#i only stare at him respectfully i promise

[greengoblinswifey]

Club Rendezvous—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— while on spring break, you cross paths with Luigi Mangione at a club, sparking an immediate connection that leads to a night in your hotel room. based on this request.

warnings— grinding, drinking, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— Those photos are so fratboy Luigi coded, idk I like this little mood board, enjoy <3 I really hope he’s doing well, my heart aches when I think about him.

The club was alive, the high energy vibes only spring break could deliver. Neon lights flashed across the crowd, music boomed loud enough to shake the walls, and you and your friends were in the middle of it all. Drinks in hand, laughter over the music, you were living your best life. Your group wasn’t shy about taking over the dance floor, swaying your hips to the beat, your confidence catching more than a few eyes.

Among those eyes were his. Some tall, dark curly haired guy leaned casually against the bar, drink in hand, charm on full display. His backwards cap barely kept his dark curls in check, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms. He was the type of guy who made heads turn without even trying. And tonight, his focus was on you.

You noticed him when you turned toward the bar, locking eyes for the briefest second. His smirk was teasing, and when he tipped his drink in your direction, you knew the game was on.

“Who’s that fine ass staring at you like you’re the last shot at the bar?” your friend shouted over the music, nudging you.

“Probably just some frat boy who thinks he’s cute,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you.

“Girl, he’s cute!” another friend chimed in. “Go dance with him!”

You rolled your eyes playfully but turned your attention back to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before he made his move, walking through the crowd until he was standing close enough for you to feel his presence.

“You dance as good as you look?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Why don’t you find out?” you shot back, challenging him.

He laughed, the sound sexy and confident. “I was hoping you’d say that, I’m Luigi by the way.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you flirted.

Before you knew it, he was behind you, his hands resting respectfully at your hips, waiting for your cue. When you started to move, he followed your lead effortlessly, the two of you in sync. The beat pulsed through your body as you threw your ass back, his grip tightening slightly to match your rhythm.

Your friends were cheering you on from the sidelines, one even yelling, “Get it, girl! Pull him in!”

“Your friends are wild,” Luigi said with a chuckle, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your spine.

“They’re hyping me up,” you replied, glancing back at him. “Don’t let ‘em down.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, his cute smirk widening.

You felt on top of the world as you moved together, his presence grounding you while the world spun around you. The chemistry was undeniable, and the looks your friends shot your way only fueled your confidence.

“You’re stealing the show out here,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “I’m worth it.”

When the song ended, you turned to face him, breathless but grinning. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and for a moment, it felt like maybe you were.

“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, his tone a mix of boldness and uncertainty.

“Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you buying?”

“For you?” He laughed, already nodding. “Absolutely.”

As you walked toward the bar together, your friends erupted into cheers behind you.

“Go get your white boy, queen!” one shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to,” Luigi joked, glancing at your retreating friends.

“You better,” you replied, “Think you can handle it?”

“With you?” His smirk softened into something genuine. “I’ll try my best.”

Spring break had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

The bass of the club faded slightly as you and Luigi leaned against the bar, drinks in hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d introduced himself, and you couldn’t deny how charming his boyish confidence was. You had a good feeling about him.

“So, what’s your story?” Luigi asked, sipping his drink and leaning closer to hear you over the music.

“Just here for spring break with my girls,” you said with a shrug, “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours, “Though I’m thinking this night just got a lot better.”

“You’ve got lines, huh?”

“Only when they’re true,” he replied, raising his glass toward you.

Feeling bold, the words spat out of your mouth before you could overthink them. “You wanna come back to my hotel?”

Luigi’s thick eyebrows raised slightly, his grin widening. “I’d love to,” he said, “But only if I get to take you on a date tomorrow morning.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, he’d called an Uber he paid for, and the two of you were in the backseat, the city lights blurring past the windows. Luigi had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You turned to him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, but quickly deepened. His hand slid to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from him.

By the time you reached the hotel, the air between you was charged. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Luigi pressed you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a feral kiss. His hands roamed over your sides before one slid lower, fingers trailing into your bottoms.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Luigi,” you breathed out, your knees going weak as his fingers found your pussy.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice low as his fingers thrusted in slow strokes. “You’re so tight.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the soft whimper you let out when his thumb pressed against your clit betrayed you. His lips found your ear. “Don’t you dare hold those moans. I wanna hear you.”

When the elevator dinged, you both barely managed to pull yourselves together, your face dazed and breaths uneven. Stumbling down the hallway, Luigi was still kissing your neck as you fumbled with the keycard, his lips sending shivers down your spine.

The door finally opened, and the two of you stumbled inside, laughing softly before his lips found yours again. You fell back onto the bed, Luigi bracing himself above you as his kisses moved down your neck to your collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands tracing your sides. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Nah, I mean it. You’re stunning, and you’re driving me insane.”

His lips claimed yours again, his praise melting into your skin as his hands explored, every touch making you feel like he meant what he said.

His hands worked at the hem of your top, his lips brushing against your jawline. His fingers grazed your skin, pulling off your bottoms next slowly, leaving you in your bra and panties.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you like you were something rare. “I don’t think you even realize.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt in response. “You first,” you teased.

With a smirk, Luigi pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned torso with abs that had your breath hitching. When his hands worked to remove your bra, his fingers grazed your nipples. Once he freed you from it, he paused, staring at you as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Your panties were the last to go, and when you reached for his waistband, he let out a soft laugh, his hands gently stopping yours. “Let me take care of you first, pretty girl. Tonight’s about you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but Luigi was already lowering himself onto his knees at the edge of the bed. “Can I?” he asked, fingers resting on your thighs.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and he flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching slightly. He knew what he was doing, his mouth working against you with a precision that had your legs trembling. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging gently as he grinned against your skin.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he continued, “I could stay here all night.”

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he pressed his tongue in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your only response was a soft whimper, your head falling back as his tongue worked wonders against your quivering pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, leaving not one inch of your pussy untouched. When your body finally gave in, shuddering beneath him and creaming, he pulled away, lips and chin glistening to smirk at you.

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, licking his lips and climbing back onto the bed.

You tugged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “Lemme take care of you now,” you offered breathlessly, reaching for his waistband again.

Luigi caught your hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “Another time. Tonight, it’s all about you. You’ve got no idea how lucky I feel.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his tenderness making you realize you had scored the jackpot. He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants as your gaze followed him. When he finally slipped them off, your eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer size of his hard dick.

“You’re joking,” you murmured, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Don’t worry, baby” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked his tone serious.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“We can stop anytime,” Luigi reminded you, cupping your cheek. “Just say the word.”

“I’m sure, Luigi,” you assured him.

“Okay, amore,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Luigi positioned himself above you, one hand gripping yours as he lined his cock with your entrance. His lips brushed against your temple as he slowly pushed in, both of you hissing at the sensation.

“Luigi,” you whimpered, gripping his hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised. He set a steady rhythm, his strokes careful but deep enough to find your sweet spot. “You feel so good.”

“You’re so big,” you panted, your head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Who’s making you feel good?”

“You are, Luigi,” you gasped, your body reacting to every word and thrust.

“That’s right,” he murmured against your lips. “Only me.”

He quickened his pace slightly, his hand slipping to your waist to steady you. The pleasure was becoming too much as he bottomed out and slammed back in, each thrust making your pussy quiver. “Cum on my dick, amore,” he coaxed, his voice soft.

Your pussy obeyed, a wave of release coursing through you as his thrusts slowed down, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.

Before you could fully recover, Luigi flipped you onto your stomach, his hand sliding down your back. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, gripping your hips as he started again.

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building faster this time. “I— I don’t know if I can hold on,” you stammered, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to,” he reassured. “Cum for me baby. I’ve got you.”

Your body surrendered again, practically soaking his cock and the sheets, and he leaned down, pressing kisses along your shoulder. He gently turned you onto your side, lifting your leg as he settled behind you. His pace was slower now, deeper inside you, his hand brushing over your thigh as he whispered praises into your ear and you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“You’re amazing, amore,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck. “I love this pussy.”

You reached back to touch his arm, your breathing steadying as he continued to hold you close. He pressed kisses to the side of your face, his grip tightening on your leg as he rolled his hips with precision. You were so sensitive, all in your mind was his cock slamming into you then retreating with just the tip before he thrusted back in again. He found your sweet spot each time, your pussy quivering with every movement.

“Luigi,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm approaching.

“I know baby, I know. Cum with me. Can I cum inside you,” he asked.

“Mhmm—please, cum inside me,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit and it sent you right over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking under his touch as a wave of liquid sprayed from your pussy. He fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt the feeling of warm sticky cum filling you to the brim.

You both lay there panting, and you could feel his cum oozing from your pussy as he pulled out.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, disappearing into the bathroom.

You barely had the energy to lift your head, but moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in hand. Sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your thigh and smiled. “Let me take care of you.”

He started cleaning you up carefully. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, glancing at you with concern.

“No,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “I’m good. Just tired.”

He chuckled, setting the towel aside and lying down beside you. “Tired? I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from your face.

“You would,” you murmured, cracking a small smile.

He shifted closer, pulling the blanket over both of you. “So,” he started, “was it as good as you imagined it would be?”

“Confident much?” you said as you rolled your eyes playfully.

He grinned, leaning on his elbow to look at you better. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’re the one who moaned ‘Luigi’ about a hundred times.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grew flustered and hit his arm lightly.

“Now, tomorrow before the date, breakfast on the beach? Or room service?”

“Surprise me,” you said, already feeling your eyes grow heavy.

He settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Deal. Sweet dreams, amore.”

“Night, Luigi,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest as you drifted off, feeling completely safe and cared for.

[breathing-in-waves]

This picture has been out for almost two weeks and there have been no fics written yet?

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 1 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: none yet but oh baby just you wait...

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

bury a friend- Billie Eilish 🎶

i 

“Professor Crane?” You poke your head into the small office, the heavy door slightly crushing your body against the doorframe. The raven-haired man looks up from a stack of research papers on his desk and cocks an unwelcome eyebrow. 

“Come back during my office hours.” He waves you off with his free hand as he grades a paper with a red pen. His voice has the strange ability to both attract you and put you ill-at-ease at the same time. You step inside and let the heavy door close behind you. You don’t need to lock it, yet. Dr. Crane looks you up and down quickly, his lip curled in displeasure and disinterest. 

“It’s a quick question, I promise sir,” you lie through your teeth, your dimples showing beneath your full cheeks as you smile. Dr. Crane looks up at you from over the rim of his harsh rectangular frames. He stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes shifting as he thinks, then finally he sighs and sits back in his desk chair. 

“What’s your name?” He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean with the corner of his suit jacket. He puts them back on as you sit down opposite of him, the desk between you. You glance down at the research papers, an action that is barely noticeable, if at all. 

“Victoria,” you answer and watch as Dr. Crane sighs again, impatiently. He rolls his eyes after a moment of silence and leans forward, gesturing his hand through the air to get you to continue. 

“What did you want to ask me?” He asks pointedly, losing whatever patience he had left. 

“Well we’ve spoken once before but it was just a brief exchange after one of your lectures,” you start and Crane watches you, barely paying attention now. His eyes seem to glaze over. “I asked you about the chemical components of fear. I’d like to hear your answer.” You say slowly, your hands playing with the edge of your seat. Dr. Crane barely cocks his head to the side before he clucks his tongue and looks away. 

“Did you not like the answer I gave you before?” 

“I’d forgotten what you said,” you explain as you wipe your clammy hands on your thighs. Dr. Crane threw his gaze back to you and raised an eyebrow, his expression one of obvious judgment. 

“Fear is an emotional response to a threat. It’s a basic evolutionary survival mechanism. The two primary parts of the brain that deal with fear are the amygdala and the hippocampus…” he answers dully, regurgitating what every psych student already knows. 

