hand. She offered one of her carefully curated smiles and brushed her knuckles over his cheek, her brows knitting together with feigned sympathy. "You look rough, honey." She murmured, lifting the cup toward his lips. "Must be tough working for a man like Silco."

"Silco isn't the problem." He sighed heavily and wrapped his fingers around the cup, tilting it to fill his mouth with the sweet-tasting wine. 

While Silco was a stern man who ruled the Lanes with an iron fist and intolerance to disrespect, he was an accommodating boss who paid his most trusted subordinates well. (Y/N) never ran into any problems with the Chem-Baron or Sevika; he considered them people he'd take a bullet for. The only nuisance (apart from the other Chem-Barons and braindead Zaunites) who seemingly enjoyed making his life difficult was none other than an old childhood friend. Jinx.

Gods, just thinking about her gave him a headache.

His fingers danced along the sheer silk covering Blossom's thigh, a more delicate sigh escaping him when the warmth of the wine spread through his chest. Blossom clicked her tongue disapprovingly at his exhaustion and moved her hands to his shoulders, her lithe body twisting around to fully straddle his lap as she began kneading her fingers into his muscles. She grinned when he practically melted into the chair and chuckled softly, inching her face closer and closer-

The door to the room abruptly slammed open, causing the small chandelier above them to swing from the force. Instinctively, (Y/N) reached for his gun and curled his arm around Blossom's waist as he stood up from the chair to aim at whichever asshole had interrupted his precious downtime. 

"Thought I'd find you here." 

"Ugh." (Y/N) glared at the blue-haired girl standing in the doorway with a far from impressed look on her pale face. Her blue eyes flickered rapidly between them, creases slowly forming between her brows and lips tugging into a deep frown. "What do you want? I'm not in the mood for another one of your stupid ideas. Sevika already gave me shit for not babysitting you better."

Silently, Jinx strolled into the room, her long braids swaying with her movements and just barely brushing over the floor. She gave a quiet huff and blew her bangs out of her face, her narrowed eyes zeroing in on Blossom with the kind of malice (Y/N) only saw on occasion before she pushed her body against Blossom. The hooker stumbled backward and plopped onto the chair with a soft 'oof!', a brief scowl forming on her lips before she thought better of it. 

"Silco needs ya," Jinx answered simply, her head tilting to look at him. "Sevika's busy."

(Y/N) scoffed. He'd walked into the brothel with Sevika. "Oh, bullshit. You just like ruining my day with your damn jealousy." He rolled his eyes, the sucked-in breath from Blossom falling on deaf ears as he made his way to the door with the intent to ruin Sevika's night as well. He'd be damned if he were the only one getting cockblocked.

"What? Me? Jealous?" Jinx blew a raspberry, her boots stomping on the floorboards and following him out into the hallway. Whatever irritation she'd held toward Blossom promptly vanished, a more light-hearted tone lacing her voice. "Never."

Spinning around and backing her into the nearest wall, (Y/N) loomed over her with a scowl, itching to yank her braids clean off her scalp. "Ever since Finn opened his damn mouth about me coming here, you've been showing up to ruin my damn night again and again."

Her lips pressed into a line, her bony shoulders rising and falling with a lazy shrug. It only fueled the bubbling anger in his veins. "Maybe I have a crush on you. So what?" She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, the slightest hint of color rising onto her cheeks. 

(Y/N) swore his eye twitched. "Maybe I would be into it if you weren't such a pain in the ass." He hissed lowly and leaned away from the girl he once called friend, his eyes automatically rolling when her features predictably lit up. "I don't want to hear it, Jinx. Just tell me what Silco wants and get out of my sight."

[salmon-vive]

just reread your last comic-if will really isn't a threat to ford's dimension, why IS he keeping will in a cage? what i mean is, why did ford go from treating will gently and preciously to treating him like an animal? what happened????

also, how is will there physically? why does he need the portal opened if he's already there? i love your comic, hope its ok i have so many questions!

First of all, im glad you like my comics anon!

Explanation:

¿What happened? thats the same question Will does to himself after crossing the portal. in my comics the silly or calm moments (usually with lighter colors) are the past. Will in a cage is the present, and technically, hes a threat for for dimension since he's powerful ( the cage keep those powers contained).The possible damages Will could do or consequences of the portal where supposed to be studied just for a while...by both of them...but well, that's not what happened.

And, about Ford feelings towards Will, well. birdcage instead of something else, triangles in his clothes... i think that can give you an idea, he still adored Will, in a way.

Hope this gives you a better context! questions are what keep running this blog! however, hope i made this understandable and not mess up by my inexperience in telling stories haha-

NOTES OF TORTURED ARTIST:

i think something possessed me to make this more elaborated. maybe the blog is making me draw faster? idk- dunno if i could do this again. Also, sorry if there's a mistake, i don't respect english at all (For legal reasons this is a joke and actually I would be grateful If there's any corrections-)

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

stepdad! hotch punishing the reader for coming home late at night. (maybe she's wearing something skimpy and has hickeys on her neck) 🤭

you're amazing btw!! your stories make me feral 😩

Jealousy

Warnings: stepdad!hotch, jealous/possessive!hotch, mentions of r having a fwb relationship, mentions of masturbation (not described), mentions of sex (not described), language, one could say this is more angsty than my other fics, let me know if I missed anything!

Pairing: Stepdad!hotch x fem!reader

Word count: 1k

A/n: This is a fantastic idea!  Thank you for sending it in and for your compliment 🥹 I am glad my stories can do that ;) There is no real smut in this but because of the pairing and slight mentions of sex this is NSFW. I am open to writing a part 2 of this one!

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @randomuserrs

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

This fic is NSFW minors DNI*

“Where have you been?” is the first thing you hear when you walk in the door.  You thought that maybe, just maybe Aaron would have gone to sleep instead of waiting up for you.  You thought that you would be able to sneak in and go unnoticed.  He would have to leave for work before you would be up and you would be able to avoid him confronting you.  No such luck.  

You let out a sigh and your head falls back dramatically.  “Nowhere important.  I just went out with a friend.” It’s not necessarily a lie.  The guy you were with is a friend, but there may be some occasional benefits too.  It was just a drink and a quick fuck.  It didn’t really mean anything.  It was just a way to release some stress that you’ve been feeling lately and accidentally create more stress for your stepdad.  