“Respectfully, sir,” you start, your voice steady, “I’m talking about the chemical components of fear, not the anatomical.” 

Dr. Crane regards you with an unreadable expression and then removes his glasses, sighing deeply again. He looks down at his glasses and then clears his throat. 

“You’re interested in fear chemistry, are you?” His tone is low and dry, like he’s mocking you. 

“Interested isn’t exactly the right word.” You answer with a small shrug. 

“What is the right word then, Victoria?” The way he says your name is sharp, like a door closing when you aren’t expecting it. He finally looks up at you again.

“I’m…” you search for the right word and then wet your lips, “... attracted to the concept of fear. It’s almost like a passion project that can’t be satisfied.” 

“Attracted to fear?” Crane repeats slowly, though his face doesn’t change. 

“Fear is one of the most fascinating phenomena in the creation of our universe, don’t you think?” 

Dr. Crane regards you differently, his breath shifting to a new rhythm. He wets his lips before he answers, his words measured. 

“One could debate that. I’d say pleasure or desire are more complex and powerful. Why fear?” 

“It’s the power of control over both the mind and body,” you respond without batting an eye. 

“Is it power that fascinates you, Victoria?” Crane asks softly, his hands clenching and relaxing in his lap. “One could say that pleasure can have a similar effect.” 

You allow yourself to blush, knowing it’ll look more believable if you do. “Well, it’s also about control…” 

Dr. Crane looks down at his hands again and thinks for a moment before responding, his voice still calm and even despite the shift in the room. 

“Do you find control attractive?” 

“Well, don’t you? Isn’t that why you became a teacher? The role gives you control over the development of new minds,” you smile sweetly. 

A rare smirk creeps across Crane’s face. He looks up at you and puts his glasses back on, the silver frames catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs. 

“You’re very perceptive,” he trails off and folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Control is a powerful and attractive aspect of fear.” 

“And what’s so fascinating about fear specifically is that it is universal. Everyone has something that they’re afraid of… even you. And that’s what led me to ask myself this question: what are you, Professor Crane, afraid of? And for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.” Your eyes meet his with an obvious change in intentionality. Crane doesn’t react but feels himself leaning forward slightly like a snake rearing its head.

“I have a few guesses but it doesn’t matter for right now,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I read your old thesis about fear in mammalian species and it’s given me a lot of insight into my own mind.” 

“You’ve read my thesis?” Dr. Crane cocks his brow again and grips his hands together painfully. His body goes cold in warning like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. “Most of my students barely attend class, much less decide to read my work.” 

This is the moment. You lean forward slightly, your hair falling off your shoulders, your eyes wide with excitement. 

“Oh, I never said I was a student, Professor Crane.” 

Dr. Crane freezes, his cold heart stuttering in his chest. He swallows slowly, trying to collect his thoughts before he responds. 

“Then who, may I ask, are you?” 

“I attended one of your lectures on radical treatment of phobias, which is where we spoke for the first time, and yes, I did sit in on one of your classes and left with additional reading materials and a better appreciation for your work. Your thesis however,” you tilt your head away in a show of shyness, “that’s available for any ‘crazy’ to find.”

“Mmm so, you’re just a ‘crazy’ then?” Crane hums cooly, “But that still doesn’t answer how you managed to get a copy of my thesis. It was pulled from circulation and all hard copies that I was aware of were destroyed.” 

“I’m good at getting answers and it helps when people find you attractive…” you shift in your seat, looking away. You can feel Crane’s eyes on you as he considers your answer. 

“And I guess that means you think that I find you attractive?” Crane guesses cooly, his eyes not leaving your face. You look back at him and take note of his guarded expression. Taking a breath, you fix your hair and meet his eyes. 

“I think you’re attracted to my mind.” 

“Who are you?” He asks again, leaning closer against his better judgment, like a moth to the flame. 

“I’m surprised you’re so unconcerned with my presence here, late at night when everyone else has gone home…” your posture is rigidly still as you speak. Dr. Crane smirks softly. 

“You are a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, and you don’t look very dangerous to me. Why would I be concerned?” 

“Because I think I know what you’re afraid of, doc.” You whisper and Crane freezes again, his heart jumping in his chest at your thinly veiled threat. Despite his feelings of unease, Crane smiles. He studies your lips as you speak and the way your body is angled towards him. 

“And what is it that I’m afraid of?” 

And just like that, it’s become a game. 

You smile a little, wanting him to feel safe and comfortable. He isn't intimidated by you yet and you want him to take you seriously. You lean closer, ducking your head in a whisper. 

“Being found out…” 

“About what, pet?” Crane asks pointedly, in a challenging tone. 

“Well…,” you sit back in your chair casually and tuck your hair behind your ears. “I’ve always had a natural inclination towards crime. That’s what made me become a detective. I thought what I wanted was to restore justice in Gotham, but I’ve quickly learned that justice is a jealous mistress and maybe my interest in crime has other motives… Are you following me so far?” 

Dr. Crane massages his mouth with his hand, listening intently. His lips are pursed beneath his fingers, his eyes void of any telling secrets. 

“So far,” he sighs. 

“You and I share something very important. It’s made us both who we are today. I just realized it before you did.” 

“Oh? And what do you think we share?” He furrows his brow skeptically. 

You stand and brush the hem of your dress over your thighs. As Crane watches you, you trail a finger over the books on your bookshelf, stopping at one and pretending to read one of the pages. 

“Thomas Wayne.” 

You toss the book in front of him on the desk. The book is open to the author bio. It’s a picture of your parents, the authors of a book on criminal psychology. The Arkhams.

"These are my parents. My name was Victoria Vale when I was born. Thomas Wayne murdered them and they put me in an orphanage. I didn’t know they were my parents until I started looking into the Waynes. And then I found you…” You keep your story short and to-the-point, not wanting to reveal too much. Dr. Crane looks between the photo and you, his brow furrowed as he works it all out in his head. Maybe for the first time in his life, he finds himself speechless. 

“So you really are crazy, aren’t you, pet?” He covers the shaky tone of his voice with a sneer. You ignore him and close the book, pushing it aside on the desk. 

“Tell me, what did Thomas Wayne do to you?” 

Dr. Crane looks up at you and scoffs. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb until the pressure between his eyes fades. 

“And why would I tell you that?” 

“Because I already know the answer, I’m just giving you the opportunity to say it.” You lean against the bookshelf and cross your arms over your chest. Dr. Crane regards you with suspicion and shakes his head. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

“Am I?” You bite back. You stare at each other, eyes narrowed and blood pumping. Dr. Crane finally sighs through his nose and puts his glasses back on. His eyes bore into you, punishing you for asking him this question. He holds your gaze with a mixture of pain, bitterness and cold rage. He speaks as if the words are acid in his mouth.

“Thomas Wayne destroyed my family and my childhood. He was a ruthless and cruel man and I’m glad he’s dead.” 

You stare back at him and notice the original tension between you changing, shifting as your power shifts. 

“Then we’re kindred spirits, you and I. It was only a matter of time until I found you, the famous criminal psychiatrist with-” You lean over the desk, looking directly into his eyes,” startling blue eyes.” You take a breath before continuing, not waiting for him to respond. 

“Because I’m a good detective, not like any of my ignorant male peers, I looked into a string of unusual robberies and I noticed that most of Falcone’s men were being moved to Arkham Asylum… on your orders.” 

Crane is silent for a moment, impressed by your intelligence and deduction. He feels his heart starting to pound a little faster again. He does not deny it, but doesn’t confirm your suspicions either. 

“I may have had some influence in those transfers.” 

“Don’t worry, Crane, I’m not here to cause trouble for you. I just wanted to meet the man I’ve admired for so long and see if I can be of some… help.” You smile and pass your fingers over the research papers organized across the desk. You’re catching him off guard on how well you know him and he can’t tell if he likes it or not. His eyes flick across your face again, taking in the sight of your dark eyes and darker eyelashes. 

“You admire me?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“How does a young, beautiful girl like yourself become so interested in a man like me?” Then he pauses and wets his lips before adding with a smirk, “why, exactly, do you admire me?”

“Your work, it’s impressive. And what can I say… ” You look back up at him with a serious look on your face as you drag a finger across the research papers, pulling out a piece of scratch paper. “I like your style.” 

On the corner of the paper, there is a drawing of a scarecrow. You drag it slowly across the desk until it sits in front of Crane on the desk. You don’t need to say anything else. He looks down at the drawing, swallows, then looks up at you. 

“Stop acting dumb, doc. I know more than you think. Like I said, I’m good at finding information and sticking my nose into places where it may not belong.” 

Crane’s pulse quickens at the edge in your voice, his fingers reaching for and clutching the paper tightly. He wants to be irritated, but somehow you’re bringing out a different, a darker and playful part of him. 

“Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be a very observant and talented young woman. Maybe too talented. I think you’re too dangerous to keep around my office, Miss Vale. You’re a liability.” 

“What are you going to do to me, Crane? Are you going to use your… little fear toxin on me?” You smile, leaning further across the desk where Crane hasn’t moved from his seat. He looks up at you, smirking slyly. 

“Maybe I will.” Dr. Crane starts to stand, and when he does, he’s taller than you but not by much. He isn’t a very tall man, you could easily take him if you needed to. You’re still separated by the desk but you’re close enough to smell his cologne. 

“Impressed by my skills of deduction?” You ask, clasping your hands behind your back. 

Crane walks slowly around his desk to stand in front of you, looking you up and down intently. He tilts his head to the side, his voice distant and distracted. 

“More than a little impressed, yes. You’ve figured out an awful lot about me in a very short time.”

“Now don’t you want to know why I’m here? Your survival instincts are annoyingly slow, Crane,” you tease. 

Crane bristles, displeased with your slight to his intelligence. He crosses his arms over his chest and sits back against the desk, clenching his jaw. “I would love to know why you’re here. You’ve been very coy about that point.” 

You nod and move away from him to continue looking at the books, organized meticulously on the bookshelf. “I have a proposition for you. I want to be… business partners.” You can see Crane watching you from out of the corner of your eye. Crane chuckles a little, stunned. 

“Business partners, huh? And what exactly would that entail?” 

Crane’s eyes sweep over your figure again as he imagines what kind of ‘business partners’ he’d want to be. 

“I’ll help you with your grand plan for Gotham and in return I get two things…” you keep your eyes on the spines, your fingers following the edges of each book. 

“Mm?” Crane hums, listening carefully now that you have his full attention. 

“1. I get to lead beside you when you successfully turn Gotham upside down and 2. I get what’s rightfully mine… Arkham Asylum.” You turn back to look at him, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he looks at you like something he’d like to eat. 

Crane’s eyes widen and he almost starts to laugh. His navel warms, aroused by your attitude and threats. He chuckles softly and moves his hands to grip the desk on either side of his body. 

“Gotham city flipped upside down, and Arkham Asylum in your hands. Your terms are surprisingly bold, Miss Vale.” 

“What can I say, Crane? I’m in the business of retribution.” You shrug, not backing down. 

Crane chuckles again and shakes his head, “Touché.” He imagines himself pinning you against the bookshelf and feels himself get hard just at the thought of it. He watches you closely, noticing your unwavering resolve. “And how can you be sure I won’t use my toxin on you?”

It’s your turn to laugh now. You smile and step closer to him, meeting his cool eyes. You let your eyes look him up and down, admiring the way his lean body hides beneath his expensive suit. 

“I’ve prepared for that possibility… but I like playing with fire.” You pull a lighter out from your pocket and strike a flame. It glows between your faces.

Crane smiles in amusement at your audacity then his eyes dart between your face and the flame separating the two of you. 

“You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Vale.” 

“My favorite,” you respond coolly and play with the flame in your hand. Crane’s eyes follow the flame and he swallows. “So? What say you?” 

He should stop you, he should kick you out of his office and ignore you, but the fire in your eyes and the confidence in your words makes him want to take a risk. He reaches out quickly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your face up so that he can see it clearly. His voice is a low whisper.

“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” You snap the lighter closed and tuck it into Crane’s breast pocket. “Regards from Thomas Wayne. I thought you should have it.” 

Crane looks down at the lighter, dropping his hand away from your chin. His eyes dart back to your face, assessing the weight of your words. Your demeanor is cold and almost amused. Crane swallows, his skin growing cold where the lighter now sits. 

“Where did you get this, Miss Vale?”

“Not only do I want what’s rightfully mine, you deserve what they took from you too. Think of this as my promise and a peace offering.” You pat his breast pocket, your face getting dangerously close to his. He flinches when you touch him and clenches his jaw. He looks down to your hand patting his pocket and raises a sharp brow. 

“And you’re willing to help me get my revenge?” 

“It would be mine too.” 

“Against Thomas Wayne?” 

“Against the whole city… but especially the Waynes.” You whisper, managing to take a step closer. Crane chuckles, admiring the way your eyes darken when you speak so severely. He leans down a little closer to your ear, his breath ruffling your hair. 

“A pretty, vengeful vixen. I’m starting to like you, Miss Vale.” 

“Now, now, now-” You push him back with a sly smile, your teeth showing, “We’re business partners, not fuck buddies. You’ll need to behave yourself if you want to make this work.” 

Crane actually laughs, though the sound is raspy and dark, it’s still a laugh. He allows you to push him back and holds up his hands in mock surrender, sitting back on the edge of his desk. 

“Feisty. Ok, I’ll play the part. No need to worry, Miss Vale… though the thought is… tempting.”

“Not intoxicating? I’ll just have to try harder next time,” you smile as you pull on your coat from the chair. Dr. Crane watches you from his desk, his eyes following your arms as you slide into the quilted coat. 

“Oh you know exactly how intoxicating you are. Don’t be coy, Miss Vale.” 

“Maybe I’m just a Jack of All Trades,” you shrug and move to the door. Crane crosses his arms over his chest again and nods slowly. 

“Yes, I’m starting to see that now. You’re full of surprises.” He can’t help but look you up and down again, his eyes lingering on the shape of your thighs or the angular way you hold your head. He wets his lips, wetting his pallet. 

“Well, here’s another one,” you smile, fully aware of his arousal, “Falcone was taken into custody today. Someone, and I’m not saying who, may have given him a razor blade. He’ll need a psych evaluation and you need to be the one to do it. I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut if this goes to trial.” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, impressed by your thoroughness. 

“Falcone in custody. Hmm. A razor blade? What a coincidence...” he starts to wonder exactly how far you’re willing to take this revenge of yours. He can feel himself getting excited in more ways than one. 

“You’ve got the right idea, Miss Vale. I’d be more than happy to take over his evaluation.”

“Good. I’ll arrange for you to administer it between your lectures. You’re such a busy man. Professor by day, psychopath by night. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“I’ve made a lot of sacrifices,” he answers cooly, calmly, “As have you, it seems.” 

Something passes between you, something shifts once again in your eyes. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Crane.”  

You start to leave but turn around briefly to speak, your eyes growing softer. You’re actually capable of feelings too, not just well-worded threats. “Don’t lose the lighter… it’s the one he used…” 

You leave the sentence in the air between you, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. Dr. Crane seems to freeze again as he processes what you’re saying. He puts his hand against his breast pocket to feel the outline of the lighter. He clenches his jaw and finally nods. 

“Goodnight, Miss Vale.” 

You nod once and open the door, pushing against its heavy weight. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you say over your shoulder and Crane fixes his glasses. 

“I’m sure.”

Only when the door closes behind you and you’re walking down the dim hallway do you allow yourself to exhale. Dr. Crane was so much more impressive in person… and so much more attractive. You had almost faltered on your plans until you remembered how much you needed him, and how important it was that the two of you meet. Though you must admit, acting unbothered has never been harder. You run your hand through your hair and slip out of the science building on campus. You’re wearing a quilted coat, more for professionalism than warmth. It’s late Spring in Gotham and it’s too warm for a coat. In fact, there’s a heatwave coming in the next week. But you keep the coat on because the color is dark, helping you blend into the shadows of every building in the city. 

The moment the door closes, Crane finds himself almost unable to breathe. He’s nearly shaking and feels strangely off-balance like you’ve completely turned his world on its head. He walks back around his desk to his chair and slowly lowers himself into the seat. He exhales shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose above his glasses. Part of him wants you, the other part wants you gone. With a sigh, Crane pulls the lighter out of his pocket and places it on the desk, looking at it while his thoughts run wild. 

You hadn’t needed to say the words for him to piece it together: this was the lighter that Thomas Wayne used to kill his mother, and by extension, his father. The knowledge of what you’ve given him finally sinks in and he takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. He feels a cold shiver rush over him, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or scream or laugh. Crane reaches out and grabs the lighter, his knuckles turning white. He thinks of you, of your audacity to crash his carefully constructed life with your own plans of revenge. He plays with the lighter, his lips pulled into an unhappy snarl. But the longer he thinks about you, the more he feels himself growing to like you. As much trouble as you could cause him, he liked how fast you thought on your feet and how good you looked in that dress. 

Hours seem to pass before he can slowly regain control of himself enough to clear his head a little. He’s trying to understand you… he wants to trust you but there’s a very loud part of his mind that’s screaming not to. He can’t deny the fact that you’ve completely enthralled him, in fact, the thought of seeing you again makes his heart pound in perverse excitement. He tosses the lighter back on the desk and runs a hand over his face. 

“Damn you…"

[yanderefarm]

what if scenario - ares & silvan

cw;; gore, blood, blood drinking, dehumanization, pet play

i got this idea in my head a while ago and i knew i had to write it... i think these two are similar? somewhat. i think ares would see himself in silvan sometimes. he can share a little bit. a little bit.

you and ares have been together for a millennium, an eternity of domestic bliss. every day you find new reasons to absolutely love your wife. recently your reason was because of how kind he was to take in a sickly human pet. see, in the past he's been resentful and hateful to humans and when it came to the idea of a pet he was far too possessive of you for that. so when you brought the pathetic sick human to your home for the first time you assumed that you would have to spend a lot of time convincing him to at least let you bring the human back to full health. instead he'd been the one to suggest you two keep the cute thing as a pet.

ares loves you, you're the only thing in the forsaken world that still matters and the fact that you promised him your eternity fills him with endless joy. so when he saw you carrying that disgusting human filth into your shared home he felt his anger and jealousy burning in his heart. he almost killed the pathetic creature right there. but he couldn't bring himself to do it in the end, not when you were so concerned for the thing's well being. your kindness is one of your most attractive features. so he let it stay, indulging in your cute loving instincts and getting an odd joy out of seeing you want to help someone. that was before the stupid thing got well enough to move around.

you were out of the manor when the dumb human wandered into the dining room while ares was feasting. ares was more bloodthirsty than you so whenever you were gone with work he'd have a nice eccentric meal of medium rare human steak and the sweetest blood wine. with the addition of the dead human in the center of the table it was a horrific sight. but the little pet didn't flinch his cold olive eyes staring at ares with boredom.

"where is master y/n..?" he didn't say it particularly disrespectfully but it still peeved ares.

"he's abandoned you to my whims." ares spoke with an air of arrogance and cruelty he only reserved for his prey.

ares was surprised when those cold human eyes turned darker. there was something familiar about his gaze, the emotions present resonated with ares's heart. he used to look the same way before he met you, he wandered through life like a true corpse. the idea that this little human was like him in any way didn't repulse him as much as he thought it would.

"do you want to fill the void in your heart with my husband?" ares's words were bitter but the human didn't flinch.

"i wouldn't dare to disrespect you, master ares." the human lowered his head respectfully but the gesture was empty.

ares took a sip of his wine. "if i were to give you permission?"

for the first time there was a spark of something almost like hope deep in the human's eyes. "i would do my best to please you both."

"then I'll give you the chance. you can act as our pet but if you step out of line then..." ares gestured to the table. the human barely looked at the corpse in front of him before he nodded.

so when you came back home your beautiful wife suggested that you keep the little human as a pet. he got to drink up all your praise and affection while also keeping an eye on your pet and keep him from getting arrogant. your pet, apparently named silvan, was so obedient and loyal to you both he would follow any order no matter how demeaning.

one night after the preservation procedure your lovely wife wanted to surprise you with something, he'd asked you to wait in your shared bedroom while he got your surprise ready. so you were sat on your bed, eyes fixed on the door. it felt like an eternity of anticipation until it finally opened and ares walked in wearing one of his frilly pink robes. wrapped around his hand was a long red leash and your jaw went slack as ares tugged it further into the room revealing silvan. silvan was dressed in a set of dark green lacey lingerie complete with a pair of garters and black silk socks. there was even a red collar with a little ribbon around his neck that the leash was attached to. silvan was on his hands and knees crawling into the room as ares directed him.

"sit pretty." ares ordered.

silvan picked himself off his hands, sitting on his knees with his thighs spread open. you could see from his new position the outline of his cock pressing against the tight lace and you could hear his eager heart pounding in your ears. you were completely awestruck at the sight. you could feel yourself getting hard and your fangs starting to hurt. you were so transfixed you hadn't even noticed ares come up besides you until he dragged your face to look at him. when you took in your beautiful wife's face he was looking at you so lovingly.

"we're going to have so much fun."

[suosgirl]

How do you think the reader’s relationship with Suo both meeting while she’s out to get food for her and her sister. She’s genuinely kind and caring overall like Tanjiro from kny. How do you think they’ll get together? She’s helpful and won’t hesitate to protect those in need especially her younger siblings. She’s got a strong sense of smell acknowledging how others feel. Ty!

A To-Go Order (& Missing Utensils) | Hayato Suo x Reader

Word Count: 1233

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. very brief mentions of Haruka Sakura and Akihiko Nirei (when are they not, let's be so honest)

୨ৎ Song Inspiration: Hypotheticals by Lake Street Drive

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, fluff, f!reader, ooc (definitely ooc sorry ah), swearing – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Ahh ty for the request my dearest anon! I am going to be so honest – I have never watched Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba (and I’m so embarrassed bc I just saw the latest like animated arc and it looks so good) BUT that doesn’t mean I’m not familiar with the character! I hope I do your request justice ahhhh!!! And I'm so sorry this took so long ahhhh!! Also, if I dip down into my eldest sister trauma well ... it makes it more genuine, right? ♡

Because – and this is a stretch, he knows this – but what if you didn’t have any utensils at home? How would whoever you were on the phone with be able to enjoy this delightful meal without said fork and spoon and chopsticks? And he doesn’t want to imagine what devastation and sadness look like on a lovely face like yours.

Suo hears you first before he sees you.

Maybe it’s the tone of your voice or the irritated tap of your foot on the floor, but somehow, someway you’ve got him intrigued within just a couple minutes of being in your presence.

You’re on the phone with your sister, lightly scolding her for being so reckless. She was a wild card, that girl, and when she’d heard about an easy and trendy way to cut her bangs from her friends, well, she’d only be able to confirm that it’s true if she tried it, right?

Wrong – so fucking wrong.

It was not easy, and it didn’t look trendy – and now it was you paying the price for it.

She’s sobbing so loud into your ear that you have to turn your volume down to the lowest it can go, but even that’s not enough, and at some point, you can’t help it – you blow up.

She’s no stranger to your lectures (she’s on the receiving end more often than not), but you’d told her not to do it. You’d told her that she’d hate having bangs. You’d told her to sit on the idea for a couple of days before committing to it.

But what does she do? What any good sister would do! Absolutely ignore you! Even though deep down she probably knew you were right!

You sigh, fingers massaging your temple as you shut your eyes for a quick fix of relief.