The dishevelled sight of you in front of him is something he absolutely hates.  The messy hair, the smudged lipstick, the already too-short dress that was pulled back down after your encounter but not quite all the way as it still rides up your thighs more than it normally would, and the marks on your neck are enough to have a slight wave of anger flooding through him.  He only wants to see that if he is the one that caused it.  But to see another guy’s work?  It pisses him off.  You’re his, or at least he wants you to be.  The two of you haven’t actually gone that far yet, but you both know that it is only a matter of time before you do.

“A friend?  One that you got all dressed up for and left all of those hickeys on your neck?” Aaron speaks coldly with a clear hint of suspicion and doubt as he crosses his arms over his chest.  Part of you is a tad embarrassed to be in this situation right now, but the other part of you that loves to be bratty and push his buttons from time to time is winning that conflict inside of you right now.  

“Yeah, maybe.  It’s not any of your business, Aaron.  I wanted to have a night out and have a little fun, what’s so bad about that?” You mirror him, crossing your arms in the same way that he is.  Your attitude has Aaron clenching his jaw.  That jaw that you would give just about anything to kiss and nibble on.  

He takes a few steps closer to you and his head tilts slightly in that way that for some reason always distracts you.  He hesitates and stands there just looking at you with a glare that you swear is sharp enough to pierce right through you and the door behind you.  When Aaron finally answers you his voice comes out low and dark.  “Because I don’t like it and I don’t think you should be seeing him.” He made it sound like something he was declaring.  Like it’s his choice and he gets the final say on the matter.  

This is ridiculous.  He thinks he can tell you who you can go out to see?  

“Then what would you suggest, Aaron?  Who am I allowed to see?” That bratty tone comes out again and he has to take a deep breath in so that he doesn’t snap.  Everything inside of him wants to push you up against that door behind you and tell you who you really belong to, to fuck you silly until you forget about everyone except for him.  He wants to tell you that he knows you’re always thinking of him when you are taking care of your needs whether you’re doing so with the help of another person or if it’s by yourself.  He wants to say that you can’t see anyone but him.  He holds back.  He wants to give in more than he could express, but he still manages to stop himself from acting on all of those thoughts.

You wish he would say and do all of those things.  You would love nothing more than to let Aaron absolutely ruin you however he sees fit.  You know he wants to and you’ve tried to push him over that edge, but he has way more self-control than you had originally thought he did.  That doesn’t mean that you haven’t watched it slowly crumble over time though.  You know it won’t take much more to finally break him down completely and when you do, you know that he is going to break you.  Especially with how long all of these feelings and emotions have been building up.  The tension between the two of you is palpable at all times when you’re around each other.  

To your surprise he chooses to back down this time.  He steps back closer to where he was before and looks down at the floor with a slight huff.  He’s jealous, but he’s containing it.  For now.

“Just…go to bed.  I”ll see you after work tomorrow.” He grumbles and walks away.  He goes to get a drink and sits quietly in his office, thinking about you and how he could treat you better than whatever ‘friend’ you saw tonight.  He wants to be the one you go to for a good time.  He wants to teach you a lesson and claim you as his.  He wants to tell you that no one else can do those things you both dream of him doing to you.  But for now Aaron has decided that it’s not quite the right time.  

You watch him get his drink and close the door of his office behind him before you go to your room.  You had hoped that he would snap tonight and make you unable to walk the next day, but your luck was against you yet again.  It made you feel a little disappointed and your heart sank just slightly.  But there was one thing that really stuck in your mind as you walked away.

Jealousy looks good on him. 

[aonemanarmy]

So, that had been Mother's deal with Vincent. Sephiroth didn't understand why Jenova had thought it necessary to use the other man as a guardian for him – he hardly needed protection – but he was under the impression that it was more of a ploy to keep the gunman close in case he proved to be a nuisance. It was quite strange though for Jenova to go that far, but Sephiroth knew that her thoughts were far beyond true comprehension even for him.

Before Sephiroth could voice any response Vincent continued and finally made his request known which left him more than a little perplexed. Of all the requests Vincent could have made, Sephiroth had never anticipated the gunman to make the one that he had. It made him wonder why the ex-Turk would request that he meet someone out of all the things he could've asked for.

A part of Sephiroth was immediately suspicious, honestly expecting this to be some sort of trick, but he couldn't detect any sign of deception in Vincent's eyes. However, Sephiroth would be the first to admit he wasn't exactly an expert in human emotion, although he didn't get the impression that the other man would waste such a golden opportunity for the sake of an ill-conceived attempt at subterfuge. It didn't mean that Sephiroth was ready to trust Vincent – not even close – but he was still willing to humor him if only because the ex-Turk had piqued his curiosity.

The sense of curiosity he felt only grew as he felt the sudden resurgence of Jenova's presence at the back of his mind, the alien entity tearing at his thoughts in an attempt to reassert control over him. A splitting headache began to form behind Sephiroth's eyes in response, but he forcefully shoved Jenova back and bound her tighter, even if it did little to stop her venomous threats and the steady spikes of pain that accompanied them. He could bear it just like he had everything else – stoically and without any real expression betraying his inner thoughts or the mental struggle that he had fought.

Still, why had Jenova reacted in such a way?

Sephiroth knew that she was determined to seize control again, but this didn't feel like one of her typical attempts. It felt more...direct and daresay urgent. Perhaps the madman was simply overthinking things, but his suspicions remained as he listened to Vincent indicate that the person he wanted Sephiroth to meet was the very same that Jenova had told the gunman to seek out.

'Why did Vincent think that he was remotely interested in who that person was? The human that the other man valued so much meant nothing to Sephiroth and he'd never bothered to ask Jenova for further details about them. It wasn't as if Jenova was ready to offer him any details in the first place, but he wondered why Vincent was making the whole thing out to be anything more than some sort of transaction between the two of them.

The madman didn't voice his thoughts, instead watching Vincent as he paced past him and stared out over the horizon at something only he could see. It was of little interest to Sephiroth, but he humored the gunman as he spoke and mentioned what that person wanted. Sephiroth was set to brush aside all interest in it when the ex-Turk spoke those last words which immediately had him on guard.