“... I’ll be home in a bit, okay? It’s not the end of the world, I promise. Now – what do you want from that Monjayaki place that you like so much?”

Suo watches the way that you smile into the phone, no doubt at the response of whoever you’re speaking to, but the smile on your lips is so warm and so fond that he gets just a bit distracted.

A small laugh leaves your lips as you repeat your sister’s order, and you end the call with, “Okay, got it. No more crying, ‘kay? I love you, and I’ll see you in a bit. Also … please put the scissors down – I’ll fix it when I get home.”

He watches the way you order, politely and respectfully, before taking a seat at the table right across from him, Sakura, Nirei, Kiryu, and Tsugeura.

He watches the way you cross your legs and take in the surroundings of the restaurant as you wait, before making eye contact with him.

He sends a small, practiced smile your way before turning his attention back to his friends.

Internally, though, Suo is just the slightest ashamed because he hadn’t meant to stare at you for so long. But, as long as you didn’t know – it was fine, right?

From his peripheral, he can see the way that you continue to stare at him in confusion before ultimately looking away, and he lets out the tiniest sigh of relief.

That … that was a close one.

He tries, truly, but he just can’t. 

He just can’t stop glancing over at you. You’d piqued his interest and he couldn’t understand why.

The cashier tells you it’ll just be a couple more minutes, but you’re quickly shaking your head at them with a smile and telling them not to worry and to take their time.

And Suo can't stop wondering – because how can someone like you effortlessly exude such an air of compassion and love?

As an afterthought, Suo wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of it.

Your order is completed much too fast for his liking because now you’re standing up and thanking them as you grab the bag and head for the exit, and Suo feels conflicted because he’s never ever been so curious about a stranger like this before and – 

You turn around as you slip out the door, intent on getting one last glance at him before you leave, but you aren’t expecting Suo to also be looking at you.

The last thing he sees is your mouth dropping in surprise and your eyes widening before the door closes – and then it’s over.

Whatever was happening between the two of you is over.

And – Suo shouldn’t feel any sort of loss from this but he does.

He ponders, briefly, if he’s missed out on something wonderful.

But he’s distracted, too distracted, apparently, to hear Sakura ask, “Who’re ya lookin’ at?”

He’s brought back to his surroundings by the soft nudge of Nirei’s shoulder, and he blinks.

“Ah, sorry Sakura-kun. Just in my thoughts, that’s all.”

Suo’s tone is friendly but firm, leaving no room for discussion.

He’d never see you again, probably, so he let that strange feeling of regret settle somewhere deep and hidden in his conscience.

He’ll get over it, he’s sure, but then he hears the cashier mutter under their breath, “Oh… I think I forgot to add utensils in there…”

Suo never lets his heart lead. Never. In fact, he can’t remember the last time that he did.

So, he’s not too sure what’s leading him now to politely excuse himself from the table or to offer the cashier his aid in delivering the utensils to you.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t – there’s no reason to. He doesn’t work here, he doesn’t know you, but if there’s one thing Suo’s good at, it’s reading people.

And he can’t imagine how disappointed you’ll be when you get home, only to find out that they’ve forgotten to pack your utensils.

Because – and this is a stretch, he knows this – but what if you didn’t have any utensils at home? How would whoever you were on the phone with be able to enjoy this delightful meal without said fork and spoon and chopsticks?

And he doesn’t want to imagine what devastation and sadness look like on a lovely face like yours.

But when he goes to open the door – 

You’re standing right outside, hand outstretched to grab the handle and a startled look on your face.

He glances down at your hand while you glance at his – and you note the neatly wrapped-up utensils in his hand.

It’s as if time stops for just a moment as you both stand there in shock – and when your eyes meet… well, it just feels right.

“Oh I –”

“Sorry, I –”

You accidentally cut him off, and it’s awkward and uncoordinated and cute.

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, you let out a breathless, airy laugh as you look away.

“Would you like to go first?” Suo teases, and your mouth drops open just a tiny bit at his tone.

Because who was this guy? Who’d been staring holes into your head? And who’d caught your eye once more before you left?

“I… Sorry, um, I just… Do I know you? Because you were looking at me an awful lot earlier and I don’t want to be rude,” you explain, albeit a bit flustered.

Suo blinks.

He wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt.

Being the eldest sister does things to you - like being more capable of confrontation.

“Oh. You’re not here to get your utensils?”

“Hm? Why … oh, did they not put it in here? That’s fine – I’ve got some at home.”

Suo blinks again.

You blink too.

Briefly, you wonder if the utensils in his hand are for you.

“... actually, I lied. I don’t have any at home – like, at all. Would it be possible to get some?”

[rainydayathogwarts]

Hi! I love your writing! Can i have a Seamus Finnigan request where the reader is Harry Potter’s little sister & Harry asks Seamus to take care of her while he is away trying to solve the horcruxes? They both have strong feeling for each other and Harry knows Seamus will protect his baby sister?

Safe in his arms - Seamus Finnegan

It all started with the lingering glances between you. Despite the prison Hogwarts had turned into, teachers acting as propaganda testimonials, you'd always managed to find each other through the darkness. Harry stared across the common room from where he stood at the entrance with Ron, eyes locked on you cuddling into Seamus's side, an arm locked around his own, wide smiles on both your faces. It was obvious the two of you shared feelings for each other, staying in the common room together until ridiculous hours, aware that you wouldn't be seeing each other throughout the day due to being in different year groups.

Harry approached the two of you, your conversation quieting down when he stopped in front of you, leaning down to cup your face in his hands, pressing a kiss on your forehead. He felt your eyebrows furrow beneath his lips, and when he pulled away he met your worried gaze. "You okay?" Harry nodded, glancing at Seamus who had looked away respectfully, giving you a moment of privacy. You held each other's gaze for a long moment, the knowledge of Harry's absence the next year loud in the room, even though nothing had been said.

Your older brother liked keeping you in the dark, and no matter how furious it made you, you understood why. You'd want to protect him as much as possible if you were in his place, and by knowing as little as possible about the horcruxes and Voldemort, he was making sure of it. There was one thing he couldn't protect you from though; the dangers of staying at Hogwarts next year as a Potter in a school full of death eaters. Looking away from you, Harry patted a hand on Seamus' shoulder, grabbing the older boy's attention. "Can I speak to you mate?"

Untangling his arm from yours, Seamus followed your brother into a secluded area of the common room. Their conversation started and ended very quickly, Harry bringing Seamus into a hug, patting him on the back at the end of it. When Seamus returned to sit with you, he didn't say a word about his conversation with your brother, instead asking "Are you all packed up to go home tomorrow?"

By the end of the summer, Harry had hurriedly fled with Ron and Hermione, only leaving you with a quick hug and 'Stay safe', leaving you no option but to go back to Hogwarts for your sixth year. You, Ginny and Luna had been abnormally quiet on the train ride to Hogwarts, the absence of both you and Ginny's brothers and her boyfriend casting a shadow upon you. It was only when the doors to your compartment slammed open, and two familiar people poked their heads in that your spirits were lifted once more.

"Seamus!" You hadn't seen the boy since that last day at Hogwarts, both of you being stuck indoors due to the fear surrounding the upcoming war. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dug his face into the crook of your neck as you held him close to you by his shoulders. When you pulled away from the hug, your cheeks heating up when you realised how long you had embraced for, you greeted Neville, who now sat next to Luna. Seamus took the spot next to you, arm wrapping around your shoulders to tug you closer to him, promising himself that when the war was finally over, you'd be his. But for now, all he could think about when he looked at you were your brother's words ringing in his ears and the promise he had made.

Just keep her safe for me.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 1: A New Prophet

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into something different. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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

April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

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

March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there would be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and had always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.  

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

Why you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly felt very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing inward, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

[obsessive-clown]

DO ANYTHING FOR YOU (TAP, TAP)!

a/n: this randomly came to me after I read a drabble someone said was yan!nanami coded. plus, i blasted in my room by icp for a solid hour today sooo.. also i’m just super bored and this randomly came to mind. i’m likely not going to do this again lol.

PAIRING: Yan!Kento Nanami x gn!reader

cw: mentions of death, mentions of manipulation, kidnapping, attempted brainwashing… that’s all i can think of. sorry if this is garbage, i haven’t written anything serious in god knows how long.

ఌ𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹ఌ

Kento had always loved you. Some would argue that he loved you perfectly. However, you would argue that he either loved you too much, or didn’t actually love you at all. Loved you too much in the sense that he’d taken you home with him, wouldn’t let you leave, made you — luckily only temporarily — lose your spark… And try to convince you only he was good for you.

What was the greatest achievement in your adult years was convincing him and getting him to trust you enough to go out. At first, with his company. He couldn’t have his darling running off. But over time, Kento thought you were well behaved enough to go out. On your own. You could go anywhere, just as long as it wasn’t out of town, someone else’s home and you were back either by the time he got home or before then.

As much as Kento said he loved you, you couldn’t help but combat his self-proclaimed ‘love’ with resentment. You behaved, but you swore you would never truly love him back. You tolerated him. He may have been good to you, never forced you into anything and treated you respectfully — but he had stripped you of your wings. Of your freedom, for far too long.

So, when you had gotten a call on the house phone — you couldn’t help but feel shocked.

Kento was dead and you were free.

He was dead. And you were no longer under his control.

You finally had free rein, without any form of restriction, without the man that called himself your boyfriend, breathing down your neck.

At least, that’s what you had thought. It was sad. Kento loved you, he truly loved you. In fact, he had loved you so very much, that he made you wear a promise ring. A sign of his love and your, “wonderful future together”, as he would say. And it was the fact that he loved you so much, that he wouldn’t even let death do you two part.

As you lay in the bed you and your now deceased kidnapper once shared, you stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. 2:45 in the morning and here you were, kept up for no reason.

Tap, tap.

“…Darling? Are you gonna’ let me in? Hello?”

Unmistakably, it was Kento’s voice. You were certain it was just your brain playing tricks. Since, after all, Kento Nanami was dead. Killed by the hands of the patchwork curse. Though, he didn’t sound how you remembered. His voice was faint, almost weak — and slightly garbled in a sense. It made you sick to your stomach.

Tap, tap.

“Hello?”

There it was again. You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut, hope and pray to whoever you could that you were simply hallucinating from exhaustion. Curiosity always killed the cat, so why did you have to look at the window the tapping came from?

It was Kento, though, something was off. Something was very off about him. Although the man you once resented was heavily resembled, he had turned into the one thing he’d fought constantly. A cursed spirit. And one attached to you, nonetheless. You had remembered hearing your fellow sorcerers speaking before Kento had taken you hostage — about a boy with a cursed spirit attached to him. His childhood best friend and young love, killed and cursed him.

Kento must have done the same, but in regards to you.

Tap, tap.

A cold weight settled on your chest and against your side, a hand settling on your hip and its nails carefully sinking into your delicate flesh. It stung harshly. But the pressure felt all too familiar, much like how Kento would hold you at night as you two tried to sleep.

“…Do anything for you, baby…”

As you were frozen in place, both by the unnaturally cold temperature — and the curse laying on you. Whether you or Kento died first, you would have been stuck with him. And if it involved cursing you so you would be stuck with him, or cursing himself in a sense to be stuck with you, then so be it. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, he slowly buried his mangled and almost eerily familiar face into your neck, letting out what sounded like a content growl. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk much, just lay there and have you hold each other — or him hold you, as it always used to be.

“…You don’t need others. Just me.”

Some would say Kento Nanami loved you perfectly. But you knew that he loved you too much. Far too much for his and your own good.

ఌ𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹ఌ

[novacorpsrecruit]

Hi a quick lil read: I did a poll the other day because I was thinking of creating Steddie fic recs and so I decided I’m gonna do 5-10 fic recs a post based on some sort of theme and here’s the first installment! Please feel free to ask for themes, I can’t promise I’ll fulfill them but I’ll do my best.

Theme: my favorite fucking idiots

single / taken / pining by 96tears (Ao3) @pizzaqueen (tumblr)

T | wc 4,435 | no cw

Summary: When a girl Steve’s trying to flirt with starts flirting with Eddie, Steve says the only thing that comes to mind: he tells her Eddie’s married. It’s not his smoothest moment, but it works, and Eddie goes along with it. It's not like Eddie was interested, anyway, and he figures Steve wanted the ladies to himself. So, Steve figures that must be it, too.

But a little later it hits him: he doesn’t want to keep the ladies to himself. He wants to keep Eddie to himself.

Ugh!!! I love it when the dumbasses don’t understand why they’re jealous, or that they’re jealous in the first place. Post season 4, Steve and Eddie work at Family Video and the Arcade respectfully, and come and bug each other during slow times. Steve gets a little jealous when a girl starts hitting on Eddie.

‘cause tramps like us, baby, we were born to run by stellapoint (pettifogger) (ao3) @heybluechild (tumblr)

T | wc 9,308 | no cw

Summary: Realization #1: Steve is wearing a costume. He’s dressed as Springsteen on the cover of Born In The U.S.A. The album cover is staring at Eddie from the stack of records by the speakers, and he flicks his eyes between the cover and Steve, almost laughing at how obvious the resemblance is.

Immediately after that, revelations two and three slam into him like an eighteen-wheeler.

#2: Bruce Springsteen is kind of hot.

#3: Steve Harrington is really hot.

A fourth and much louder thought echoes through Eddie’s brain: oh, shit.

(Many months ago, I wrote a tumblr post about Steve Harrington being a Bruce Springsteen enjoyer. This fic is about that.)

Takes place after season 4, Eddie and Steve are friend. Eddie’s love language is music. He’s a bit of a music snob, and doesn’t understand why Steve wants him to like his music. It takes a moment for it to click to Eddie what’s really going on. I love Eddie but sometimes you want to shake him like a snowglobe and oh my god, I’m shaking him so hard.

wasted crying by MixAddams (Ao3) @mixsethaddams (tumblr)

T | wc 6,471 | cw ow (light angst)

Summary: Steve just wants a buddy.

So why does it hurt so much when Eddie introduces everyone to his new girlfriend?

There’s a happy ending I swear! You’ll just want to bundle Steve up in a few blankets first. Post season 4, Eddie gets a girlfriend, and Steve is not jealous. Not at all. He just … misses being in the honeymoon phase of dating? No that can’t be right… is it? There’s a lot of good heartaches in this fic. I do want to share one of my favorite lines:

“I think so. Stuff like this is supposed to scare you, I think,” said Eddie. “It’s supposed to feel….”

Eddie took a breath and Steve watched his eyes move around as he searched for the words. Steve thought he might wait forever for him to find them.

“It’s supposed to feel like a leap, right?”

I can be pretty (why don’t you think I’m pretty?) by starsdontsleep (ao3)

T | wc 8,942 | no cw

Summary: When Eddie comes out as gay, he assures Steve that he doesn’t find him hot. Steve tells him it’s fine, he even teasingly asks what he should do to change that. It becomes a thing. A way to always make Eddie laugh, blush and relax around him—but as the days and weeks pass, Steve begins to realise that maybe there’s another reason why he cares so much that Eddie Munson finds him pretty.

Remember when I said I’m shaking Eddie like a snowglobe? I’m shaking Steve now. Steve, please tell me why you think you want Eddie to think you’re pretty? Why do you need to know what Eddie’s type? Steve’s only worried that Eddie doesn’t fully trust him with his sexuality. So Steve works to be the best ally… and definitely does not fall in love with his friend along the way.

clown music at the disco by fragilecapricorn (ao3) @fragilecapric0rnn (tumblr)

M | wc 3,717 | no cw

Summary: “What the fuck are you doing here?” He nearly squawked, meaning for it to come out anyway other than that. The man turned around, and here he was. In a stare down with ghostly pale Steve Harrington, who was not only supposed to be straight, but was also in a MESH TANK TOP at Frankie’s on a Wednesday night.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He pauses, glancing around the room, small voice. “It’s disco night.”

Post Season 4, Eddie, Robin and Steve move to the Chicago. Eddie has a new habit of going to the bar on gay disco night, finding another brunette ex-jock to fill the Steve shaped hole in his heart. Until he runs into said brunette ex-jock at the same gay bar on disco night. 10/10 no notes I’ve read this like 5 times.

of all the gin joints by genesisofrhythm (Ao3)

e | wc 4,016 | cw: they fuck | spice level: I read this at my work desk in between meetings

Summary: “So, do you come here often?”

Steve choked at the familiar voice, turning abruptly. “Munson?”

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asked, his mouth gaping open as he looked over at Steve.

Steve was surprised to see Eddie here as well. What were the odds of them both driving out of Hawkins to come to the same gay bar?

Or: Steve goes to a gay bar to support Robin, when he sees Eddie Munson. He can't tell Eddie the real reason he's there without outing Robin so he tells him he's bisexual. But Steve's totally straight... right?

Steve [Evan Buckley voice]: “I’m an ally ✊”

This is a fun fic, definitely Steve Harrington speed running a sexuality crisis. Good for him. (also I have a soft spot for fics that use fob lyrics as a title, forehead kisses for that)

Exactly What It Looks Like - BilbosMom (Ao3) @bilbosmom-belladonna (tumblr)

E | wc 31,517 | cw | spice level: I should not have read this at my desk 😳🥵

Summary: Steve makes a face at Eddie. “You've imagined doing stuff with a guy?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie replies, spreading his hands wide. “Doesn't everyone?”

Steve tilts his head to the side as he thinks. Maybe not very often, but his freshman year when Davey Riggs had been swim team captain? Yeah, he had definitely imagined some stuff that had made trips to the locker room kinda awkward.

“Yeah, that's true,” Steve answers, nodding. “I wonder why everybody acts like it's so gross, though.”

In the summer of 1986, Steve and Eddie have some perfectly normal fun between a couple of perfectly normal dudes.

I’m honestly insane over this. Like, I’m going to be thinking about this for a long time. Post-Season 4, Eddie and Steve find themselves watching porn together. And it’s not weird at all if you jerk off next to your new best friend. And maybe it becomes a habit. And helping them out every once in a while isn’t weird. And maybe sucking his cock isn’t weird. Or fucking his thighs —

Please remember to leave kudos and comments on the fics you read/enjoyed! Support your writers 🖤

[haikyu-mp4]

Answer respectfully

word count; 626 – gn!reader, I hope following the dialogue is not too difficult in this one

You’re ambitious, hardworking and gradually getting better and better at your job. Being a PR manager for the Schweiden Adlers was just another step on your way to greatness. You came from a difficult family and were always determined to not let any distractions stop you from getting what you wanted. You’re confident and you’re organised, always one step ahead, and Hoshiumi Korai is so obsessed with you.

While watching their game, you kept track of all the cameras, taking notes on who the photographers focused on as well as keeping a regular eye on your players and how they acted. They never worried you much while playing, oozing reliable confidence. You did have to tell Kageyama once that he shouldn’t stare at his hands and wiggle his fingers too much, and Ushijima that even though he gets stressed out and is not sure what to do when someone yells his name for a picture, he can’t always do the awkward smile and peace sign.

The problem, though, usually came with post-game interviews, adrenaline running high and breaths heaving, some were too happy when they won and some were too angry when they lost.

Hoshiumi is practically bouncing when he exits the court, waving to the crowd before his gaze stills on you standing behind some interviewers. As he made his way over, an interviewer cut him off and you sighed in anticipation. She had only asked a short question when Hoshiumi started his angry rant about how he obviously played well when you come up behind the interviewer holding a little paper sign that said something along the lines of answer respectfully.

So he huffed and turned back to the camera, adding something about how the team all make each other better and how he and Kageyama seemed especially in tune today, making the interviewer happily nod and then scurry off to find one of the older players as well. Your eyes were frantically moving around the room, taking mental note of everyone who decided to do interviews and other small things you managed to catch. A dull headache was lingering in the back left of your head, slowly making its way forward. Still, you managed to scold Hoshiumi at the same time.

“You’re a nightmare with post-game interviews, Hoshiumi!”

“Like in a good way?”

He smiled because at least he got you to look at him now. “How could that be in a good way?”

But Hoshiumi’s adrenaline had not worn off, and he was absolutely sure this was the perfect time to finally ask you out. “You tell me! Preferably over a nice dinner.”

“N- Hoshi! I’m trying to talk to you and you’re thinking about food?”

“Food with you!” he clarified.

“How is th-“

“Wait, were you about to say no?”

“Yes?” you said and glanced around, brain trying to force you back to work.

“You were about to say yes?”

Your eyes snapped back to him, wide in disbelief. “No! I’m trying to do my job.”

“You’re talented, you can do both. I’m paying.”

“We need to have a serious conversation about this.”

He takes a deep breath, realising he might have come on too strong again and seeing that most of the other players were moving along to the next appointment. “How about we take that conversation in a restaurant?”

You roll your eyes, you know him. “You never lis-”

“I promise to listen.”

“Fine.”

“Great!“

“Then you owe me a super nice interview after your next game.”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“And stop interrupting me all the time!”

He could not be happier, holding your jaw and pressing a quick peck to your cheekbone before running away, but not before you got to smack him with your notebook.

“Hoshiumi Korai!”

masterlist

[loafyall]

Aged up yanqing and yunli, Yunli becoming taller and being like 6'3 while yanqing is like 5'11

Future Xianzhou!!

Fu xuan is currently the general after jing yuan's death.

But his death was not being mara, But by an assassination from the Sanctus medicus by a dangerous enemy called Shangū, He died in front of yanqing.

His last wish was that Yanqing would live a happy and long life..

Well..

Yanqing started to mask his emotions behind a smile which he puts on everytime. Following a path of vengeance to avenge his mentor's death, he'll do anything to kill shangū.

Anything.

Yanqing is still a lieutenant and The new sword chapion although.. he shares his title with Yunli due to their so many tie in battles so people decided to make them share the title.

Yanqing carries a fan around, (like y'know the fan Tingyun has? Yea that type of fan but a different colour.).

Sushang is a respected cloud knight known for her strength is is quite cold.

Well, one of the reasons might be her Best friend, Guinaifen's death as she was a short-lived species anyway.

Sushang doesn't like yanqing and maybe never will, the only time they interact is only for work related purposes. Or if Jinglian and jingli try to make them talk with the others.

Speaking of jinli and jinglian, They are two twins who are actually niece and nephew of shangū But well, they've never met him, And They know their mother's and their Other siblings (they had two more siblings btw) death was by shangū. Jingli is a girl who uses a spear while jinglian is a boy who uses a sword, Both of their weapons were picked by yanqing.

Jinglian is usually trained under yanqing, While Jingli helps Fu xuan or bailu if they need anything, Otherwise, she also trains with yanqing and jinglian.Being trained under a sword champion who's a lieutenant is cool isn't it?

Qingque is somehow not being a door guardian and continues her work in the divination commision, Although she still slacks off and tries to Sushang or Yanqing for boba but most the time it's a no

Qingque is most of the time with sushang, Getting boba or anything except working.

After the death of huaiyan, Yunli is the general of the zhuming and visits the Luofu usually for meetings or anything like that.

Yanqing and yunli have somewhat like a shinobu and giyuu dynamic (Yanqing is Shinobu guys.) But by what General Fu xuan says, Yanqing and yunli enjoy talking to eachother.

(They mostly gossip I'm sure for some reason)

Yunli stole one of Yanqing's swords and he doesn't know about it at all.

Yunli is taller than yanqing. She is 6'3 and yanqing is like 5'11.

Bailu.. hasn't grown much, Like she's old but doesn't look like it.