So, Vincent wanted him to see someone that sought to lay claim to him again. It wasn't as if it would be the first time that someone had thought to do so; all of Shinra and its Science Department had done so at one point or another and he was hardly keen on the idea. To humans he was an object, a thing to be possessed, used, and then thrown away whenever it suited them and nothing more. That simply was how things were and he'd come to accept that fact long ago.

“And they would not be the first one to claim me as theirs.” Sephiroth said flatly, not sure why Vincent thought those words would mean anything to him. “I have had many that controlled me over the years and many more that would seek to possess me if they could, so your 'person' would be no different.”

Another sharp stab of pain struck Sephiroth behind the eyes and he scowled, dropping the hand holding Hojo's severed head to his side.

Jenova's persistence was becoming quite bothersome. It certainly didn't help his mood, but having Hojo's head in hand made everything but the most egregious pain bearable.

“I shall not trade one master for another.”

Sephiroth refused to be enslaved again. However, with his true form entombed in the crater and undergoing metamorphosis it would be beyond anyone's influence. All that would be available to Vincent and this person would be the avatar he currently possessed, and that could easily be dismissed or destroyed without any real negative consequences on his part. So perhaps he could slake his own curiosity by humoring the request and if all else failed he could always teach Vincent a lesson by killing his treasured person.

Drawing his sword, Sephiroth stalked over to the lip of the crater and using it sheered the limbs off a small tree. Then, without a hint of hesitation the madman took Hojo's severed head and impaled it upon the sharpened trunk with a sickening squelching sound that painted the snow black with ichor and clotted, old blood. It was a fitting warning.

“I will see your person, but know that I will belong to no one ever again.”

In a morbid sense, it was a twisted yet beautiful sight to see Sephiroth holding the head of Sephiroth in his hand—staring in the face of the man who had both created and tormented him; the true source of all of Sephiroth’s nightmares. Even if Hojo had been the cause of everyone’s pain, including Vincent’s, at least he had tasted the goodness that came with humanity, imperfections and all. Sephiroth, on the other hand, had been robbed of all of it before conception. However, was this truly Sephiroth or Jenova?

Sephiroth’s response gave Vincent that answer, and the gunslinger blinked in a mild confusion at first. So it wasn’t Jenova after all… the shift in essence was curious. But if this was Sephiroth, then what was this powerful sensation he felt atop the mountain? Had Sephiroth truly gained the freedom from Jenova’s control? Vincent didn’t immediately respond to Sephiroth and briefly turned part way to look up at the mountain. The power shook the mountain. He could feel a strong pulse growing steadily stronger. He recognized that pulse… Was this where Sephiroth’s physical body had been entombed the entire time? The one he had witnessed falling into the pool of Mako several years back? Realization slowly crept through his mind, and Vincent turned to meet Sephiroth’s figment once more. Though his eyes were still somewhat harsh, they had softened as he began to put the pieces together. He couldn’t be sure if Sephiroth had yet gained the victory over Jenova, but he could easily test that. At least from what Sephiroth had told him thus far, it seemed as though he hadn’t been speaking to Jenova at all… but Sephiroth’s true conscience. The test hadn’t been conducted by Jenova, but by Sephiroth. Perhaps Sephiroth had already broken free from Jenova long ago and the man with silver hair only feigned it up till now. The power that Jenova wielded was beyond belief—having corrupted and destroyed many planets in the past. For Sephiroth to break free of the most terrifying and manipulative entity known to humanity, it bespoke the power of will that Sephiroth possessed. It was more terrifying than Jenova herself. Who was the puppet-master, now? “I see…” Vincent mused allowed, indicating he had realized he was no longer addressing Jenova as he once thought.

This was very advantageous, yet Vincent was also aware that Jenova wouldn’t simply let go of her most valuable asset—Sephiroth. After all, she took on the form of those who the victim was closest to, someone they hated, loved, or feared. But Vincent would give Sephiroth the benefit of a doubt until those signs once again showed themselves.

Directing his attention towards Sephiroth again, he felt those piercing eyes searching his thoughts. As intrusive as it felt, in a sense Vincent wanted Sephiroth to know the truth. Perhaps it now was the time. There was a strong chance Jenova would try to thwart the effort, or Sephiroth would simply deny Vincent's request. Nevertheless, there was no better time than the present. One thing that kept tugging at Vincent's mind was what would happen if Sephiroth did agree to follow through with his request. What would be the consequences? Would he be putting Lucrecia in danger? There was a strong possibility. But keeping Lucrecia in the dark also seemed equally cruel. Sooner or later, Lucrecia would discover her son was indeed alive. What would she do then if he weren't present to protect her? How could he be sure the one he was talking to wasn't yet again Jenova just playing 5D chess and manipulating the gunslinger? And would Cloud and the others be exempt from what he was about to attempt? 'Let me see him. Just once!'

Vincent could remember hearing Lucrecia's cries towards Hojo from within the mako tank; Sephiroth had been separated from Lucrecia long before she could even hold him. Would seeing her son's face finally put her soul to rest? Or would it rip the wounds anew? Was Vincent going to deprive Lucrecia of her son's audience, also? “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Vincent began, his pair of crimson colors meeting Sephiroth’s with an equal measure of sincerity.

“In an effort to ensure your success and safety, Jenova made me promise to be your protector. And if I failed to do so…” His brows slightly furrowed, watching Sephiroth’s reactions keenly. “She would take what I cherish most.” Vincent turned in the direction of the cave as he continued to speak.

“Do you recall telling me to venture out? To find ‘my treasure’?” His voice lowered just above a whisper. “Jenova never told you who that was, did she?” Vincent asked, assuming that Sephiroth had been cultivating the seeds of doubt long before he had sensed it. Vincent began to pace and walk passed Sephiroth, looking out in the direction of the cave. “That someone…she wishes to see her one and only treasure, as well.” He then looked over his shoulder towards Sephiroth, only exposing his profile as long black strands hid part of his face. “That treasure... is you.”

[thejudgingtrash]

[Reflections]

[not edited, not fully beta‘d]

[Sukuna x fem!Reader]

"Kuna bestie babe!" You said and spun around to face him. Your eyes widened from the excitement and if a stranger had seen you, they would've been convinced you had snorted a line of the freshest lab made ecstasy currently available.