Bailu hangs around with whoever she finds its either jingli or jinglian anyone.

NOT SO FUN FACTS :

few weeks after jing yuan's death Yanqing lost all his emotions for months until he started to pratice fake smiling. It worried fu xuan alot. But she didn't show it.

Yanqing was 16 when jing yuan died.

Fu xuan promised jing yuan at his grave that she would take care of yanqing and made sure the boy went the right way.

Everytime yunli and yanqing meet, It either is a conversation about how jingli and jinglian are doing or....

Just them roasting eachother. Respectfully.

Qingque tries to make sushang and yanqing friends again, But well it fails terribly,

Sushang ends up saying harsh words to Yanqing and yanqing can't snap because of reputation and ends up staring at himself at the mirror with instructive thoughts for hours.

Yanqing wants revenge on Shangū for killing his mentor who he considered as a father.

Huaiyan's death was when he got a disease and died after a week he got it.

Guinaifen died when she was 89, after Living a long and happy life with her best friend (wife.) sushang.

Yukong has passed away by old age.

Well that's all future hcs for today! Wait,

I forgot about Jingliu!

Jingliu is there, hiding in the shadows, Jingliu and yanqing have met many times.

Either a battle or just talking.

Huo huo is aged up and still a scaredy cat but is a bit Brave now(because of tail)

[agoldenchara]

A Bat's Ultimate Plan for Vengeance!

Ch. 3: Making it official?

CW: Blood. Biting. The usual vampire shtick. Wink! W/C: 1.6k

“I haven’t even agreed yet.” But she shook your hand anyway, favoring the mission over her title of relationship. “I don’t have to call you ‘my lord’ like Corin does, do I?” “It’s in the fine print.”

"Are you two sure you want to take on this mission?” Lycaon eased into his office chair, lacing his fingers together as he leaned into the table.

You plopped down on the only seat in front of his desk, legs over the armrest and arms crossed. “It can’t be that bad, right?” 

Ellen closed the door behind you with a ‘click’, and moved to lean over the backrest of your chair. She looked down at you. “Dude, you can’t even fight. How are you going to guard?”

“Pfft- can too! I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Besides, they’ll go crying to their mothers once I bare my fangs. I’m just that notorious.” You tossed your hair, ether sparkles emitting with a wave of your hand.

She ignored you in favor of responding to her boss. “Uh, the client said he’ll pay overtime, right? I’ve been saving up to buy something, but if I can get this job over with, I’ll probably have enough for it.” Lycaon furrowed his brows. “This mission isn’t for a part-timer, Ellen. If you exert yourself on the job, I’m afraid we cannot come to your aid. The designated location is at least a city over. By the time we reach you, it will be a few hours too late.”

She pursed her lips, “Respectfully, sir, I can handle myself. It’s summer break and I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Thanks for worrying and all but..” The girl sighed, lowering her head. “Yeah, I guess this is really unlike me, huh..” She looked torn between her desires and her capabilities. It was true that she tired out in the most inopportune moments, but at her full focus, she was able to carry out her duties. ‘But 2 weeks..?’ She reconsidered.

“Ellen, you’re.. Narcoleptic?” You interrupted her thoughts, connecting the dots to her behavior. “Nah, everything just takes too much energy.. Give me sugar and I’ll probably survive.” She removed the lollipop from her mouth to make a point before reinserting it. “Oh! You’ll be fine. You have the greatest villain looking after you. Nothing escapes me!” You declared smugly, partly to her but also to prove yourself to Mr. Lycaon. ‘Another recruit and I’ll have half of the company at my beck and call.’ 

You were eager to make a show of taking over right in front of him, robbing his authority.

“If you agree to be my lackey, I promise to give you my full support. Deal?” You held out a hand for her to shake. She huffed, “We’re supposed to be partners.”

“Hear me out! I’m partly nocturnal, but I can stay awake for business at least. I’m pretty strong too! I’ve trained to lift rubble, so a body is practically nothing to me. You could even call me an artist the way I’ve been escaping my entire life. Rest assured, my dear lackey. ” “I haven’t even agreed yet.” But she shook your hand anyway, favoring the mission over her title of relationship. “I don’t have to call you ‘my lord’ like Corin does, do I?”

“It’s in the fine print.”

“Yeah, yeah, my lord.” You beamed, clearly pleased. “What do you think, Mr. Lycaon?” 

“I expect the two of you to contact me if things go awry.” Without pause, he slid open the drawer beside him and pulled out a flip phone. Despite being an old model, it was pristine and well taken care of, as if it was fresh out of the box. You snatched the phone and flipped it open, immediately scrolling through the contacts. Listed were only the names of your boss and your new servant.

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” You grinned and slid the phone into your pocket and stood, as if you weren’t his employee in the first place. The both of your took your leave, leaving Mr. Lycaon in a contemplative mood. The type of mood that warranted one staring out the large window that loomed behind their desk.

Ellen shut the door behind her and immediately pulled out her phone to message her friends. A smile began to form on her lips. “Thanks.” “Cruorem Y/N, but that’s ‘my lord’ to you. If that’s what it took to win you over, I’ll be climbing the ranks in no time!” You sped past her to return to your room, leaving her to her own business.

“Your first mission..!” Corin fussed over you, having returned from her day out. She allowed you to borrow her luggage, clothing and other essentials prepared for your departure. Remembering when Mr. Lycaon had delegated her first mission, she recalled her anxiety and projected it onto your situation. Though, unlike you, she had someone she trusted by her side to guide her. However, you did not know Ellen like she did. She hoped the two of you would get along. 

“Do you need anything else? Teddy?” She offered before you wrapped her in your arms, pressing her head to your chest to prevent her from running around. Corin huffed in surprise, but made no comment. Her face flushed and warmed your cold body.

Corin lightly picked at the hem of your vest as silence washed over the room. The two of you stood in the middle of the room before the only opened curtains, bathed in dusk, heartbeats intertwining. Your shadow amalgamated hers, looming before you and phasing through the dark. A few breaths passed. “Text me daily.” “Okay.”

“Tell me you’ll miss me.”

“I will.”

“You’re mine.”

“O-of course, my lord.”

You rested your cheek over the crown of her head. Out of uniform, her hair was put down, leaving your position undisturbed. Her hair smelled like lavender. ‘..How sweet..’ Fluttering your wings, you moved her hair aside, baring her neck. Her lily white nightgown was shoulder-less, held together by laced straps. Corin shivered as you ran your fingers along her trapezius.

Moving down, you ghosted your lips along her neck. “Is this okay?” You murmured against her skin. “It might scar.” Your other hand ran over the scars on her shoulder. It was as if the girl had been reattached limb by limb. The cherry on top was the jagged line that ran straight across her neck, usually hidden by her collared dress.

Corin nodded against your chest, her hands reaching up from behind your back to grasp your shoulders. 

Your lips parted, and your fangs sank in, piercing through delicate flesh. Your canines tingled as the blood sent signals through your nerve ends. Her blood flowed thickly and left a bitter aftertaste. The taste of rotten blood. The stimulating shock of drawing blood never got tiring to you. The grip on your shoulders grew stronger as your shirt creased between her fingers. “I-It hurts..” She sobbed, but you only dug in further, prodding at her muscle. Moments passed before you retracted. “Good. Remember that feeling.” Blood sludged out of her wound, black and foul. It was as if her body had been turned inside out, left to clot and dry out, leaving her cells bare of oxygen.

“That’s what it feels like if you betray me.” Your sleeve went to wipe at the coagulating wound. 

Corin sniffed, but stayed silent in fear. Her fingers relaxed when you stilled, realizing that you would no longer make a move. “Your shirt..” She started, realizing that she had left your clothing in disarray. The girl paused, and retracted from your arms, a hand placed over her neck where you had marked.

She ran out the door, her feet in a light pitter patter.

You fell back onto the bed, resting an arm over your eyes. The black blood from your sleeves crusted over and flaked off onto your skin. ‘Hah, what did I expect…?’ Licking your teeth, you shuddered in disgust. Corin tasted like a corpse. But she was yours. “M-my lord, your uniform came in..!” Raising your head in surprise, you blinked as Corin returned with a bundle of clothing in tow. Flecks of gold plates clinked together on leather as she stumbled to your side.

“I just remembered..! It would’ve been so embarrassing if I let you go out like this…” You sat up as she placed them beside you, reaching out to unbutton your collar. You smiled. “For me or you?” As a maid did, Corrin helped you get dressed, allowing you to familiarize yourself with the complicated loops and straps that held the fabric together. Your wings unfolded freely, unbounded by cloth as the uniform was accommodating to your figure. She guided you towards the mirror.

Adjusting your cuff and popping the collar which embellished your shoulders, a rush of adrenaline flooded through you as you realized that your uniform had been customized to appear more regal than the attendants of the Victoria Housekeeping usually allowed. The vest acted as a corset to straighten your posture, lengthening behind you into pointed coattails that mimicked a bat’s uropatagium, or tail. It was cut off from your shoulders, though made up by the cropped button down shirt. The combined effort of this design allowed for your back to be bare in order to optimize your flight.

“Mr. Lycaon had that specially made for you. He did that for Ellen too.” Ah, right, her skirt had been divided in order to allow for her tail to slip through. Tucking your phone within your pocket, Corin came closer to chain a pocket watch through the loop of your vest. The accessory was engraved with the branding of the agency, unlike the one Mr. Lycaon held.

“I guess I’m official now.” You put your hands on your waist, standing before Corin proudly. Your wings flared behind you.

“Yeah, officially late.” Ellen appeared leaning at your door frame, left wide open when Corin had rushed in. “C’mon, edge lord. It’s time to leave.”

[Wait, backtrack!] [Onwards!]

[angel-of-the-moons]

hi!! i’ve recently been struggling with my eating disorder, and i was wondering if you could do a hobie x gf!reader where reader is having a really hard time eating and he comforts her and helps her eat? lots of physical touch and words of affirmation if possible - and if this req is uncomfy i get it !!

Awww hon I hope this helps you feel a bit better!

Let Them Eat Cake (Or Something)

Soft!Hobie x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Eating Disorders/Anorexia, hints of depression, bullying, some mental trauma, back at it again with the fluffy bullshit (Hobie also makes an inappropriate promise but nothing is detailed lol)

A/N: I myself struggle with eating disorders brought on by financial strains and mental issues (still do) so I totally understand this kinda thing!

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

It was the little things Hobie did to take care of you that most people probably couldn't imagine someone of his niche to do.

Things like peeling off the nutrition labels to things you'd buy at the grocery store so you couldn't stress over the calories (or lack thereof), buying those meal replacer shakes for you to try when you didn't want to eat; hovering over (respectfully) when you prepared your meals, saying little things to encourage you to fill your plate more.

"Ay, you should try this. Saw it online and heard it tastes pretty good with that, yeah?"

"Jus' a bit more, I can still see some on ya plate there. Almost done and it's less stuff wasted, right?"

He would even call or text you to eat one of the little snack baggies he'd prepped you full of healthy snacks. Even if it wasn't a full meal, helping you eat throughout the day brought him peace of mind so he wouldn't worry about you wasting away.

He'd read up on eating disorders and didn't like it one bit, so he devoted half his time with you around meals more focusing on you, even while he scarfed down his own portions.

Hobie had an insane metabolism, it was like he was constantly eating something in some way or another to keep himself going, and at some point you'd joked he had a black hole for a gullet.

But still, he would watch you out of the corner of his eye, taking your little mouse nibbles here and there, sipping your drink...

He knew that bringing it up front would only upset you, so he'd do little things to distract you from your thoughts of your food. He'd play little games with you. Like 20 questions. If you got one wrong, you'd have to eat another bite of your food. It would continue like that until your food was gone and you didn't realize it.

A punk with a heart of gold, Hobie Brown was. Though he'd never admit it out loud, even the members of his band would snort and laugh at how soft he was with you; though they understood completely why.