Sukuna, who was about to take a sip from your very expensive imported hibiscus tea, removed the mug from his lips and barked a stern "Do not call me that!" in your direction, which you obviously ignored.

"What's your professional opinion on Yuta?" You asked him instead.

"Okkotsu?" Sukuna took a sip.

He thought of Yuta's ability to copy, an incredibly useful technique, which he seemed to wield well from the little bits he saw through Itadori's eyes. He also knew how to use reverse cursed technique and to a decent level, as he had revived Yuji instantly, bypassing his binding vow with the higher-ups.

Certainly one of the smarter graduates from this godforsaken school, even if he looked like he hadn't slept in three weeks. Rika, Yuta's powerful shikigami, however, was a tad bit too possessive for the King's personal liking.

"He has great potential," he then stated diplomatically. If Yuta ever decided to fight him, Sukuna would absolutely agree to it. It seemed like a great idea even.

You nodded and your newfound best friend took another sip from the cup.

"Exactly! That's the reason why I will take his virginity!"

Sukuna nearly spat the delicious tea out. "You what?!" he coughed. He did not see that one coming.

"I've changed my mind, you know?" You said, ignoring the fight his airways had with the hot liquid.

He looked into your eyes, confused as he often was with you.

You held your index finger up like a stern teacher. "I've decided to dip my little princess toe into the shallow pond of Jujutsu Dating! And after some time thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that Yuta is absolutely adorable!"

Sukuna was for one speechless. He knew only one thing. He did not like your newfound obsession of Yuta in the slightest.

"And it's age appropriate!" Now he looked at you as if you were crazier than usual with that semi-confused frown on his face. Why on earth did you have to point that out?

You casually shrugged and then sheepishly smiled. "I thought about giving Kusakabe a little reward for my first grade sorcerer nomination but then I thought, hmm maybe not. At least not if I'm not 100% convinced he's into women, I'm not going to embarrass myself by asking him, you know? And well after I’m promoted obviously. Can’t let the others think I slept myself to the top."

"That man is old enough to be your father!" Enraged, Sukuna slammed the mug on the counter, both nearly destroying said mug and said counter.

———

Ohhh, this fic will be glorious and unhinged. I should've written a true crack fic way sooner this is so much fun 🤌🏾🫶🏾

[deathblacksmoke]

dying to get you dizzy

pairing: matt dierkes x f!reader x davis rider

word count: 2.8K

cw: partner sharing, poor communication, the boys are dummies, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), protected p in v sex, voyeurism, ~matty in the cuck chair~, m masturbation, a bit of jealousy & possessiveness, a dynamic that won't stop switching, boys kissing <3 (if you noticed i missed any warnings, please lmk!!!)

author's note: i don't remember how i got this idea — a little too much thc maybe? — but then an anon requested it and here we are. i hope it lives up to the expectations i set for it!

title from "dizzy on the comedown" by turnover

banner by @darksigns-exe 🩷

You couldn’t say with any sort of confidence how you got here.

It started with a glance, you think — an innocent look that lingered a little long. You know Matt caught it, judging by the way he had you pressed against the wall the moment Davis left, littering your neck and chest with possessive kisses and sucking bruises into your skin.

You vaguely remember his whisper in your ear before you came for the second time on his fingers, could barely make it out over the whooshing in your ears. Your legs had given out beneath you, kept from collapsing only by his hand wrapped gently around your neck and his leg between your thighs.

You want him, huh?

You didn’t know how to answer. You weren’t quite sure if you knew the answer yourself, but found yourself dizzied by the thought of it. His gaze seared through you, and you couldn’t help it. His words gave you no other option.

Don’t be shy, honey. You can tell me. You want him, don’t you?

With a desperate nod and a whine and an unintelligible plea, your vision blacked, your muscles failing you.

Everything between that and this — perched on the floor between Davis’ thighs while Matt kisses over your bare neck and shoulders — was a blur.

Matt’s big hands on your skin ground you, while one glance up at the man above you makes you feel like you’re floating. The push and pull between the safety of Matt’s presence and the watchful eyes of his friend is enough to make your head swim.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for him?” Matt asks, his warm breath beneath your ear goose pimpling your skin. You nod — there’s no other choice — you want to be good for them both. “Why don’t you ask him what he wants, honey?”

When you look up at Davis, he isn’t meeting your eye. Suddenly, you feel so very small — you almost want to shy away, but Matt was right, you did want this.

“Davis, can I—?” your voice comes out more as a croak than anything. You place a hand on his thigh, not too high, not trying to push any boundaries. He looks down at you with wide eyes, and you’re not quite sure what to do. “How do you want me?”

His gaze flits away from you, to where Matt is knelt behind you, and for the first time it occurs to you that maybe they didn’t discuss this at all before Davis came here. You turn around in Matt’s arms, looking at him in disbelief. He has the nerve to look confused.

“What, baby?” he asks. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“What exactly did you discuss when you invited him?” you ask him, and he looks at you a little stupid. His silence tells you all there is to know, and as exasperated as it makes you, you’re sadly not shocked. You and Matt haven’t done anything like this before, and it had surprised you how quickly the arrangement had been set up. Looking back, you probably should have expected that the plans were made without any sort of discussion on rules or boundaries or expectations.

You excuse yourself from Davis and take Matt to another corner of the room.

“What is he expecting to happen here today?” you ask Matt, and you think there ought to be a bit of shame painted on his face, but his expression betrays nothing. He has no idea what he’s done wrong. You often feel a dull urge to shake him — never stronger than in this moment. “Did you just ask him if he wanted to fuck me, and he said yeah, and now we’re all here?”

You were prepared for his answer, but it infuriates you anyway. “I mean, more or less.”

You’d like to tell him how lucky he is that you love him.

“What are you expecting to happen here today?” you ask, and you can see as he almost shrugs, but thinks better of it. You decide to file that away. “What are the rules? What’s off limits?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m concerned,” he responds, and the buzzing is back, a warmth erupting beneath your skin and coursing through you. “You’ll have to ask him. But you can do whatever you feel like, baby. This is for you.”

“How involved do you want to be?” you ask him, just to clarify, not wanting to leave him out. He shrugs, like you’re deciding on dinner and he couldn’t care less, not making belated negotiations on a three-way. You let him have his indecision. “So I’m in charge. That’s fun.”