Today, you and Hobie went out for lunch, and you two attracted more than a few curious glances at your contrast in styles when you sat down to order. People just loved to stare, didn't they?

You idly played with your chips, pushing them around on your plate, your chicken sandwich sitting with just a few bites taken out of it.

"Ay, luv. Eyes bigger than your stomach, again?" Hobie asked, sipping his pop.

"Yeah... I just didn't think there'd be so much of it. I just..." You sigh, feeling defeated.

You'd had this problem since you were barely a teenager, and it only got worse after time. At least you stopped making yourself vomit up all your food.

You remember how badly it went when your mother caught you doing that.

In truth, you only started starving because... well. In school you were always insulted by the "prettier" girls. You'd always assumed you were pretty too, that's what your parents and relatives would always say. But being in the face of a gaggle of obnoxiously made-up girls rag on you in the lavatory, in gym class, or lunch... the pressure to be "thin" was hammered into you. If you looked like them, they would leave you alone.

And from there it went. You'd tried dating before, but none of your partners ever took care of you. Hell, one of them practically encouraged it and showed you diet pills online. You broke it off pretty quick after that.

Hobie was honestly the first to not automatically suggest you get locked in a mental ward, or just force yourself to scarf portions that were too much for your shrunken stomach to handle. Hobie was gentle and sweet, understanding with you.

Like he was right now.

"Well we can box it up and you can toast it up for later, alright?" He suggested.

His own plate was empty and your still practically full one wasn't lost on him. But he knew that directly pointing at the elephant in the room would only upset you.

His boot nudged your foot under the table and he gave you a smile, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah.... yeah I can do that." You smile back sheepishly, letting Hobie flag down the server so he could pay (his treat, after all) and get you a to-go box.

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Later that night, Hobie had reheated some leftovers from the night previous and toasted your chips and sandwich for you to finish off again; because ugh, nobody enjoyed soggy microwaved chicken and chips. And if they did they were a complete loon.

You sat snuggled up on the sofa, your food in your lap as Hobie's characteristically empty plate lay on the coffee table next to his propped up feet as the program droned on the television in front of you.

His hand rubbed your arm lazily up and down in a soothing motion as his eyes flicked down to your plate.

"You gon'a finish that, luv?" He hummed softly, kissing the top of your head.

"I..." You sighed down at the plate in your hands.

"'S all right." He mumbled into your hair. "But ya do worry me, baby. How about this... if you finish your food.... hm."

He looked at the ceiling and you could tell that he was faking thinking of something serious.

You knew it especially when he gave you a cocky smirk.

"If you finish your food, I'll do that thing you really like, for you, eh?"

"Hobie!" You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

"Oh? Not what you want, hm? How about..." He tapped his chin with his free hand, once again making a grand gesture of "deep" thought.

"Fine fine... how about we go to that li'le art museum you've been goin' on about?"

Your eyes light up and you look at him.

"Really?"

"Yep! Really. But only if you finish your food." He put a finger under your chin and kissed your nose.

"And eat breakfast tomorrow."

"Deal!"

Hobie smiled to himself as you tore into your food with motivation.

Being Spider-Man didn't always mean fighting the oppressive regime they were stuck with. It wasn't always about thwarting criminals in the streets.

Sometimes it was about coming home and making sure his girlfriend had enough to eat.

And that was plenty for him.

[getsuuna]

ok so here's my complaint of the day!

I wrote this during the moment I felt like complaining and I was sleepy so it MIGHT be a little dramatic 😇

every time I'm devouring a SaneGiyuu fic because I like its plot for a while, here goes a smut scene that never fails to make me sigh and mayhaps roll my eyes

most of the times I know I'll get icked but decide to read because "what if it's not that bad",, then it's almost always the same shit over and over: Sanemi topping, bonus points if there's even just slight roughness (yikes😬...), Giyuu being loud and being described in degrading terms [and basically none of this was told beforehand in tags nor notes, almost as if it was the "normal" perception of SaneGiyuu for most people...??? shut UP??😃]

respectfully, it's ass.

I'm tired, these tropes are overused and fucking inaccurate dare I say, unless there's a reason in the fanfic's AU specifically but I still find it to be too common and weird. if you want a somewhat accurate SaneGiyuu pay gorn (/hj /ref) it must be them switching AND being romantic. where the FUCK is the romance,, the last one I've read now wasn't that bad because it still mentioned adoration, kisses and love overall, but there's almost always something that icks me even just in the few fics I've read so far, and it makes my reading experience sm slower and uncomfortable afterwards even if I initially loved the fic

now, as I've stated multiple times, I hate the "rough daddy dom Sanemi" and "submissive twink Giyuu" headcanons with every single inch of my entire being in&out including my whole soul /drm,,, and not just in sex scenes but in their overall dynamic, it's so enraging I don't care if someone disagrees I'd just stare and judge??😭😭😭my main purpose when I complain abt this stuff is to look for other people with my same mindset (thank GOD I saw lots of them so far though)

the disrespect, and the fetishization of queer couples in which one "has to look/act more like the opposite gender" and inevitably the one who has more apparent feminine traits has to be the sub, bc they associate femininity with submissiveness. heteronormativity and borderline patriarchy-inducted stereotypes?? woah./neg

let Sanemi receive, it won't make him any less of a man nor threaten his masculinity I promise🥺 same goes for Giyuu if he was actually written like the manly strong man and SOLDIER he fucking is? I still wouldn't really really prefer it but I would respect the preference in that case.. heated arguments about who tops or bottoms are inherently fetishizing and stupid, however if I see a (weird) pattern I'm gonna hate it sorry not sorry😭🙏🏻

also please if someone can recommend SaneGiyuu fics with NO smut or actually well written sex scenes with them preferably switching (it's the only actual realistic trope and I stand by this fact) I'll be thankful, and I'm taking the occasion to also recommend "You And Me, Alone Together" by Katz3 (yes there's also occasional sex scenes and yes they're perfect in every possible way, the whole fic is!! I have yet to find a better fic and I know I won't, despite it being underrated); or maybe if you have fic recs in which Giyuu exclusively tops if there's NSFW scenes, out of nothing but pure spite, I would be thankful as well🥰

one last thing bc I usually get heavily misinterpreted whenever I complain abt anything: I'm NOT saying "GiyuSane is better" (even if that's what *I* personally think, due to how I interpret their writing and how I headcanon their relationship dynamic which has nothing much different from most, I just don't twinkify/overly-feminize/infantilize Giyuu nor I over-sexualize/booktok-fy Sanemi), I'm just saying it's more realistic if they switched: it's more accurate, more inclusive, less mischaracterizing, less stereotyped and therefore less heteronormative and less fetishizing...

and about the degrading and roughness and all that I mentioned, I just despise it. for every ship and every trope, whether m/f, f/f or m/m. it takes romance away imo and I won't be sugarcoating it with "oh but it's consensual so it's fine" nor negotiating it in order not to piss off the people who like this kind of content; I'm sorry, keep your preferences, but I won't be shutting the fuck up if I have to read it every goddamn time I naively think there's normal and loving sex scenes. put tags to warn readers who don't wanna read that shit so they can skip it if they still gave the fic a shot, please🙏🏻

[lemonyko0]

wear you out

☕︎ no amount of warm baths and hot tea can lure you into sleep, but jungkook knows just the thing.

⇀ genre: fluff, smut, established relationship, THIS IS A CONTINUATION/ SAME COUPLE FROM ALL TIED UP i promised and i have now delivered enjoy

⇀ description: blindfold and tied hands :), oral (f rec)

⇀ wc: 2.2k

you think you’ve done all you can to fall asleep, taking one last glance at the alarm clock before falling dramatically back onto your bed. it's barely two in the morning, and you’ve tried everything. hot tea, cookies, melatonin, even a nice warm bath and a change into your favorite silk pajamas, but nothing.

you stare blankly at your ceiling until your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, as always, your knight in shining armor.

you answer the phone with an exasperated “hi.” and he chuckles from the other line.

“hello pretty. still not asleep?”

“i texted you four minutes ago koo.”

“what, that wasn't enough time for you to fall asleep? the bath really didn't work?”

“not even a little.” you hear him hum and tsk, listening closely to the sound of what is certainly his gaming chair as he does circles in it. you knew he’d be awake. you consider his computer a third party in your relationship sometimes.

“okay, it's decided then. see you in ten.”

“jungkook-”

“i love you bye!” he doesn't let you talk him out of it or whine about having already told him no (his appearance was of course his first suggestion above all else). you didn't want him leaving his house so late at night just for you. certainly has nothing to do with it being so damn hard to leave him in the morning either. but nonetheless he’s welcoming himself into your home in record time.

“you redecorated.” he quips, glancing around your living room as he takes off his boots one at a time. you wrap your arms around yourself the closer you get to him, having let all of the cold air in right along with him.

he doesn't stare at your earth toned plush pumpkins and your ghost throw pillows once you come close enough, taking you in from head to toe and landing on your chest.

you furrow your brows, “you can't stare at my boobs before even saying hi to me.”

his eyes flash back to yours and he kicks off his final boot before wrapping his arms around you and swaying you around.

“who? me? staring? never.” he places kisses atop your head and giggles, “i only look respectfully.”

you place your hands on his chest and push him away, “yeah whatever.” but he doesn't let you go too far, hanging onto your hand and pulling you back towards him with a grin, bringing his other hand to your jaw and staring at you. you thought he was going to kiss you, but now you know his mission is to make you flustered.

and fuck him because it works every time.

you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a kiss, more than two years with him and you’re still surprised every day by how good of a kisser he is, making it damn-near impossible to ever pull away from him. little do you know, that’s always his goal.

finally you lose breath and rest your forehead against his, and he smiles at you. “so what do you wanna do chicky? watch a movie and cuddle?”

you shake your head, you’ve already watched two today and you’ve been on a movie kick recently, it wouldn't work. “you'd fall asleep before i would.” jungkook always has a way of snoozing during movies, especially if you're in his vicinity. you usually find it endearing how he’s out like a light, you enjoy being a source of comfort for him. you just envy that part of him so badly right now.

he follows you quietly to your bedroom that wafts with an array of bakery scents between your body soap, bath bomb, and the candle you lit. even the lights are mostly dimmed in an attempt to change the scenery to lull you into slumber, didn't work either clearly.

“god this room could put army men to sleep.” he chuckles, gently stroking your arm as he joins you on your bed.

“if only.”

he hums, “i think your problem is you can't relax.”

you scoff, “yeah tell me about it.”

he grins and noses your neck, “so…” his hands ghost from your arms to your waist, and hips, “let me help you relax.”

he places gentle kisses on your neck and you decide there are worse ideas than letting your boyfriend wear you out. in fact, it's probably the best idea anyone’s had all night.

“what a great idea.” you coo, leaning into his chest and guiding his hands up to yours, remembering how intently he eyed them earlier when the cold air must've perked them up, very obvious in a satin tank top.

“i have other ideas too, don't you worry.” he runs his fingers against your chest, catching your nipples between his finger tips and squeezing them just enough, even letting a satisfied hum past his own lips at the sight of you.

he reluctantly moves to lay you down against your sheets, pressing his lips to yours briefly before disappearing into your closet.

“what are you grabbing?” there's a plethora of things in the closet you admit, but most of the fun stuff is at his house, not yours.

“close your eyes, and relax.”

you oblige him in actions but not so much in words, “hard to relax when i don't know what you’re doing.”

“i'll tell you. sit up.” you lift yourself onto your legs again and you can feel him near you before you feel a silk tie against your eyes and you laugh.

“this is your idea?”

he hums quietly, diligently working to secure it and asking if you want your wrists too. “you had your turn, remember? you never let me have mine.”

“you’ve never asked.” you let a breath escape your lips and you smile for him, “do whatever you want, koo.”

he chuckles quietly and directs you to lay back down.