“Told you it’s for you,” he replies, as simple as ever.

You press a kiss to his cheek, another to the corner of his mouth. You can never stay mad at him for long — a blessing and a curse.

“You should have had this talk with him, you know,” you add for good measure. He nods, and you’re still not sure he gets it, but you’ll let it go for now. Turning away from him, you’re a little too eager to get back to Davis.

You perch yourself on the bed next to him, your knee pressing into his thigh, but not yet daring to get closer. Not until you ask.

“I hear Matty didn’t really talk much with you about what was going to happen here,” you start. He shakes his head — a bit obvious. “He asked you if you wanted to fuck me, though?” you continue. He gives you a shy little nod, so quiet and nervous today. You can’t help the way it has you squirming a little, especially as you notice him getting a little brave, the knuckles of his index and middle finger grazing gently over your bare thigh. “And you do, right?”

“Can you come a little closer?” he asks, finally speaking up. He sounds so sure, just like always, not timid in the way that you’d expected him to be, judging by his behavior today. You start slowly scooting closer before he gets a gentle grip on your leg, prompting you to swing it over him. With his thigh between your legs, you feel so shy again, your skin hot all over. You throw your arms over his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. The smell of his cologne floods your senses.

“What do you want?” you ask, your skin goose-pimpling as his hands toy with the edges of your panties, sliding under to feel the bare skin of your ass. Your skin goes hot-cold-hot and it dizzies you. You swallow thickly, and your words come out barely louder than a whisper. “You have to tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” he says, the fingers of one of his hands running through your hair, gently directing your gaze up to meet his. “Anything you want. If I want you to stop, I’ll say,” he assures you, his lips meeting yours, but just barely. “I don’t think that’ll happen, though.”

Your head feels so fuzzy with the permission, with the free-reign you’ve been given. You find your way back between his spread legs again, just barely catching his soft gasp as you go. As you run a hand over his sweats, you feel him hard under your palm, and it’s without a second thought that you pull his waistband down, freeing his cock and marveling at the size.

When you hear a rustling behind you, you chance one last look over your shoulder at Matt — in the armchair next to your dresser, his gaze intently focused on the two of you, his hand already down the front of his sweats. His expression doesn’t change as you study him.

When you turn back around, his watchful eye bores through you. You remind yourself of the explicit permission, the enthusiastic consent, the free-reign to be in charge that they both gave you, as you take Davis’ cock between your lips.

The overwhelm is so immediate, a whooshing in your ears as everything consumes your senses, your mind racing and empty all at once. His cock is heavy on your tongue, and you make a conscious effort to ignore all the sounds going on around you, the twitch in your mouth as you slide your tongue through his slit, his soft gasps, the unmistakable sounds of Matt’s low groans and the distinctive spit-slicked noises. Davis runs a hand through your hair again and tugs — you choke, needing a moment to pull away and catch your breath. You keep your hand stroking him, admiring the way the tip is already red and angry and leaking pre-cum.

You look up at Davis to find his gaze trained just past you again. If he notices that the movement of your hand has slowed, he doesn’t show it. When you peer over your shoulder at Matt, it’s almost as if you’re not in the room at all. 

A spark of mischief keeps your feelings from hurting.

“Matty,” you interrupt his thoughts, directing his gaze to you. “Are you guys having a staring contest?”

He looks at you a little dumb. You remind yourself you have the upper hand here, despite what Matt may like to tell himself.

“Why don’t you give him a little kiss?” you ask, your attention back on Davis, delighting in the widening of his eyes as his cock twitches unmistakably in your grasp.

Matt doesn’t react for a few long moments. You consider pivoting away from the topic before you hear a shuffling behind you, but you don’t dare a look backwards.

The bed dips beneath his weight as he kneels beside his friend, and he looks down at you, his expression calm. You reach for him, yearning for the contact, and his hand twines with yours before his attention returns to Davis.

You can’t tell who leans in first. They gaze at each other for a beat before the subtlest shift, their lips meeting softly. Davis places a hand on Matt’s jaw and the grip on your hand tightens, just slightly. Matt’s eyes flicker closed a moment later, his eyelashes fluttering prettily against the tops of his cheeks. You can see the beginnings of a small smile.

You watch Davis treat him gently and a buzzing erupts beneath your skin.

You’ve felt it countless times but have never seen it like this — the way his muscles relax, the slow unclenching of his jaw as a thumb soothes over his skin, the flutter of his eyelashes as he lets out the pretty sigh. You’ll never lose sight of how gorgeous he looks, always but especially so under the spell of being treated with a delicate hand.

You almost can’t help the little piece of you that feels impatient, jealous. You don’t notice yourself tugging on him until Matt pulls away from Davis, lips swollen and smirking.

“Are you feeling left out?” he teases.

When Davis drifts a finger over your cheek and looks down at you curiously, you feel subtly embarrassed that he can feel just how red hot your skin is, can see you squirming.

It’s completely without his beckoning that you find yourself rising from the floor and crawling into his lap. Matt’s hand finds the small of your back, a gentle guidance, as Davis curls a hand around your exposed hip. You’ve never felt so surrounded.

When your lips finally meet his in a kiss, you can taste Matt on his tongue. A gasp escapes as you shift yourself closer, burying your fingers in his hair. Behind you, Matt snickers at your desperation, crowding into your space and pressing his lips to your ear.

“Your turn?” he asks, getting a handle on the situation, no trace of teasing left in his tone. You nod frantically.

He’s so solid beneath you, but soft and pliable in a way you’ve grown unaccustomed to with Matt. There’s no playful push and pull as he responds to your every move and lets you lead the way. He shifts beneath you, his cock pressing hard against your inner thigh, and your vision goes fuzzy.

Upon turning back to Matt, you’re greeted with his pretty smile — all knowing, steps ahead, as always — and you can’t help the way you melt.

“I want him,” you confess, as if it wasn’t already clear. He just nods, presses a kiss to the side of your mouth before lending you space again. 

You find your gaze still trained on him, eyes wide. Matt nudges you, pointing a finger towards Davis. “You have my permission. You need to ask him, my love.”

You curl your fingers through the soft hair at the base of his skull, cradling the back of his head in your hand. He’s so warm, so solid beneath you, and you want him so badly. He stretches up to place a delicate kiss on your mouth, then another, and another. Butterflies fill your tummy.

“Do you want me?” you breathe into his mouth. He smiles against your lips.

“You know I do,” Davis responds, pulling you as close as he can get you, his strong hands kneading the plush skin of your ass, your thighs, every available inch of you.

You don’t need to ask him how he wants you. The moment you climb off of him, he quickly strips himself of his clothes. You take in the long lines of his body, his pretty tattooed skin, as you take off your bra and panties. You feel more exposed than ever, more eager than before.

Davis reaches into the bedside table for a condom — lucky guess — and props himself against the pillows. Matt has made his way back to the chair, happy to watch, nodding towards the bed when you take a final look back at him.

When you crawl back into his lap, Davis’ fingers find their way to your center, running gently through your folds. It’s so subtle, but your eyes roll into the back of your head nonetheless.

“You’re so wet,” he marvels, making you blush. “You’re gonna feel so nice. Are you ready for me?”

In place of an answer, you just scoot yourself forward, taking him in your hand and letting yourself sink down. You immediately feel so full of him, overwhelmed in a way you weren’t expecting. You lay your palms rest flat against his tummy, his warm and soft skin beneath your fingers grounding you as you set a languid pace, a slow grind over his lap.

He lets you stay in control, his hands not on your hips but toying with your nipples — a brush here, a light pinch there, making your skin tingle with pleasure, an involuntary gasp, and then another. You use the leverage of your hands on his torso to begin lifting yourself up, closing your eyes, sinking back down, quicker. The build-up has made you feel a little out of your head, and you feel so nice, you’re not quite sure how long you’ll be able to make yourself last.

You hear a movement behind you before you feel the bed sink under a weight, a hand on your knee, a touch that’s become unmistakable to you. You lift your head and open your eyes, grateful to see Matt there in front of you, next to Davis. The contrast of Matt’s expanse of soft skin and Davis’ tattoos — you can’t deny they look pretty together. The hand Matt doesn’t have around himself moves from your knee between your folds, swiping over your clit, a light pressure, making your skin buzz.

Their hands working in tandem to make you feel good, Matt’s between your legs and Davis’ on your breasts, completely overcomes you. You watch in awe as they kiss again, a peek of tongue dancing between their open mouths, whispers between kisses that you can’t make out, their fingers still bringing you ever closer to your climax. You fight against your eyes fluttering closed, needing to keep sight on them before you. 

Matt groans into the other’s mouth and you know that sound, redirect your glance just in time to watch as his cum spills onto Davis’ tummy. Davis doesn’t follow far behind him, for the first time getting a tight grip on your hip and thrusting up into you, spilling into the condom.

With a final whine, you collapse forward, letting your orgasm overwhelm you. You feel two distinct hands on you, lips pressing into your hair, whispers of good girl and good job, baby as your senses fade out.

Rolling off of Davis and collapsing between them, sandwiched between them as they both curl themselves around you, you hope they miss the mischievous little twinkle in your eye as an idea pops into your head — a plan for part two.

tag list <3 (sign up for my tag list here)

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites

@mysticdoodlez @malice-ov-mercy @sorrowsofsilence @fadingangelwisp @concretejunglefm

@collapsedglasshouses @cookiesupplier @spicywhenspeaking @lacy1986 @abiomens

@agravemisstake @cncohshit @xserenax-13 @dominuslunae @poisongirl616

@iknownothingpeople @thisbicc @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @theanarchymuse95 @flowery-mess

@shilohrosechicken

[the-dragon-hearted]

Love in Arcane

There are a lot of themes in Arcane but an overarching theme is the dangers of love. Often times, love is put on a pedestal and mistaken as sacred. Love is always good, always "pure".

Arcane actively pushes against that.

I think a lot of the discourse surrounding some of the relationships wouldn't be as big if we recognized that love is just... not always a good thing. Silco and Jinx, Powder and Vi, Mel and Ambessa, they all display that - let me explain.

Silco and Jinx: Probably the most obvious example of this

Silco loves Jinx. This earnestly cannot be argued, he was willing to throw away his dream of an independent Zaun because he could not handle the idea of betraying her. Not losing her - betraying her. Hurting her. He was willing to give himself up, telling Jayce everything she did was what he ordered. It is not a possessive twisted love where he wants her near - he has spent her entire life promising that he won't betray her and he meant it.

BUT!

That does not mean Silco is a good father. He loves her - absolutely. But love is not always good. Everything Silco passed on to Jinx was an example of how he saw the world. Silco was a paranoid, hurt man and as such he made his daughter a paranoid, hurt woman. Love forms us, it teaches us and builds us. Silco loved Jinx but he hated Piltover. He was willing to use violence and use people to get to his goal and he taught Jinx that those methods were acceptable. And he loves Jinx, so she learned.

And after he dies, part of her healing is unlearning those lessons. It's no mistake the ghost of Silco she sees in that cell is a somber one - warning her about the cycle of violence she knows all too well. It's no mistake that Silco's solution was one he never managed to do.

A parent can love you, but that does not change who they are. It does not change what they teach you. Especially if they think they're right.

Powder and Vi: this one hits a lil personally for me

Violet is a parentified older sister, she doesn't just feel responsible for Powder - it's her purpose. It's more than a role to fill or a job to do, if something happens to Powder it is Violet's fault.

And Powder? Vi was everything to her. She looked to Vi for praise, for guidance. Everything she was supposed to seek out in a parent she had to look for in a fellow child. And when Violet leaves her (not really but that's how she understands it), she is ripped away from the only source of dependency she has. So there's a level of resentment there and a fear of further abandonment. Because if the most reliable person in her life can leave her, who won't?

When they reunite, Vi is trying to fulfill a role Jinx no longer needs. Jinx is independent. A lot of people try to say that Vi made Jinx or Silco made Jinx but remember that at the end of the day, Jinx is Jinx. She is a person who makes her own choices and has to find her own path. Violet can't recognize that until it's too late - and then, because she's known her whole life that it is her purpose to take responsibility for Powder, she betrays everything she ever stood for, puts on an enforcer badge, and takes to the streets to try to atone for her failure.

Vi sees Jinx as her failure.