“i'll leave your hands free for now.”

“for now.” you repeat, he doesn't correct you.

you feel his hands trail from your torso to your thighs, squeezing them intently before peeling off your shorts and opening your legs for him.

he lets out a content sigh and a curse, poking at your entrance and drawing little circles against your clit and letting his fingers slide down to tease your hole through the fabric.

you whine and move your hips against his hand, indicative of wanting more from him but he doesn't let you have it that easy. he spends more time against your front, pulling your panties up to make you jerk your hips involuntary and letting you go to draw more circles against you in varying degrees of pressure. the pattern is new and driving you insane, you want nothing more than to come around something but he hasn't even stripped you bare and seems keen on avoiding that for as long as he can.

you give him the satisfaction of letting him hear how bad you want him, “please koo.”

he gently bites the inside of your thigh and grips the other to keep you still, “please what? won't you come like this?”

you nodded and whined as he continues his work, marveling at the growing wet spot on your pretty panties. “then do it baby, come like this.”

it's a damned mix really, him knowing you and your body so well and your senses feel heightened with the blindfold. it's not like you would've held out for much longer anyway, soon enough his fingers send you back into your mattress with a satisfied moan just for him.

once you’ve relaxed your legs he removes his hand, hooking them around your underwear and peeling them off your legs.

“so pretty.” you hear him breathe, pulling your knees together and pinning them against your chest, “keep them here.”

you nod easily, “okay.”

he chuckles, “good girl. always so good for me.” a much needed compliment to distract you from his tongue against you, making you mewl and ache to reach for his hair but can't due to the position he specifically put you in. fuck did he make the right call, as soon as he works a finger inside of you, you immediately arch your back and cuss. he drowns out a laugh against your clit, eating you out like a michelin meal that deserved to be savored and you hate how good he is at it sometimes because you never last as long as you should.

certainly not when he’s two fingers deep and hooking them inside of you to open up your walls and you curl your toes at the idea he might be prepping you for more and you can't help but call out his name, he deserves to have it plastered on your bedroom walls and inked into your skin with the way you recite it like a mantra.

he responds to your calling with a moan against your clit and that has you coming for a second time soon after. finally having to pull him away from you with a tug of his hair and a plead from your lips.

“sorry. you're so pretty when you come.”

you chuckle and reach out for him, hands hitting the fabric of his shirt and you pout, “off.”

he laughs, “gladly.” followed by the sound of all of his clothes hitting the ground. “you're next pretty.”

you grin and raise your arms for him, grabbing the ends of your shirt and tugging it easily over your head without so much as nudging your blindfold. “you want more or are you tired now?”

you reach for his neck and pull him towards you until your foreheads meet, “want you inside of me.”

he grins and kisses you passionately until you’re falling back onto the bed, kneading your chest and kissing down your neck so you can moan in his ear, one of his self-declared favorite parts of sex. he taps your hips and tells you, “flip around, on your knees.”

you hum excitedly, he's hit everything on the list of ways to absolutely exhaust you and this position tops the list.

once you’re on your knees and elbows you hear him chuckle, “arms behind your back.”

you cuss and do as asked, letting him tie your wrists together and run his heavy cock along your slit, “fuck you are so wet for me.”

you barely nodded, “want you so bad, please.”

there's nothing jungkook wouldn't do for that pretty word when it slips off your tongue and into his ears. he buries himself inside you to the hilt, hitting it so good from this position and wasting no time establishing a heavy rhythm that has you writhing into the fresh sheets.

he curses and moves his hand from your waist to your wrists, pulling you back against him with more force, “god, you're made for me y/n.” he groans and lets you have it, the name of the game is to tire you out after-all and he's taking it very seriously, pushing you further into the bed with each thrust but it feels so good you don't notice or care at all. any pain is means to an end that'll feel like heaven on earth you're damn-sure. he reaches over to your front and you almost scream from the sensitivity, “fuck, jungkook, mm-too much.”

he doesn't relent and it's deliciously overwhelming to a point where you can't think of anything else except for him and his hands and his dick ravishing you and he groans, “you can take it.” he wants you to, he wants you to come so hard around his cock he sees stars and you know he deserves it and more and he knows exactly what you need to get you there, holding you tightly against him as you come all over him, wetting his thighs and with a new grip on your hips he keeps his pace as best he can until he finishes on your back, just as fucked out as you are.

he crashes beside you for a second and you try your best to relax but in your position, it's not easy. “koo please.” he hums and you feel the bed move beside you. he unties your wrists first and as he cleans your back you remove your blindfold and run a finger through your hair. you sit up with a sigh and look at him. “i'm gonna have to take another bath.”

he nods slowly, “shower,” he begins to grin, “together?”

you sigh and roll your eyes, throwing your legs off the bed and making your way to the bathroom. “baby,” he calls out to you, “you don't have to-” he stops as soon as he hears the shower water begin to run and instead rushes to grab clean clothes from your wardrobe for both of you, setting them down on the counter as his hands wrap around your waist, kissing your cheek over and over again as he recites the words, “i love you.”

you unwrap his hands and after a half an hour of co-showering you’re knocked out in his arms as he mindlessly runs his fingers through your hair.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

thank u for reading and happy kinktober sluts! check out some of my other nsfw while ur down here ;)

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[leezlelatch]

Happy Anniversary, Papa

It’s three years to the day since Copia became Papa, and you want to do something nice to show him he’s appreciated.

You gently squeeze the piping bag, adding the last few touches of blue icing to the cake, extra careful not to smudge a single swirl. You bite your lip and hold your breath, then will your hands not to shake. Finally, you let out a relieved sigh, standing back with a hand on your hip to look over your work.

A sheet cake, chocolate, with homemade buttercream icing bearing the words “Happy Anniversary, Papa” looks resplendent in the blues and golds of Copia’s papal colors. You’re sure your mouths and teeth will be stained by the end of it, and only if Copia likes it. You hope Copia likes it.

March 3, 2023. Copia’s three year anniversary of being Papa, the leader of the Ministry, the Antipope. You close your eyes and smile for a moment, remembering the day the white suited Cardinal became Papa Emeritus IV. His eyes shown that night with the promise of a bright future, and since then, Copia has come such a long way, ushering in a new, free era of the Ministry in the Dark Lord’s name.

Copia deserves the world. And while you and Terzo have a surprise party set up later, you want to do a little something yourself for the man you are hopelessly in love with. The man who shows you everyday that you are worthy of love, affection, understanding, and happiness. He is your happiness.

Putting down the piping bag, you carefully put the cake in a plastic snap-on container that one would usually see cakes in at the grocery. Actually, it is from a cake bought at the grocery store, cleaned and repurposed. When you were looking for ideas on what to put your cake in, Swiss bought a cake, ate it, and graciously handed over the container. Whatever works, works. But honestly, the image of the smiling Ghoul standing menacingly in your local grocery holding a cake had you giggling for hours.

You step over to a decorative mirror hanging on the wall in the living area of your shared suite and smooth away any flyaway hairs, adjusting your top and anxiously staring at your reflection. You want this day to be so good for your Copia. He needs to know how much you appreciate him. His time, dedication, his love. Three whole years of running this show, and as exhausted as he is, and you know your Popia is so tired, he manages to put on a smile every single day. Even now, he’s sitting in his office, likely buried under mountains of paperwork.

You pick up the cake and carefully leave the suite, wandering down the many corridors of the Ministry toward the Upper Clergy offices. You smile and nod at the Siblings you see passing by who dip their heads respectfully in return, which is something you will never get used to. As you pass the single oak door that used to be Copia’s office as Cardinal, you smile at it like an old friend before continuing on to the large double doors at the end of the hall.

You knock softly, staring at the cake as you balance it with one hand before returning both to it, squinting at the cake to make sure it hadn’t moved, or been disrupted.

“Eh…it’s open!” You hear Copia’s flustered, accented voice call out.

Opening the door with as little movement as possible, you slip inside, shutting it quietly behind you to smile at the man seated behind his desk. Copia sits back, his chair twisted to the side so he can comfortably cross his legs. He has a piece of paper in one hand, gazing at it with a furrowed brow. You move forward until you stop at the edge of his desk.

“Hi, Popia!” You say happily, your little nickname making the corners of his lips jump before he glances up at you.

“Amore,” he greets, putting down the paper with a sigh. “Do you need something?”

His less than enthusiastic greeting dulls your smile, but you hold out the cake, tilting it forward a little so he can see it in full.

“Happy Papa Anniversary! I baked it just for you. Thank you so much for all that you do.”

You put it down and slide it across the desk toward him, clasping your hands together in front of you. Copia stares down at it for several seconds before letting out a harsh breath, bending his elbow to rest his face in his hand. You freeze, the smile fully slipping from your lips, and you stare at him with rising dread as he hides his eyes, head tilted down.

“I’m sorry…Copia. I…”

“Am I a good Papa, amore? Do I even deserve this?” His quiet, pained voice interrupts your frenzied thoughts.

You close your eyes and take a breath, willing your heart to stop racing in your chest. Oh, Copia. You lean your hip against the edge, running your fingers through his hair, vaguely noting that it was starting to get long.

“Copia. I need you to look at me when I say this,” you tell him.

He swallows, and shifts, looking up at you with such lost, wet eyes. You make a small noise and cup his face, running your thumbs across his cheeks, uncaring of his paints. Copia needs you right now.

“I can’t imagine how difficult this job is. I can’t imagine what any of this work on your desk is. What you have to give every single day to take care of the whole congregation. The sacrifices you have to make to ensure we are happy and healthy and free. But you do it. And you do it without complaint. You do it with a smile and a wink and a silly joke. You make sure to love us to the best of your ability in your words at Mass, and through your actions here at home, and out on tour with the Ghost Project. I am so proud of you. Primo is so proud of you. Secondo is so proud of you. Terzo is so proud of you. We love you so much. You deserve to be celebrated because yes, my love, you are an amazing Papa.”

Copia stares at you for several moments before his expression shatters. He lets out a single, low sob and buries his face in your stomach, his shoulders shaking as he lets out weeks? Months? Three years of pent up frustration, worry, and self-doubt. You hold onto him, soothingly scratching his scalp, your fingers moving from his hair to his cheeks to any part of him you can reach as he smears black and white all over the front of your sweater.

“I love you, Copia. I love you,” you say softly to him, just whispering your love to him over and over. Letting him know you’re there, and letting him know that it’s okay to cry.

Copia sniffles loudly, a honking noise that makes you smile as he pulls back enough to look up at you, his eyes so puffy and face a mess. He is the loveliest thing you have ever seen.

“I want to be strong for you,” he whispers brokenly.

“You don’t have to be all the time, Copia. If there’s anyone in the world you can be vulnerable with, it’s me. It doesn’t mean you aren’t strong, it just means you have someone to lean on when the load gets too heavy,” you kiss his forehead gently.

“I love you. So much. Amore mio. So much. Sometimes I need to be reminded that I’m not alone anymore, forgive your Papa,” he smiles up at you, his bottom lip trembling a little.

“That’s right. You’re my Papa. My wonderful Papa. And I’ll happily spend the rest of my life reminding you of that. I love you too.”

Copia clears his throat and wipes his eyes, huffing out a laugh at the smeared black on his fingers. He blinks a few times and then refocuses on the cake, a tender “aww” leaving his lips as he reads over the text.

“Thank you, baby,” he says sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into his lap. “My dolce made something dolce?” He laughs at his own joke, a cute little “hehe.”

“Mhm,” you grin. “It’s chocolate. Just for my Popia.”

He nuzzles into your cheek, giving you several nipping kisses until you’re giggling, “You’ll help me eat it, yeah?” He says.

"Copia, I've been dying to shove my face into it all day."

"I know something else you can shove your face into," he wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and place a sound kiss to his lips.

"Happy Anniversary, Papa."