And Jinx? When Vi comes back she tries to find that dependency she once knew. She tries to figure out if she can still depend on that sister who once meant the entire world to her. But she can't. She never should have. And learning that the person you idolize most sees you as either a child or a threat is gutting. Jinx is not a child, so she must be a threat. Because Vi can't love Jinx, she loves Powder. And Jinx can't be Powder anymore, and if that's the case then Violet can't love her.

They both do love each other. They love the memories of the other. Who they once were. When they start to learn about one another again and rekindle that siblinghood it becomes healthier - it's more meaningful and respectful but before then? No matter how hard Violet tried, even if Jinx had chosen to be Powder again, their love would not have been healthy. Violet needed to learn that Jinx was her own person. And that she was not responsible for her, not anymore. Jinx needed to find herself and recognize Vi's failures. Recognize Violet as a person too.

Because siblings change. They grow. Apart and then back together, usually. Siblings love each other but you have to love more than the person someone used to be. Otherwise, you're just pouring your grief on the person they've become.

Ambessa and Mel:

Perfectionist mother meets over-achiever, independent daughter. This is the clearest cut of all the relationships, in my opinion. We know Mel resents that her mother sent her away because she wanted to stay. She wanted to make her mother proud and if she couldn't make her proud she'd damn well spite her. And Ambessa? She loves Mel. She makes that very clear.

But sometimes, love is not something to desire. Sometimes love is synonymous with prison.

Ambessa's love meant she wanted her children to be survivors. Fighters. Winners. She wanted her children to be her.

Mel? Mel figured out quickly enough she didn't want to be her mother, she wanted to be herself. She feared what her mother could do but recognized the tactics and skills she honed were granted to her from the cradle.

That last word: "You have become the wolf."

The nail in the coffin. All the love, all the adoration in that tone, and yet Ambessa's love condemns Mel to a life she never wanted. Because now Mel is her mother's daughter. She is the wolf her mother raised. The heir. Mel loses everything she built and fought for as her Mother dies in her arms, by her hands.

Love. Succession. They can coexist with hate and damnation.

You can love someone and hurt them. Being loved can be hurtful. Love does not mean healthy. It does not mean good. Because love doesn't really have a tangible definition. You can love someone with everything in your body and still be bad for them. Someone can love you with all they have and yet haunt you long after their gone. I think we've placed love on this untouchable pedestal that we dare not touch or critique.

Because: "If it's bad for you it can't be love. No - people who love you don't hurt you. Love is only good. Love is good!"

It's important to know that being loved does not equal being happy, fulfilled, or safe. Better love exists. Healthy, meaningful, caring love exists. But even that will not always be perfect.

Love hurts. Love can be the most hurtful thing out there. Adoring someone rides a find line with glorifying them - love doesn't do that. Love knows your faults. It comes with faults. And adding the right combination of faults can make love a twisted sort of thing. Toxic is a word that's thrown around a lot and often separated from love.

Love can be toxic. It doesn't always become some separate entity, it just manifests sickeningly. Arcane shows us that.

It also shows us love can be good. It can forgive and accept. It can cradle and hold and save. It can last through dimensions and centuries, even through death. Love, like anything else, has many forms. Good and bad.

Doesn't Singed do atrocious things in the name of Love?

Doesn't Ekko recognize that even if he loves Powder, it's not his world. It's not his happiness to have. Doesn't leaving that love take strength?

Don't Viktor and Jayce find love in faults? In each other's shortcomings, not despite them but because of them?

Arcane encourages us to recognize Love's complexities and contradictions. And I think that's neat.

[secondarysefikura]

Back when he was still with Shinra Sephiroth used to secretly write fanfiction about himself. All of it was basically him having a normal life with his friends Angeal and Genesis, and of course his mother Jenova. It was pretty well received by those who read them, but even if they weren’t Sephiroth just enjoyed writing them. Years later after returning from the lifestream yet again Sephiroth decides for old time’s sake to write again. And while people are happy that NormalHuman7777 had returned they’re all also very confused because their stories have now drastically changed. Their new stories are no longer about the late general in a normal and domestic setting, but now their about him becoming a god? And Sephiroth’s mother is also now an alien? Where’s Angeal and Genesis, they used to have huge roles in the stories, but they’re not even so much as mentioned. Also who’s this Cloud person the author keeps shipping with Sephiroth? Every new story now has Cloud in it and the author spends paragraphs detailing everything involving Cloud, talking about how beautiful he is, and how much Sephiroth wants him, and they always get together at the end if not sooner. Is he a self insert? Also the author really hates their OCs Tifa and Aerith, always having the two die in the most horrific ways.

You know what would make this all so much funnier? If young Cloud was a fan of NormalHuman7777's works. Perhaps he even had a bit of a friendship with NormalHuman7777, with the two messaging from time to time and bouncing ideas off each other.

When Sephiroth starts writing again, Cloud gets a little notification about the new fic. He decides that even though he has no interest in reading Sephiroth fanfiction anymore, he may as well comment on the fic for old time's sake. Except when he goes to the comments, people are asking about this new Cloud character and this whole "God" plotline.

Sephiroth's fanfic: Cloud leaned his head back, exposing his neck to his god in a sign of submission. He looked even more beautiful than normal as his mouth parted just enough for his tongue to dart across his chapped lips. As Sephiroth reached out and touched Cloud's neck, the blonde's throat bobbed in nervous anticipation. A rather feminine looking man, it was nearly impossible to see or notice Cloud's adam's apple. Still, the faint bulge of Cloud's adam's apple felt devine under Sephiroth's thumb, and Sephiroth pushed harder to feel the cartilage better.

"Beautiful," Sephiroth praised.

Cloud's eyes fluttered shut with content pride as his god praised him. He felt stupid for ever opposing the great god and for trying to hide from Jenova's warm embrace.

"I know," Sephiroth said, sensing the distress that washed over precious doll as memories of those horrid women came back to him, "but now you are exactly where you belong, and you will never leave me again. We will be together forever--a god and his most cherished possession--and there is nothing those fools can ever do to change that."

"Sephiroth, please," Cloud begged, leaning further into Sephiroth's touch, "please fuck me. I want to be one with you in everyway. I need you inside of me!"

Cloud: What the actual fuck.

[greatbridge]

My versions of Relativity Scalene & Euclid :]

(Second drawing is the more recent one)

For my version of Relativity Falls, I really liked the ideas that people put out about scalene and Euclid, so I sort of took that concept and ran with it. Here are some Thoughts I had, if u wanna use em for ur own rf versions then go wild!!! Just tell me that you’re using them because I love to see other people’s interpretations of this au :)

I really liked the idea that someone else had of them sort of being physically “together” in a sense (this, where they are back-to-back(made by @fungalscrungle)). the idea of them being so codependent they actually sort of became “one” was really interesting, but I messed with it a but more and ended up with them both shaped in a way that they can “snap” together like magnets. They are actually two separate entities, but they are joined at the hip in the most literal sense to the point that they are constantly at each other’s side.

They both have little pieces of one another, which I decided were the Euclidean version of wedding rings. Idk it seemed fitting for Bill’s parents to “carry a piece of the other wherever they go” but literal. He’d probably think it’s romantic to have a piece of your partner’s body at all times, and… these are his parents.

Scalene is the one on the left, she’s the “mother”, and Euclid is the one on the right, he’s the “father”. Considering their dimension has 14 billion different genders, I like to think that they decided to emulate the 1950’s “nuclear family” stereotype to seem “friendlier” to humans

Actually their whole vibe really revolves around that stereotype. They really REALLY give off 1950’s nuclear family suburban white couple vibes in the way they talk, like “hey honey! How about we mentally torture this human today?” “I thought you’d never ask, pumpkin!” Because those always seem threatening to me. It’s the sanitization, the perfection, the blank smiles that show just a bit too much teeth. The “perfection” to the point of inhumanity, you know?

And that sort is is the opposite of what gravity falls embodies, isn’t it? Like being ur authentic weird self vs. being a perfect version of you that hides anything different

Euclid is more methodic and calm, meanwhile Scalene is sweet, but it’s a cover for a lot of the same manic instability that bill had, LIKE THE 50’S HOUSEWIFE STEREOTYPE.

Their dynamic can essentially be summed up as “She kills ppl, he hides the bodies.” True love💖

When they possess someone, maybe since there’s two of them doing it at the same time, the person’s brain starts to overheat or get damaged, since there’s not enough space for them.

In relation to Dipper, I absolutely ADORE the idea that @amissamidstthemist had (here). LIKE YES!!!! They WOULD have a sort of “parental bond” with Dipper! That is SO PEAK!

They would like baby him and praise him and Euclid would ruffle his hair and Scalene would call him affectionate names.

Not only do they tap into his loneliness when it comes to that, but they also tap into his paranoia, make him believe everybody else is out to get him. He can only rely on them. “TRUST NO ONE!” (This actually is them just making a trait dipper already has worse, but one day I think i’ll touch on that)

For their backstory, I don’t know if anyone else has thought of this(someone probably has tbh) but for me they probably tried to see the stars for their son and because of that destroyed their dimension and their son with it(ow.)

BECAUSE OF THIS, they actually begin to get attached to Dipper, because he reminds them of their son, and constantly compare him to their son.

They treat Dipper a bit like the Other Mother treated Coraline.

OKAY I THINK THAT’S ALL. UH. ENJOY I GUESS LMAO

[mrs-hatake]

what a second... do you like the yandere trope 👀 not a formal request but like... the well is running dry on yandere versions of the lads men, any possibility you can write smth for them? u can do just Caleb if that makes u comfortable!! I just need yan!lnds but not many people in the fanbase do it 😔

i LOVE yandere!! especially when it’s well written 👌🏼

tbh, aside from caleb and (maybe) xavier, i can’t see any of the lads men as the yendere type, especially sylus. however, i think zayne can go down the yandere route at some point in his life.

i don’t have any plot ideas :( but i can tell you which types of yandere they are or they might be :)

caleb:

i think caleb would be the type of yandere who inserts himself in your life and plant his seeds of his possession from the start. he’s the type that will manipulate you into thinking he’s the only one you need. and that takes time and training. he’ll use a punishment and reward type of system; you do something wrong; he’ll either ignore you or give you short and clipped answers. you do something right and he’ll return to his usual self, praising you with smiles and a head pat.

he won’t outright isolate you from your friends but he’ll somehow convince you that they aren’t a priority.

xavier:

i don’t know anything about him since i always skip what he says lol so pls don’t came at me when i say he’s the jealous type of yandere.

he’s the type that has to be better than anyone else; stronger, faster, smarter, richer and so one and so forth.

xavier doesn’t like when guys approach you because he thinks they’re useless and aren’t worth your time.

zayne:

if zayne ever became a yandere, he’d be the overly obsessed type of yandere. he literally knows everything about you. What size shoes you wear, what type of toothpaste you use, what time you came home after work, the random elderly woman whom you helped cross the street and he even knows that you lost 0.5kg from a single glance.

he has to know who you’re with, where you are, why are you talking to someone, etc.

zayne even has several photo albums that he organized based on date, day, time and sometimes mood or weather. this guy’s nuts tbh.

sylus:

like i said, i can’t see him as the yandere type but if he were one, he’d be the harmless type. he’s aware of obsession over you so he knows how to control it.

sylus would be obsessed but not like zayne. he’s the type that places you on a pedestal, views you as a superior human so he must work hard to please and satisfy you.

he has you living in a gorgeous home. he’s showering you in money and adorns your arms in expensive jewelry. sylus is cooking delicious food, so good, that you never dine out or oder in anymore.

sylus loves you unconditionally, flaws and all. even when you do something wrong, he still accepts them because it a part of you. he doesn’t feel hurt because you often come around and correct your wrong doing.

rafayel:

he’s also the harmless type of yandere. his mantra is, “if you’re happy, then i’m happy.”

rafayel knows how to read you so he knows how to adapt to your mood. you’re upset? then he’ll be the perfect shoulder to cry on, the best therapist there is, he’d so anything to see you smiling again.

you’re feeling bright and bubbly? then rafayel is also intoxicated with exuberance. in need of a best friend, rafayel is there too.

like caleb, he molds himself into the perfect object for you to rely on. and if he doesn’t know something or doesn’t have a certain skill set, then he’ll teach and train himself until he masters them.

you don’t need friends, family or lovers to rely on when you have rafayel right there by your side.